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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 13, Note on Digital Production 0013 000
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 13, Note on Digital Production A-B

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 13, Issue 1 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 954 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 AFR7379-0013 /moa/scri/scri0013/

Restricted to authorized users at Cornell University and the University of Michigan. These materials may not be redistributed.

Scribner's magazine. / Volume 13, Issue 1 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York January, 1893 0013 1
Scribner's magazine. / Volume 13, Issue 1, miscellaneous front pages i-2

e SCRI BNERS MAGAZINE PUBLISHED NONTHLY WITH ILLUSTRATIONS VOLUME XIII JANUARY - JUNE CHARLES SCRIBNERS SONS NEW YORK SAMPSON LOW MARSTON & Co. IJ1~HTED LONDON J\. G~o~3Z~ COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY CHARLES SCRIBNRRS SONS. iROW DIRECTORY PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY NEW YORK CONTENTS OF SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE. VOLUME XIII. JANUARYJUNE, 1893. 4~ AFTER-DINNER SPEECHES. Point of View, ALGIERS. See Spanish Light and iWoorish Shadow. ANDOVER HOUSE. See Poor in Great Cities. ANNE OF BRITTANYS CHiTEAUX IN THE VAL- LEY OF THE LOIRE . Illustrations by 0. H. B~scher, and from photographs. ARCTIC. See Peary Relief Expedition. AROTURUS Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Num- ber. ARTIST IN JAPAN, AN, . Illustrations by the author. ARTS RELATING TO WOMEN, THE, AND THEIR EXHIBITION IN PARIS With frontispiece, A Century Ago, drawn by A. B. Wenzell, and other illustrations by W. L. Met- calf. AS OTHERS SEE HER. Point of View, AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. INTRODUCTION, MYSELF, With portraits after F. Cruickshank, J. W. Audubon, and others; and drawings by 0. H. Bacher and W. J. Baer. BETWEEN MASS AND VESPERS Illustrations by C. D. Gibson. BIRDS THAT WE SEE, THE Illustrations by the author. BRITTANY. See Anne of BUDDHAS FLOWERS Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Num- ber. CARLYLE, UNPUBLISHED LETTERS OF, CEDARS, THE. Drawn by See Point of View, page 396. CENTAUR, THE, Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Num- ber. CITIES THAT WERE FORGOTTEN. THE, Illustrations by J. H. Twachtman and V. P6rard. See Wanderings of (Jochiti and New ilexieo. THEODORE ANDREA COOK, J. ALDEN WEIR, ROBERT BLUM, OCTAVE UZANNE, MARIA R. AUDUBON, J. J. AUDUBON, SARAH ORNE JEWETT, ERNEST E. THOMPSON, ALFRED PARSONS, C. P. CRANCH, . H. SIDDONS MOWBRiY, CHARLES F. LUMMIS, PAGE 691 490 603 399, 624, 72~ 503 822 267 267 661 759 538 416 356 637 466 CONTENTS. COM~DIE FRAN3AISE AT CHICAGO, THE, CONFIDENCES Full- page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Num- ber. CONTRIBUTING ARTISTS. Point of View, COQUETTE, THE Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Num- ber. COUNTRY PRINTER, THE. See iIf~ns Occupations. DECORATOR IN ROME, IMPRESSIONS OF A frontispiece The Muse Urania from a fresco attributed to Lo Spagna; and other illustrations by A. Bassi, Kenyon Cox, Ella P. Morrill, and from photographs. DICKENS AS A MAN OF FEELING. Point of View, EXHIBITION NUMBER, THE. Point of View, EZRA HARDMAN, M. A. FASHION. See Arts Relating to Women. FIDDLER OF THE REELS, THE Illustration by William Hatherell. FLORENTINE ARTIST, THE Drawings by B. H. Blashfield. FLORENTINE GIRLS Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Num- ber. FRENCH AND IRISH SOLIDARITY. Point of View FRENCH SYMBOLISTS, THE GLIMPSE OF AN ARTIST, A GROSS-VENEDIGER. See Venice. HEART OF THE WOODS, THE Full-page original wood-engraving contributed to the Exhibition Number. HISTORIC MOMENTS. IX. THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL X. THE DEATH OF JOHN Quiucv ADAMS IN THE CAPITOL XI. THE CRIsIs OF THE SCHIPHA PAss, See also Historic Moments, Vol. XII. HISTORICAL NOVEL, THE. Point of View, HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST, . IN RENTED ROOMS JAFFA AND JERUSALEMRAILWAY,THE,. Drawings by Irving R. Wiles, 0. H. Bacher, and V. Perard, after photographs by the author. JAPAN. See Artist in. JERSEY AND MULBERRYUEBAN AND SUBURBAN SKETCHES I by Irving R. Wiles. JOKES BY ACCLAMATION. Point of View, LIFE IN A LOGGING CAMP. See Hens Occupations. LINCOLN, MR., PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF, See also Sumner. LOS CARAQUE~OS With a full-page drawing by W. L. Metcalf. MAN IN RED, THE MARCH. (Frontispiece.) Engraved from Nature by MENS OCCUPATIONS. I. THE COUNTRY PRINTER, . Illustrations by A. B. Frost. II. LIFE IN A LOGGING CAMP Illustrations by Dan Beard and V. P& ard. MIDDLE YEARS, THE FRANCISQUE SARCEY, W. T. SMEDLEY, C. S. REINHART, FREDERICK CROWNINSHIELD,. SCHUYLER SHELTON, THOMAS HARDY, E. H. and E. W. BLASEFIELD, E. H. BLASEFIELD, ALIKE GORREN, VIOLA ROSEBOflO, 80, 223 394 689 383 597 165 659 - . . 824 - . . 337 - . . 478 W. B. CLossoN, . WM. HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D., ROBERT C. WINTHROP, ARCHIBALD FORBES, LLOYD OSBOURNE, GEORGE I. PUTNAM, SELAK MERRILL, H. C. BUNKER, THE MARQUIS DR CHAMBRUN, F. J. STIMsoK,. . T.R.SULLIVAN, . W. B. CLOSSOK, . W. D. HOWELLS, ARTHUR HILL, HENRY JAMES, iv PAGE 677 669 690 623 639 120 389 519 129 255 463 289 641 130 26 103 329 .266 539 695 609 CONTENTS. MILLINERS BILL, THE, . Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Number. MIRROR, THE Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Number. NAPLES. See Poor in Great Cities. NEW ENGLAND FARM, A Illustrations drawn and engraved by the author. NEW MEXICO. See Uities that were Forgotten and Wanderings of Uochiti and Indian Who Is Not Poor, Vol. XII., and Land of Poco Tiempo, Vol. X. OBSOLETE STANDARDS OF GENTILITY. Point of View OLD AND THE YOUNG, THE. Point of View, OPINIONS OF A PHILOSOPHERChapters I. and II., [A sequel to The Reflections of a Married Man.] Illustrations by W. T. Smedley. OUTRAGEOUS FORTUNE. Point of View,. PARTING GUEST, THE Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Number. PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION, THE, Illustrations by F. W. Stokes, who accompanied the Expedition for ScsunNEWs MAGAZINE, and W. L. Metcalf. PLATYPUS, HAUNT OF THE Illustrations by E. E. Thompson and Birge Harrison. PLAYMATE. A Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Number. POET AND NOT ASHAMED, A. Point of View, POINT OF VIEW, THE. ~-..... After-Dinner Speeches, 691. As Others See Her, 822. Cedars, The, 396. Contributing Artists, The, 690. Dickens as a Man of Feeling, 394. Exhibition Number, The, 689. French and Irish Solidarity, 824. Historical Novel, The, 129. Jokes by Acclamation, 130. Obsolete Standards of Gentility, 262. Old and the Young, The, 528. POOR IN GREAT CITIES, THE. VII. Pooa IN NAPLES, THE Illustrations by Ettore Tito. VIII. WORK OF THE ANDOVER HOUSE IN BOSTON, THE With sketches among Boston institutions and the Boston poor, by Walter Shirlaw and others. See Poor in Great Cities, Vols. XI. and XII QUESTION OF DEFINITION, A. Point of View, QUIET SPOT, A Full page original wood-engraving contributed to the Exhibition Number. QUIVIRA, GRAND. See Cities th~et were Forgotten. READING AND AUTHORSHIP. Point of View, REFORMATION OF JAMES REDDY, THE, Illustrations by W. L. Metcalf. RESTORATION HOUSE, THE illustrations by Harry Fenn and V. Perard. ROAMING FASHION lN LITERATURE. Point of View, ROME. See Decorator in. ROTARY SYSTEM OF FAIR-GOING FOR FAM- ILIES. Point of View SAHARAN CARAVAN, A Drawings by A. F. Jaccaci SOME ASSETS OF OLD AGE. Point of View, SONG OF SPRINGTIME, A Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Number. PAGE 561 IRVING R. WILES, F. S. CHURCH,. 553 FRANK FRENCH, 426 262 528 777 525 ROBERT GRANT, GEORGE H. BOUGHTON, ANGELO HEILPEIN, Chief of the Expedition. SIDNEY DICKINSON, ALBERT LYNCH, 559 3 791 621 261 Outrageous Fortune, 525. Poet and Not Ashamed, A, 261. Question of Definition, A, 527. Reading and Authorship, 393. Roaming Fashion in Literature, 395. Rotary System of Fair-Going for Fam- ilies, 263 Some Assets of Old Age, 823. Sonnet of Arvers, The, 131. Tames Study of Spenser, 821. JESSIE WHITE VA. MARIO, . . 39 WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER, 357 527 665 ELBRIDGE KINGSLEY, 393 562 BEET HARTE, STEPHEN T. AVELING, 453 395 A. F. JACCACI,. L. MARCHETTI,. 263 . . 315 . . 823 Facing page 568 V CONTENTS. SONNET OF ARVERS, THE. Point of View, SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW, FROM, Drawings by J. H. Twaclitman, H. Denman, G. V~ron, and Ella P. Morrill. STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. VI. HARRY LOSSING Illustrations by A. B. Frost. See Stories o a Wes- tern Town in Vol. XII. STUDY HOUR, . . .. . Full-page drawing contributed to the Exhibition Num- ber. SUMNER, CHARLES, PERSONAL RECOLLEC- TIONS OF See also Lincoln. SYMBOLISTS. See French. TAINES STUDY OF SPENSER. Point of View, TALE OF A. GOBLIN HORSE, THE TANGIERS. See Spanish Light and Afoorisll Shadow. TAX1DERMIST, THE THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL: A MEM- ORY OF TRE MIND OF A CHILD. Chapters I.-XV1. (Concluded) TO HER, TROUBLE IN THE BRIC-A-BRAC MISSION, THE, UNDER COVER OF THE DARKNESS UPWARD PRESSURE, THEA CHAPTER FROM THE HISTORY OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY, VALLEY OF THE LOIRE. See Anne of Brittany. VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER, FROM, Drawings by Harry Fenn, W. L. Metcalf, and V. P& ard. WANDERINGS OF COCHITI, THE Illustrations from the authors photographs by Irving R. Wiles and Victor P& ard. See also Cities that were Forgotten and New Afexico. WASHINGTON, AN UNPUBLISHED AUTOGRAPH NARRATIVE BY. INTRODUCTORY NOTE BY HENRY G PICKERING THE BRADDOCK CAMPAIGN. Illustrations by Howard Pyle. ALFRED JEROME WESTON, OCTAVE THANET, BOUTET DR MONVEL, The MARQUIS DR CHAMBRUN, CHARLES C. IN OTT, GEORGE W. CABLE. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 301, 437, T. R. SULLIVAN, WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP, T. R. SULLIVAN, WALTER BESANT, HENRY VAN DYKE, CHARLES F. LUMMIS, GEORGE WAShINGTON, POETRY. A MKMORY: ANNE REEVE ALDRICH, AN IRISH PEASANT SONG AN OLD LOVE-LETTER AN OLD SONG BROKEN MUSIC With headpiece by E. H. Blashfield. DE PROFUNDIS EARLY IN THE SPRING EGOTISM ENDYMION AND A PORTRAIT OF KEATS,. EPITAPH EXPERIENCE SHALL I COMPLAIN~ SONNETS AFTER THE ITALIAN, TO-MORROW VIOLIN, THE Drawing by Robert Reid. WOOD SONGSIll WORTH WHILE EDITH M. THOMAS, LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY, MARGARET CROSHY,. H. C. BUN~ER THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH, ANNE REEVE ALDRICH,. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, EDWARD S. MARTIN, EDITH M. THOMAS, GRAHAM R. TOMSON, EDITH WHARTON, LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON, JOHN HALL INGRAM, W. G. VAN TASSEL SUTPHEN, HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, ARTHUR SHERHURNE HARDY,. EDWARD S. MARTIN, vi PAGE 131 193 208 565 153 821 373 679 60, 238, 649, 798 185 750 716 585 135 92 529 530 184 415 59 820 560 797 558 759 776 415 91 237 25 790 353 388 462 0 a ~NL.IiAVLL) ~Y 1. A. BUTLER. THE MUSE URANIA. [A fresco attributed to Lo Spagna, executed during the pontificate of Julius II. (150313) at La Magliana, about seven miles below Rome.]. See Impressions of a Decoretor in Rome.

Angelo Heilprin Heilprin, Angelo The Peary Relief Expedition 3-25

VOL XIIL SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE. JANUARY, 1893. THE PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION. By Angelo Heliprin. No. 1. / Study of an Eskimo Boys Head (from life). humble the Kite may have appeared beneath the tall hulls and masts that surrounded her, she bore a trim side to the waters of an open sea, and in her adopted port of St. Johns she is a craft with a history and a name. Prior to the date above mentioned, the most distinguished name associated with the vessel was that of her then mas- ter, Captain Richard Pike, a sea-dog de- void of those characteristics which en- title one to the designation of bluff but who, despite this deficiency, had al- ready, on two occasions, done service among the ice-fields of the far north. To his hands, as ice-master, the Govern- ment in 1881 entrusted the fate of the Proteusthe ship which conveyed the Greely party to their point of location, near the eighty - second parallel, which was destined to serve as a honle of des- olation for a period of three years. In 1883, on the organization of the second Greely Relief Expedition, under Lieutenant Garlington, Pike was again pressed into Arctic service as the ice- master of the relief - ship Proteus, the crushing of which among the ice-floes of Smith Sound, off Cape Sabine, has become a matter of history. The nine years that have elapsed since the day of the disaster have not yet sufficed to wipe off the cloud fr6m the genial tars brow, over which the shadows of fifty- three years have now gathered. A quiet resolve never again to enter the Arctic seas was brushed aside when, in 1891, the Kite was chartered to convey the expedition of the Philadelphia Academy ON June 6, 1891, the good ship Kite, a barkentine whaler of the old type, and measuring barely forty yards in length, lay alongside one of the busy Brooklyn wharves, eagerly scanned by hundreds of eyes for the little that distinguished her from the neighboring craft. Neatness or cleanli- ness was not a characteristic of the ves- sel, for she still bore traces of seal-strife and struggles among the ice of New- foundlands coast. To certain peculiarities of structure was added a suggestion of the odor of ~ oil and blubber, and if these were not in themselves sufficient to indicate the rank of the vessel, it could readily have been told from the iron bow-cap, and that singular a~rial castle known as the crows nest. However insignificant and copyright, 1892, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. 4 THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. of Natural Sciences to the Greenland waters, and a demand made for the ser- vices of an experienced ice-master and pilot. The Kite left her anchorage among ~KK Captain Richard Pike, of the Kite. the Brooklyn hulks on the afternoon of June 6th, carrying as her passenger list the members of the Peary partyCivil Engineer IRobert E. Peary, U. S. N., Josephine Diebitsch-Peary, Dr. F. A. Cook, Langdon Gibson, Eiwind Astrup, John T. Verhoeff, and Matthew Henson and an auxiliary body of summer investigators, to which the writer had the advantage to be attached. After varying incidents of one form or another, the good little craft put in at God- havn, the capital of the Northern Inspectorate of Greenland, on June 27th, and on July 2d, almost ex- actly opposite the Devils Thumb, buried her nose in the pack-ice of Melville Bay, from which she was destined not to emerge until three weeks later. It was during the traverse of this ice, on July 11th, that Lieutenant Peary met with that mishap the breaking of the lower right leg, which came near to shattering the enterprise upon which the commander had for years set his mind. In a constitution less vigorous, and a mind less heroic, such an accident would have annihilated all aspirations for success, even in the most favored un- dertaking; but to Mr. Peary and his gallant wife, it was but an incident, the passage of which was to be deter- mined only by future events. On July 24th, the Kite reached McCormick Bay, on the southern shores of which, and in the shadows of the bright-red cliffs which make up much of what be- longs to Cape Cleveland, the Peary win- ter - quarters were established. Many pleasant memories attach to the lit- tle retreat beneath the boards and tar- papers of the Redeliffe House, where probably was passed the most comfort- able and homelike winter in the far north which it has been the lot of Arc- tic explorers to experience. On July 30th, the Kite, with the auxiliary party aboard, steamed out of McCormick Bay, leaving the North Greenland Ex- pedition to shift for itself during the many months which were to follow be- fore contact with civilization could again be made possible. It was during these months, extending from August to May, that those careful studies of possibilities were made, which have rendered practicable the most remarka- ble ice-journey that has ever been un- dertaken, and brought to the geograph- er the solution of one of the few sig- nificant problems which remained open The Barkentine Whaler Kite, which Carried the Peary Expeditions, at her Dock, St. Johna Newfoundland. -y THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. 5 to him. Greenland has been demon- strated to be an island, whose general northern contours lie south of the eighty-third paralleL Probably no scientific expedition orig- inating on this side of the Atlantic has attracted more general attention than the one which Mr. Peary has but re- cently brought to a successful termina- tion. Its special feature, the traverse in a due geographical course of upward of six hundred miles of the inland ice, was the pivot about which much of this interest centred. The bold manner in which the expedition had been con- ceived, involving an almost total depart- ure from the methods that had been fol- lowed by all previous expeditions to the far North, and the circumstance that the party of exploration had been reduced to less than a handful of men, lent addition- al interest to the enterprise. To the scientist the interest was more than a purely sentimental one. The successful issue of the expedition meant the solu- tion of some of the most perplexing problems which were yet open to the investigator. The conditions which de- termined the limitation of mans habita- tion on the globe, the nature and extent of the great Greenland ice-cap, and its relation to the ice accumulation of the Glacial Period, and the distribution of plants and animal forms beyond the boundaries of the ice-cap itself, were the topics of special scientific interest which linked themselves with the main geo- graphical inquirythe determination of Greenlands northernmost boundaries. The only weak point of the Peary Expedition was the failure to make ade- quate provision for a return to civiliza- tion after the accomplishment of the inland journey. It was the intention of the leader to make his way leisurely down the coast in open whale-boats two of which had been specially con- structed for the purposeand dare the ice and storms of Melville Bay as he had dared the winds and snows of the in- land ice, from the sea-level to 8,000 feet elevation. Once across the Bay, the journey could be readily continued to IJpernivik or Godhavn. The passage in open boats of Melville Bay has been accomplished, either in whole or in part, on several occasionsby Kane, in 1855 by Bessels and Buddingtoia, in their re- treat from the Polaris, in 1873; by Pike and Garlington, in their retreat from the Proteus, in 1883but always with great difficulty, and under th& guidance of an ample force of able-bodied men. In the present instance, the party, including the courageous wife of the commander, numbered but seven members, too lim- ited in strength, probably, to undertake the risks which the journey entailed. Under the circumstances it seemed emi- nently proper that assistance be ren- dered to the returning party, and it was with a just appreciation of this position that the Philadelphia Academy of Natu- ral Sciences undertook the organization of a Relief Expedition. 4 I 1/ K V Mr. Dunphy, Second Mate of the Kite. Under my command, as leader of the Expedition, were associated Henry G. Bryant, the successful explorer of the Grand Falls of Labrador, second in com- mand; Dr. Jackson M. Mills, surgeon; William E. Meehan, botanist; Charles E. Rite, zoological preparator; Samuel J. Entrikin; Frank W. Stokes, artist; and Albert White Vorse, most of whom had already been tried in mountain or camp work of a more or less arduous nature. The Kite was again chartered as the vessel of the Expedition, and with her, the tried captain of the Proteus, Richard Pike. The possibilities of the Relief Expedition were such that no anticipatory plan of action, except as it was indicated in its broadest details, 6 THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. could be determined upon as a finality. The contingencies that might present themselves were too numerous to per- mit of simple resolution, and therefore full scope was given the Expedition to meet the exigencies of the moment. It was, however, considered a necessity to pass Melville Bay at the earliest pos- sible time consistent with an assurable amount of safety to the vessel, as once beyond the ice and waters of that much- dreaded section of the Arctic world the passage to McCormick Bay could be made without hindrance of any kind. The experience that has been brought down from the various Arctic expedi- tions, and more particularly from the different whalers which every year trav- erse much of the northern icy seas, has infused an element of certainty into Arctic navigation which could hardly have been realized by the heroes of a period twenty-five or thirty years ago. The capture, by the Melville Bay pack, of MClintocks Fox in the latter part of August, 1857, could scarcely be par alleled to-day, except as the outcome of ignorance or disregard of every-day knowledge. In an average season Mel- ville Bay can be traversed about as readily as a lin o s t any large body of water lying southward, while its earliest seasonal pas- sage can be predicated with a precision almost akin to math- ematical calculation. The hard pack .- ice which has accumu- lated as the result of the win- ters frost, and has to an extent been held together through the large bergs which are here and there scattered through it, usually shows the first signs of weakness between July 15th and 20th. Large cakes or pans of ice have by that time suc- cumbed to the powerful oce- anic currents that are directed against them, and detaching themselves from the parent mass float off to find new ha- vens of their own. The weak- ening process continues until most of the ice has been either removed or melted away, and before the close of the fourth week of July little beyond shore-ice (shore-pan) remains to indicate the barrier which but a few days before rendered a passage all but impractica- ble. The trend of the ice is northwestward through the Bay, then westward to the American side, and finally south to the open sea. It was the purpose of the Relief Expedition to reach the southern boundary of the Mel- ville Bay pack on or about the 20th of the month, and there watch the move- ments of the ice until the opportunity for action arrived. An earlier traverse might possibly have been made through persistent butting~ of the ice, but the dangers incident to this form of naviga- tion were such as to render slowness a prudent measure of safety. At 2.30 of the afternoon of July 5th the hiss of the siren announced to the loiterers on the wharves of Newfound- lands capital that the Kite was about to depart on her second voyage to the Lieutenant Robert E. Peary U. S. Navy. THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. 7 Arctic seas. A few moments later the vessel swung from her wharf, and amid a chorus of hurrahs and the shrill ac- companiments of steam-whistles, started on her mission of good-will northward. The bold sandstone cliffs guarding the entrance to St. Johns Harbor, aglow with the warm sunshine of a typical day, were soon dropped in the rear, albeit the rate of travel was somewhat less than seven knots an hour. Few of the St. Johns scalers are rated for more than nine or ten knots; of the entire fleet the Kite is about the least swift, but what she lacks in this regard is more than com- pensated for by a stanchuess of con- struction and a com- modiousness of de- sign which renders her specially adapted for the purposes for which she was se- lected. The first few days of the voyage were wholly unevent- ful, and almost with- out incident. In the afternoon of the 10th, after heavy fogs had larg ly obscured our course, suspicious cakes of ice indicated a near approach to the Greenland coast. At midnight of the 11th, when a rift in the fog first revealed the presence of Greenlands serrated mountains, the guard - rails of the vessel were almost overtopped by the ice; fortunately the pans were not suffi- ciently packed to cause serious alarm for our position, de- spite the disagreeable feature which the presence of an ever-falling fog added. The point of the Greenland coast opposite to our position was approxi- mately the great Frederikshaab glacier, one of the most gigantic of the almost endless number of ice-sheets which ra- diate off from the inland ice to or tow- ard the sea. In the passage of this portion of the coast the summer pre- vious no sea - ice beyond freely float- ing bergs was encountered, but in the present year the ice extended fully sev- enty miles farther northward, and as subsequent events showed, it was the heaviest accumulation that had been known for several decades. The south- ern ports of Greenland had for weeks been inaccessible, while the vessels of the cryolite fleet, for two months or more, had found scant quarters amid the jam that was impending. Wreckage appeared in scattered masses, and intel- Mrs. Josephine Diebitoch-Peary. ligence where. Mek-to-aha (Great Bear Hunter), One of the Arctic Highiandera. 8 THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. of disaster turned up every- the white mantle of a perpetual ice-cap, The Kite finally extricated her- forming a continuous panorama not unlike what is presented to the observer from the lower mountain summits of Switz- erland. It is true that the loftiest peaks are here but four to five thousand feet in elevation, but the absence of foreground and the low de- scent of the snow - line com- bine to produce an exagger- ated optical effect which is most delusory, a deception that is only further strength- ened by the Hi5rner and ai- guilles which everywhere re- call the Alps. It is Switzer- land in miniature, with a smooth, glassy sea to receive the reflections which in old Helvetia bathe in the waters of her deep blue lakes. Sev enty miles to the northward a slight heaving of the horizon indicated the position of the basaltic cliffs of Disko Island, under the lea of which are nestled the few huts and houses which together consti- tute the capital of the North- ern Inspectorate of Green- land, Godhavn, or Lievely. The average mind which con- ceives of a journey to the far North as being one of only hardsbips and terror, finds it difficult to realize that this is the land beyond the Arctic Circle ; the warm sunshine, the placid sea, and the absence, except in scattered flecks, of self shortly before noon of the 12th, those impending bergs which have fas- when about opposite Lichtenfels, the tened themselves as time-honored ne- northernmost point which the lower cessities upon the eye of the imagina- or Cape Farewell ice is known to at- tion, fail to do justice to the modern tam, conception of the Arctic world. The Fog and rain followed the expedition temperature at 8 A.M. was 450 F., but for another thirty-six hours, but on the at noon it had risen to 500 F., and in morning of the 14th day broke with a the sun the station of the mercury splendor and luminosity unknown to among the seventies did away with all regions outside of the Arctic Circle. thoughts concerning wraps and heavy The Greenland coast loomed up brill- underwear. iant for a length of a hundred miles or At 5.30 in the afternoon we arrived more, its rugged mountain peaks, here off Godhavn, and shortly afterward and there flecked by the snows of lin- passed through the formality of taking gering winter, or forever shrouded in on a pilotan Eskimo of unmistakably THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. 9 European lineage. Swarthy Frederick, the interpreter to the British Polar Ex- pedition of 187576, and the associate of Peary in 1886, was among the first to greet us, bringing with him a num- ber of his tribe, young and oldbut all males, as no females are permitted to board the incoming vesselsprepared to partake of a lasting hospitality of the ships steward, and to effect such barter as would yield to them the ad- vantage of a few krones or of a shirt or pair of pantaloons. The latter article was prized beyond measure, but its ac- ceptance was dependent wholly upon a proved freedom from holes and patches. Danish sovereignty has long since in- fused a civilized aspect into the costume of the Southern Eskimos, and hence the demand for articles which would be scorned by most of their brethren of the North; European trousers and a blue cotton outer shirt or anoraic now take the place, as a summer attire, of the seal garments which were a neces- sity in the antecedent periods of bar- baric existence. Among those who had come out with the first boat-load of visitors to the Kite was an old Eskimo who had, in 1870, conducted Norden- skj6ld to the famous meteoritic re- gion of the Blaaberg, on Disko Island, whence were obtained the large blocks of native iron, commonly known as the iron of Ovifak or Uifak, concerning the origin of which, whether meteoric or tel- luric, so much has been written and ar- gued by geologists and mineralogists. I was at the identical locality with the same Eskimo in the summer of 1891, and fortune threw in our path a stone of some two hundred and seventy pounds weight, for which a reward of 5 was given. Suspecting that there might be a return expedition this year the Eskimos had shrewdly made a fur- ther examination of the desolate spot, with the result of finding a number of additional blocks of the desired mate- rial; these had been carefully placed to one side awaiting my return, and were now placed at my disposal, together with much other geological material that it was thought I might be inter- ested in. Our purpose in putting in at God- In Smith Sound off Cape Sabine, 78~ 44 N. 10 havn was primarily the presentation of official credentials from the Danish Government, and the obtaining of cer- tain effects which were considered desir- able for the expedition. Godhavn, or, as it is commonly known to geographers, Disko, as the capital of the Northern Inspectoiate of Greenland., is the offi- cial seat of one of the two highest dignitaries of the land, the Inspector. Of a population counting less than one hundred and thirty souls, some fif- teen are Danes, and the remainder al- most entirely half-breed Esknnos not more than seven full-blooded natives are recognized among the inhabitants, of which number is the Frederick al- ready referred to. A first impression of this singular settlement is not cal- culated to inspire enthusiasm for a prolonged residence in the land of desolation. A few wooden structures, comprising a church, the government building or general store, and the resi- dences of the Danish officials, together with a somewhat larger number of green-grown and chimneyed turf huts of the Eskimos, crown a dreary expanse of granite and sycuite, over whose sur- faces the ice of former ages ploughed its way to the sea. Everywhere the effects of past glaciation are plainly written. No trees of any kind shadow the sunlight from a perpetual summer sun; no song of bird, save the occasion- al chirp of the 511ow~bunting and wheat- ear, responds to the wakening calls of morning. The melancholy bark of a dozen or more of shapelY curs not, however, the awe~inspiriflg and night- destroying howl of books of travel, but the more subdued tones of realityalone indicates possession of the town. Cheer- fulness, save in the bright sunshine which here illumines all nature, seems to have forever deserted the locahty. But this first impression almost im- mediately disappears tbrough closer ac- quaintance. Once the foot has been set upon the mirrored rocks, the charms of this garden spot one by one unfold themselves. The little patches of green are aglow with bright flowers, rich in the colors which a bounteous nature has provided; the botanical eye readily distinguishes among these the moun- tain - pink, the dwarf rhododendron, several species of heath, the crow-foot, chickweed, and poppy, with their vary- ing tints of green, red, white, and yel- low. Gay butterflies flit through the warm sunshine, casting their shadows over forests of diminutive birch and willow. Here and there a stray bee THE PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION. Head of McCormick Bay showing Point where Mr. Peary made the Ascent to the Ice-cap of Greenland. a THE PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION. 11 hums its search for sweets among the pollen grains, while f r o m a f a r, woven through the music of gur- gling rills and brooks, come the melodious strains of thousands of mosquitoes, who ever cheerfully lend their aid to give voice to the landscape. Above this peaceful scene tower th~ dark - red cliffs of basalt, which from a height of two thousand feet look down upon a sea of Mediterra- neati loveliness, blue as the waters of Villafranca, and calm as the surface of an interior lake. Over its bos- om float hundreds of ice- bergs, the output of the great Jakobs- havn Glacier, fifty miles to the east- ward, scattered like flocks of white sheep in a pasture. Such was the sum- mer picture of the region about Disko as it was found by the writer in two successive seasons. There was little of that Greenland about it which we habit- ually associate with the region, i~othing of those terrors which to the average mind reflect the quality of the Arctic world. Dreary though a long residence may prove to be at a spot like Godhavn, there is yet seemingly enough comfort in it to make it attractive to the Dan- ish officials who reside there. The neat Interior of Mr. and Mrs. Pearys Room at Redcliffe Hossa. The Living Room at Redcliffe House, McCormick Say. little cottages, well supplied with those appliances and adjunctssuch as a li- brary, piano, and billiard-roomwhich conduce to a home-like comfort, are not in absolute harmony with their sur- roundings, but they bear testimony to an intelligence and refinement govern- ing the household which come with a rude shock to those who had expected to meet with at best only half-barbari- ans in this remote quarter of the globe. It was an almost inexpressible pleasure for me to see the geraniums, fuchsias, and roses which the good people were here raising behind double windows or under glass covers, and fondling with a care only equalled by the interest with which they pursued the general subject of Green- land zoology or followed the recent explorations of men like Ryder, Stanley, Holub, and Peters. Herr Inspector Andersson, whose hospitality I had already enjoyed the summer previ- ous, was absent at the time of our visit, having but a few days before go n e to Upernivik to adjust sonic niatters in connection with the government there. Mrs. Andersson and her daugh- ter, however, gave us a kind- ly welcome, which was rein- forced through the good offices of the Governor and DRAWN BY F. W STOKES. ENGRAVED BY E. H. DELORME. Redoliffe House the Winter Quarters at the Pesry Party and Eskimo Encampment. THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. 13 his assistant. A determination to aid our expedition to the fullest extent pos- sible was made manifest from the mo- ment that our arrival was officially an- nounced. We secured some fur clothing for our equipment, and what we thought to be of greater importance to ourselves, the services of an Eskimo interpreter and servant, Daniel Johannes Matthias Isaiah Broberg, a nephew of the wealth- iest native of Godhavn, and brother of Nicholas Broberg, who in 1883 acted in a like capacity for the second Greely Relief Expedition. Daniel, like most of the Eskimos of Godhavn, was inor- dinately fond of his tobacco, and it was rarely that he was to be found without his pipe; speaking, eating, or sleeping, his pipe appeared to be his most faith- ful and constant companion. The stip- ulations of our contract with him were, that he was to receive 3 lOs. per month; that he was not to receive any orders from the ships men; not to be obliged to draw, by himself, a sledge over the inland ice; to be remunerated for the breakage of an arm or leg, or for other bodily mutilation; to be returned to Godhavn. These stipulations, which were exacted from a fear of ill-treat- ment engendered through experiences associated with former expeditions, and which have made it all but impossible to secure the services of any of the Es- kimos of the Inspectorate, were supple- mented with a special recommendation for a pair of pantaloons. At 1.30 P.M. of the 16th we fired our parting salute, and dipping our colors to the ship Constancia, which was then lying in port, slowly withdrew from the shadow of the tall cliffs which give to the harbor its most impressive aspect. Our destination was Upernivik, the most northerly of the Danish settle- ments, and the most northern settle- ment of civilization on the surface of the globe. We remained here but a few hours, our sole purpose being the exchange of civilities with the Danish officials resident there. Herr Inspector Andersson and Governor and Mrs. Beyer extended to us an open-hearted welcome, and with it the full hospitality which their house offered. A more exquisite day than that which VOL. XITI.2 marked our departure from Upernivik, could scarcely be conceived. The white lumps of ice which almost choked the harbor, and the glare from whose sur- faces fairly dazzled the eye, were a marked contrast to the delicious warmth which was supplied by an Arctic 52~ F. Desolate fogs, however, broke in upon the evening and night, and it was not until two oclock of the following after- noon (the 19th) that we were enabled to make a landing on the outer Duck Island. The Devils Thumb, that most notable landmark, 2,347 feet in eleva- tion, on the western coast of Greenland, should have been made before midnight; but the ice-bound fogs obliged a halt throughout the greater part of the even- ing and night hours. The twentieth of the month, the day that had been fixed upon for our arrival at Melville Bay, actually found us there, and we stood confronting the northern ice. No real difficulty was encountered in the passage of this much dreaded re- gion of the Arctic seas. An accumula- tion of shore-ice prevented us from fol- lowing the coast in the track of the daring whalers, but about twenty-five miles seaward comparatively little heavy ice, beyond broken and rotten pans, was encountered, and were it not for a con- tinuous lowering fog, little hindrance to a free navigation would have been presented. The water itself was as smooth as a mirror, with only the small- est ripples to break its surface; the temperature of the air was at all times above the freezing points. At 8 A.M. of July 22d we were off Cape York, and had completed the passage of the Bay; the high land was first sighted shortly after midnight, but be- yond a momentary appearance, it re- mained shrouded in the heavy fog until the early hours of morning. Gray cliffs of granite, moss-grown and grass-grown on their favored slopes, with here and there a glacier peacefully slumbering in their deeper hollows, mark the exit from the ice-bound Melville Bay to the open north water. For sixty hours after leaving the Duck Islands the con- dition of the weather had been such that no observations for position could be tal~en; our course had been one solely of compass and dead-reckoning. 14 THE PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION. Considering the sluggishness of the compass in these regions, and the al- most endless number of detours which a course in the fog among the ice-pans necessitates, one could not but be im- pressed by the general directness of the traverse, and the exactitude with which Mgipsua Woman of the Arctic Highianders. Sketched from life. it was terminated. Barely fifty hours were required for the passage from the Devils Thumb to Cape York, and had there been no fog, even with the large quantity of ice that was present, the time would probably have been reduced by from fifteen to twenty hours. At the Eskimo settlement, a few miles to the eastward of Cape York the settlement commonly known as that of Cape Yorkwe obtained the first in- formation regarding the Peary party. A shaggily bearded Eskimo, one of the tallest and most stalwart of the tribe of so-called Arctic Highlanders,* measur- ing not less than five feet nine inches in height, had passed some part of the winter about the Peary igdloo on McCormick Bay, and consequently could state something from personal knowledge. Our extremely limited ac- quaintance with the Eskimo tongue, combined with the difficulty with which our interpreter grasped the sense of the northern dialect, made progress in a mutual comprehension slow and wearisome; but enough was made clear that at last accounts, extending back to a period of some four or five months, * See The Arctic Highlander, by Benjamin Sharp, Ph.D., in SCRIBNEBS MAGAZINE for February, 1892. the members of the partyall of whom were indicated by namewere doing welL A rude drawing, representing with fair precision the geographical con- tours of the region, showed that they were at that time still on McCormick Bay, and provided with both boats and sledges. Coupled with this informa- tion we were made to understand, as, indeed, we had already known previous to our departurethat one of the ves- sels of the Melville Bay whaling fleet had been crushed in the ice. The arrival of the Kite at this first outpost of the northern Eskimos was the signal for much quiet happiness on the part of the natives. Scarcely had the vessel made fast to a cake of ice before she was boarded by the happy peoplemen, women, and children who, true to the instincts of an honest nature, required no invitation to bid them welcome. They stayed until they had satisfied every curiosity, or until the steam whistle announced the pro- spective departure of the Oomeak- shuathe big womans boat, as the natives style every large vessel Among the visitors I recognized a number of familiar faces, but the majority of my associates of last year seemed to be ab- sent. A limping old man who had been known to Hayes was dead, and other members of the tribe had departed. A special purpose in calling at the settlement of Cape York, or Ignamine, was the distribution among the natives of gifts of charity which had been gen- erously contributed by citizens of Phil- adelphia and Westchester. Boards cut to the length of sledges~ strips for ka- yak frames, hardware, and utensils of various kinds, cooking implements, etc., were a part of the bountiful cargo that was to give joy and wealth to a rugged people a people to whom a barrel stave or a needle was an almost price- less treasure. Words fail to describe the scene of animation which marked the bestowal of the awards. There were no rude attempts to obtain pos- session of any special article, no bois- terous demonstrations of superiority; each man or woman received his or her gifts with a dignity and calm compos- ure which were truly remarkable, in view of the wealth which the presents 41 I 4 ( ,2 . THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. 15 conveyed. Their expression of ex- treme delight was told in the few sylla- bles Na, na, na, nay. After a delay of a few hours, neces- sitated in part by the fog, the Kite pushed into the North Water, where no floes or pack-ice were encountered. Passing Conical Rock at midnight, the expedition steamed to Wolstenholme Island, on the western spur of which it had been prearranged that records should be left by Mr. Peary, in the event of a forced early retreat, but no cairn was discovered. My own advice of the prospective Relief Expedition, which had been deposited on the same island nearly six weeks earlier (June 13th), by Captain Phillips, of the whaler Esquimaux, was picked up by my men and found to be undisturbed. The party of exploration had manifestly not yet passed to the south. Shortly after 5 A.M. (of the 23d), the Kite shaped her course to Whale Sound, and early in the evening of the same day, after dis- charging a second cargo of charities to the Eskimos of Barden Bay, made the passage between Northumberland and Herbert Islands. Throughout the greater part of the day there prevailed a balmy and spring - like temperature which was in striking harmony with the warm, sunlit effects which the land- scape everywhere presented. We were less than nine hundred miles from the Pole, yet the thermometer could not be coaxed down even to the freezing-point; in the sun the mercury rose rapidly to near the 600 line. Thousands of ice fragments, thrown out by one of the arms of the great Tyndall Glacier, covered the silvered surface of the sea; while off in the distance swung out in majestic line the flotilla of bergs to which the giant glaciers of Inglefleld Gulf have given birth. Murchison Sound was reached at ten oclock, and only ten miles now intervened between our ship and the spot where, a year be- fore, the West Greenland party saw fashioned the wooden shelter which was to give lodgement to the brave seven who composed the Peary party. Expectancy is now at full height, and from every point of vantage on the ves- sel comes the desire to possess the eyes that see the first and farthest. The bow, the rigging, the bridge, and crows nest, are all in active competition, but the award of victory is to be withheld for some time as yet. McCormick Bay opens up broadly to the east, its mov- ing ice-field joining with the endless fleet of bergs which are slowly coursing to the open sea. Five miles more are covered, and the Kite plunges into the soft pack, but no sign of human life or habitation is as yet apparent. Through the clear night air is sent the boom of the ships cannon, but only reverbera- tions from the barren crags answer. Save the occasional crackling of a feeble iceberg, and the noise of the ships ma- chinery, all is as quiet as the grave. A second discharge follows, accompanied by the shrill tones of the steam-whistle, but still no answer. The red cliffs of Cape Tong-eh. Sketched from life at McCormick Bay, August 18, 1892. Cleveland are now near to us, and the range of vision, except for an intercept- ing berg, covers the site which we know to be that of the Peary igdloo. Pres- ently from far aloft comes the welcome: They are answering us with a gun. No sound was audible, but the keen eye of Second Mate Dunphy had de- tected smoke. Three long shrieks from our siren, as a token of welcome, and the pennant swings to the breeze. When the ships thunder once more broke the ominous silence a small speck appeared upon the waters sur- face. They are coming to meet us in 16 THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. a boat, came the cry from aloft, and the field - glass confirmed the observation from the crows nest. In the nearing boat were Verhoeff, Cook, and Gibson, who had come with Eskimo friends to greet the strange apparitions from the South. A half hour before the midnight hour they boarded our vessel, and we obtained from them the happy tidings that everything was welL Lieutenant Peary, who had entirely recovered from the accident of last summer, was, at the time of the arrival of the Kite, with young Astrup, traversing the vast wil- derness of the inland ice, while the he- roic wife of the commander, with Mat- thew Henson, was encamped at the head of the bay, some fifteen miles dis- tant, awaiting the return of the ex- plorers. The members of the Peary party who had come out to meet us showed no signs of a struggle with a hard winter. Their bronzed faces spoke more for a perpetual tropical sunlight than for a sunless Arctic night, the memories of which had long since vanished as a factor in their present existence. No serious illness of any kind had invaded the household during a twelve months absence from civilization. The expe- dition quarters presented a very dif- ferent appearance from what they did a year before when the Kite steamed out from McCormick Bay. The dimin- utive two-roomed house, which then stood solitary and uninviting in its own field of scattered mountain - pink and poppy, roofless to the elements and unprotected from the blasts which were hurled against the sides of board and tar-paper, was now the focus of a busy world that had congregated about. A colony of Eskimos, whose members had been gathered in from various settlements along the coast, had estab- lished themselves on the same free soil of nature, eager to reap the benefits which a contact with civilization might bring, and ever ready to give a helping hand to those whom they now recog- nized as superiors. The twenty or more natives were lodged in five tupics, or skin summer tents, about which were gathered a variety of paraphernalia necessary to the Eskimo household and an amount of odor which only weeksmore likely monthsof abra- sion and ablution could efface. If clean- liness was not a virtue with these peo- ple, their honesty, cheerfulness, and good-will made amends for the lack of a quality which a defective vision has as- signed to be the first attribute of God- liness. The majority of the men and women were of low stature, the tallest of the latter, fat Itushakshui, the moth- er of an exceedingly winsome young bride of thirteen, Tongwingwa, meas- uring only 4 feet 8 inches. Mgipsu, the shortest of the mothers, measured only 4 feet 4 inches. The men are, with few exceptions, taller than the women, but even among them a stature exceed- ing five feet is a rarity rather than the reverse, although such exceptional cases are less rare among the people of the region about Cape York than further northward. The moment that the Kite appeared in McCormick Bay the natives recog- nized that a circus had come to town. A few of them had seen the vessel, or one similar to it, before, but to the majority the Oomeakhshua was an un- imaginable novelty. At all hours of night and day, when a transfer could readily be made from the shore, men, women, and children would gather to her sides, eager to obtain mementos of our journey in the shape of biscuits, soup, or thimbles. The deck and cab- ins underwent a daily inspection, as did also the forecastle and every other available spot of interest which the ship offered. These visits to us ultimately became a source of some annoyance, since they interfered largely with the workthe making of skin boots and clothing, fashioning of sledges and ka- yaks, etc. which had been laid out for them by the Peary party. So long as the vessel was in sight and approach- able, it formed the uppermost thought in their minds, more especially of the women. Stitching seal - boots, or ka- miks, or chewing hides to render them pliable, was of little moment so long as good - hearted Captain Pike gave them welcome with him, and dealt out rations of bread and biscuit. On two occasions we were favored with a song and dance, the instrumental accom- paniment being given on a stretched DRAWN NY F. W. STOKES. The Approach to McCormick Bay, July 23 1892First Sight of P arya Party 7 18 THE PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION. drum - like ~,de, the frame of which was beat tO(a three-time with a splint- er of ivor~ The most popular mel- ody the one which is supposed to have C rative powers when sung by the angekoks or wise men of the set- ment consisted of a succession yah, yah, yahs, and scarcely anything more, which fell in rhythmic cadence from a high crescendo to a tremulous under - note, suggestive of almost any / range of possibilities. Almost immediately after our arrival a message was sent up by special Es- kimo express to Mrs. Peary, informing her of our coming, and in a few short hours a welcome greeting was returned to the relief party. I visited her camp on the following day (25th). The bay was still largely closed with ice, and the upper part was accessible only by way of the long shore line, on which a lingering ice - foot had set its heavy masses of frozen sea. Just outside the tent, in the midst of a mosquito-tract which, for the quality and quantity of its musical tenants, could readily vie with the more favored spots of the tropics, I met the brave woman who was the first of her sex to dare the ter- rors of the North Arctic winter. She had come to meet me and pressed a cordial invitation to follow to her cosey shelter. The little white tent, whose only furniture consisted of two sleep- ing-bags of reindeer-fur, stood on a patch of meadow-land facing the bay and across it the bold granite bluffs which to the outer world marked the last traces of the departed explorers, and over whose nearly vertical walls ~it was hoped that fortune would favor an early return. A range of steep heights, over whose declivities a number of gla- ciers protruded their arms caterpillar- like in the direction of the sea, formed the desolate background. Eastward the eye gazed upon the interminable ice-cap, with its long sweep of gentle swells and undulationsa land lost between the sky and the earth; west- ward it fell upon the broad expanse of the bay whose half-congealed surface passed hazily to the distant sea beyond. This was the picture of the spot where Mrs. Peary, almost alone among the few wild flowers by which she was sur rounded, had passed full nine days with but a single companion to help relieve the dreary and anxious hours of wait- ing. The experiences of a year had told lightly on her, and there was noth- ing to indicate regret for a venture which no woman had heretofore braved and which only noble devotion had dic- tated. Recognizing, with the late day of his departure from McCormick Bay (May 1st), that Mr. Peary could not readily re- turn from his hazardous journey before the first week of August, and that no purpose would be subserved by the relief party remaining at their present quar- ters until that time, I ordered out the Kite on the following morning to pro- ceed to Smith Sound, hoping that a fortunate combination of circumstances might permit us to make a traverse of the front of the great Humboldt Gla- cier. In this hope, however, we were destined to be disappointed. No more delightful weather could have been conceived than that which marked the day of our departure northward. A flood of light poured over the landscape, illumining it with a radiance which only the snows and ice of the far north or of Alpine summits can reflect. Scarcely a breath of air disturbed the hundreds of bergs and berglets which floated lazily by, impelled by the gentle cur- rent of the deep blue sea, and barely a ripple, save where the little auk had congregated in hundreds to disport awhile in the warm sunshine, broke the surface of the mirror into whose inner depths we cast our images. Fifty miles northward the headland of Cape Alex- ander stood out with a boldness that was almost startling in its effects, while beyond it a few minor heights marked the passage into that forbidding tract of sea and ice from which so many brave hearts have never returned. Be- fore we had reached Littleton Island the ominous ice-blink only too plainly told us that ice was ahead; Smith Sound was closed from Greenland to the American side. At midnight we were brought up by the pack ; Cape Sabine, memorable in the annals of Arctic discovery as the scene of disaster and of heroic rescue, was to our left, and Rensselaer Harbor, equally memo- THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. 19 rable as the winter quarters of the Ad- vance of Kaue, a few miles to the east- ward. The ice was somewhat heavier than the pack of Melville Bay, in which we were imprisoned the summer previous, but it yet bore the same quiet and tranquil air, wholly unsuggestive of power-possession. The hummocky sheets, measuring from six to ten feet in thickness, and showing but a single lead in their midst, had manifestly not yet begun to break for the season, and therefore all efforts to reach the glacier at this time must be fruitless. Al- though nine years had elapsed since the crushing of the Proteus, the ex- periences of that desolate July 23d were still too vivid in the mind of our captain to permit of any risks being taken on this occasion. \~Tith his back turned to the snow-clad slopes of Cape Sabine, and gazing upon the uncovered and to him less reminiscent heights of ___ the Greenland coast, he announced that we had reached the journeys end. The Humboldt Glacier was invisible, al- though farther off to the northward, the prominences of Capes Hawkes and Louis Napoleon, and possibly also that of Cape Imperial, carried the eye quite to the border line of, or even beyond, the eightieth paralleL The front ice of the Smith Sound pack is the home of the walrus. Hun- dreds of these animals were disport- ing themselves in the silent hours of a sunlit midnight ; here a few gathered on tablets of floating ice, others leisure- ly paddling about with an abandon truly majestic. Their frolics immediately called to mind the gambols of pups and kittens. No animal, probably, save the Bengal tiger, offers the same amount of sport to the huntsman as does this king of the northern waters. Every attack resulting in a wounded animal can be safely relied upon for a counter- attack, which is prosecuted with an audacity no less remarkable than the energy with which it is sustained. A wounded walrus will not infrequently call for assistance to a number of its associates, and woe be then to the huntsman if, in the general struggle, one of the infuriated animals should place its tusks on the inner side of the little craft that has gone out to do bat- tle. The Verhoeff Glacierwhere the last traces of Mr. Verhoeff, the Mineralogist, were fssnd. DRAWN BY F. W. a ur.aa. ENGRAVED BY PECKWELL. The Meeting of Mr. Peary and the Relief Expedition on the Ice-cap, August 5, 1892 at 11.30 p.m. r THE PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION. 21 The largest specimen secured by us measured, from the tip of the nose to the extended hind flippers, somewhat more than thirteen feet (to the extrem- ity of the spinal column, eleven feet four inches); its weight was estimated to be between fifteen hundred and two thousand pounds, but not impossibly it was considerably more. In our return southward to McCor- mick Bay, which began shortly before five oclock of the morning of July 27th, explorations were extended into Port Foulke and Sonntag Bay, where were located the tribes of the Etah and Sor- falik Eskimo, the most northerly of the inhabitants of the globe. Only empty huts, five or six at each locality, a few grave heaps, and distributed rubbish of one kind or another, now indicated a former possession of the land; adverse conditions of the chase had driven away the inhabitants, who had departed south to add their little mite to the colonists of the Whale Sound region. The last of the Etahs had joined the cantonment about the Peary igdloo. That the re- gion of Port Foulke had only recently been abandoned was proved by the gen- erally good state of preservation of the stone huts, not less than by the newly arranged fox-traps that were outlying. A return of the departed could proba- bly be expected in a more propitious year. In Sountag Bay an effort was made to ascertain the possibilities of some of the large glaciers as a means of communication with the upper ice or ice- cap. The fact that in many of these north- ern ice-streams crevasses were largely or almost entirely wanting, or were so completely closed as to show but mere rifts on the surface, seemed to indicate that a direct highway of travel, acces- sible alike to sledge and man, could be found on the moving ice. A first at- tempt on a northeast glacier, with a sledge loaded to about two hundred pounds, proved abortive; the high ter- minal wall and abrupt lateral slopes, while they offered no serious hindrance o man in the capacity of a pedestrian, blocked the approach of the toboggan, as would, indeed, have also done the numerous crevasses which cut across the ice in its lower border. A second attempt, made on the huge glacier dis- VOL. XIII.4 charging into the eastern extremity of the bay, proved more successful. As- cending over the feebly depressed lat- eral moraine of the left side, no diffi- culty was encountered in transferring our impedimenta to the surface of the glacier, which was practically solid, and almost without rift for miles from its termination. The even crust of the ice, which at the early hour of twelve had barely begun to yield to the softening influences of a midnight sun, offered little obstacle to the traction of our sledge, and before five hours had passed, we had planted our stakes in the n6v6 basin, 2,050 feet above the sea. A por- tion of the immediate ice-cap was below us, some of it eighty or a hundred feet higher up; the feasibility of the passage had been demonstrated. Later experiences on some of the more southerly and still more gigantic glaciers only further demonstrated the accessibility of the ice-cap along a route of travel where the gradient was scarce- ly ten degrees, and in many parts con- siderably less. Indeed, the slope of many of the northern glaciers for miles does not exceed three to five degrees. We arrived at our old quarters in Mc- Cormick Bay in the evening of the 29th. The balmy weather that had thus far accompanied us still gave the sensation of spring, but an impending change was perceptible. The last two or three evenings had grown measurably cooler, and the drooping sun indicated a draw- ing approach to cold weather and win- try nights. Anticipating a probable return of Mr. Peary toward the close of the first week in August, the Kite, with Mrs. Peary and Matthew Henson added to my party, steamed on the 4th to the head of the bay, and there dropped anchor. On the following day a rec- onnaissance of the inland ice, with a view of locating signal posts to the re- turning explorers was made by the me~n- bers of the expedition. A tedious half- hours march over boggy and bowldery talus brought us to the base of the cliffs, at an elevation of three hundred and fifty to four hundred feet, where the true ascent was to begin. The line of march is up a precipitous water- channel, everywhere encompassed by bowlders, on which, despite its steep- 22 THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. ness, progress is rapid. The virtual crest is reached about six hundred and fifty feet higher, and then the gradual uprise of the stream - valley begins. Endless rocks, rounded and angular the accumulation of former ground and lateral morainesspread out as a vast wilderness, rising to the ice-cap in su- perimposed benches or terraces. At an elevation slightly exceeding eighteen hundred feet we reach the first tongue of the ice. Rounding a few outlying nunataks uncovered hills of rock and bowlderswe bear east of north- east, heading as nearly as possible in the direction from which, so far as the lay of the land would permit us to de- termine, the return would most likely be made. The ice-cap swells up high- er and higher in gentle rolls ahead of us, and with every advance to a colder zone it would seem that the walking, or rather wading, becomes more and more difficult. One by one we plunge through the yielding mass, gasping for breath, and frequently only with difficulty ex- tricating ourselves. The hard crust of winter had completely disappeared, and not even the comparatively cool sun of midnight was sufficient to bring about a degree of compactness adequate to sustain the weight of the human body. At times almost every step buried the members of the party up to the knee or waist, and occasionally even a plunge to the armpits was indulged in by the less fortunate, to whom perhaps a super- fluity of avoirdupois was now for the first time brought home as a lesson of regret. We have attained an elevation of 2,200 feet; at 4 P.M. the barometer registers 2,800 feet. The landscape of McCormick Bay has faded entirely out of sight; ahead of us is the grand and melancholy snow waste of the interior of Greenland. No grander representa- tion of natures quiet mood could be had than this picture of the endless sea of ice a picture of lonely desola- tion not matched in any other part of the earths surface. A series of gentle rises carries the eye far into the inte- rior, until in the dim distance, possibly three-quarters of a mile or a full mile above sea-level, it no longer distin- guishes between the chalky sky and the gray-white mantle which locks in with it. No lofty mountain-peak rises out of the general surface, and but few deep valleys or gorges bight into it ; but roll follows roll in gentle sequence, and in such a way as to annihilate all concep- tions of space and distance. This is the aspect of the great ice-blink. It is not the picture of a wild and tem- pestuous nature, forbidding in all its details, but of a peaceful and long-con- tinued slumber. At 5.45 P.M., when we took a first luncheon, the thermometer registered 42~ F.; the atmosphere was quiet and clear as a bell, although below us, west- ward to the islands guarding the en- trance to Murchison Sound, and east- ward to a blue corner of Inglefield Gulf, the landscape was deeply veiled in mist. Shortly after nine oclock we had reached an elevation of 3,300 feet, and there, at a distance of about eight miles from the border of the ice - cap, we planted our first staff a lash of two poles, rising about twelve feet and surmounted by cross-pieces and a red handkerchief. One of the cross-pieces read as follows: To head of McCor- mick BayKite in portAugust 5, 1892. A position for a second staff was se- lected on an ice - dome about two and a half miles from the present one, probably a few hundred feet higher, and commanding a seemingly uninter- rupted view to all points of the com- pass. Solicitous over the condition of the feet of some of my associates, I ordered a division of the party, with a view of sparing unnecessary fatigue and the discomfort which further pre- cipitation into the soft snow entailed. Mr. Bryant, in command of an advanced section, was entrusted with the placing of the second staff, while the remaining members of the party were to effect a slow retreat, and await on dry ground the return of the entire expeditiou. Scarcely had the separation been ar- ranged before a shout burst upon the approaching midnight hour which made everybodys heart throb to its fullest. Far off to the northeastward, over pre- cisely the spot that had been selected for the placing of the second staff, Entrikins clear vision had detected a black speck that was foreign to the 4 THE PEARY RELIEF EXPEDITION. 23 Greenland ice. There was no need to conjecture what it meant: It is a man; it is moving, broke out almost simul- taneously from several lips, and it was immediately realized that the explorers of whom we were in quest were return- ing victoriously homeward. An instant later a second speck joined the first, and then a long black object, easily resolved by my field - glass into a sledge with dogs in harness, completed the strange vision of life upon the Greenland ice. Cheers and hurrahs followed in rapid successionthe first that had ever been given in a solitude whose silence, before that memorable summer, had never been broken by the voice of man. The distance was as yet too great for the sound to be conveyed to the ap- proaching wanderers, but the relief party had already been detected, and their friends hastened to extend to them a hearty welcome. Like a verit- able giant, clad in a suit of deer and dog skin, and gracefully poised on Canadian snow-shoes, the conqueror from the far north plunged down the mountain slope. Behind him followed his faithful companion, young Astrup, barely more than a lad, yet a tower of strength and endurance; he was true to the traditions of his race and of his earlier conquests in the use of the Nor- wegian snow-skate or ski. With him were the five surviving Eskimo dogs, seemingly as healthy and powerful as on the day of their departure. In less than an hour after Lieuten- ant Peary was first sighted, and still be- fore the passage of the midnight hour of that memorable August 5th, cul- minated t1.~at incident on the inland ice which was the event of a lifetime. Words cannot describe the sensations of the moment which bore the joy of the first salutation. Mr. Peary extended a warm welcome to each member of my party, and received in return hearty congratulations upon the successful termination of his journey. Neither of the travellers looked the worse for their three months toil in the interior, and both, with characteristic modesty, disclaimed having overcome more than ordinary hardships. Fatigue seemed to be entirely out of the question, and both Mr. Peary and Mr. Astrup bore the appearance of being as fresh and vigorous as though they had but just entered upon their great journey. After a brief recital of personal ex- periences, and the interchange of Amer- ican and Greenland news, the mem- bers of the combined expedition turned seaward, and thus terminated a most dramatic incident. A more direct meet- ing than this one on the bleak wilder- ness of Greenlands ice-cap could not have been had, even with all the possi- bilities of prearrangement. At 4.30 of the morning of August 6th Mr. Peary met his devoted and coura- geous wife; and on the following day, in the wake of a storm which grounded the good rescue ship and for a time threatened more serious complications, the Kite triumphantly steamed down to the Peary winter quarters at the Redeliffe House. The results of the Peary expedition justify all the anticipations that had been pinned to it. Apart from its worth in determining the insularity of Greenlandthereby setting at rest a question which had disturbed the minds of geographers and statesmen for a period of three centuries, or since the days of Lord Burleighit has forever removed that tract from a consideration of complicity in the main workings of the Great Ice Age. The inland ice-cap, which by many has been looked upon as the lingering ice of the Glacial Peri- od, stretching far into the realm of the Pole itself, has been found to terminate throughout its entire extent at approx- imately the eighty-second parallel; be- yond this line follows a region of past glaciationuncovered to-day, and sup- porting an abundance of plant and ani- mal life not different from that of the more favored regions southward. Over this tract has manifestly been effected that migration of organic forms from the west and to the west which has as- similated the faunas and fioras of east- ern Greenland with those of other re- gions; indeed, mans own migrations are probably bound up with this north- ern tract. Significant, too, is the dis- covery of giant glaciers passing north- ward from the inland ice-cap, and dis- charging their icebergs into the frozen sea beyond. The largest of these, named 24 THE PEAR Y RELIEF EXPEDITION. the Academy Glacier, and measuring from fifteen to twenty miles in width, empties on the northeast coast into In- dependence Bay, under the eighty-sec- ond parallel. Shortly after the return from the in- teriois of the exploring party, and pend- ing preparations for the final departure southward, happened that one incident to the expedition which in any way marred the brilliancy of its exploits. It was at this time that Mr. Verhoeff, the meteorologist and mineralogist of the North Greenland party, undertook that last search after rock - specimens from which he never again returned to meet his associates. He was last seen on the morning of August 11th, when he stated his intention of visiting the Eskimo settlement of Kukan, across the northern wall of McCormick Bay, and a mineral locality well known to him. Failing to appear at an early day, fears were entertained for his safety, and a systematic and scattered search was im- mediately instituted by our combined parties, assisted by nine specially se- lected Eskimos and several members of the ships crew. The search was ex- tended almost unremittingly through- out seven days and nights, over moun- tain, ice, and glacier, and with a thor- oughness that left no large area of accessible country uncovered. Final traces of the missing man, consisting of partially obliterated footprints, a few rock fragments placed on a bowlder, and bits of paper from a meat-tin la- bel, were discovered on the lateral ice adjoining a huge and largely rifted glacier, which discharges into the east- ern extremity of the first indentation north of McCormick Bay. All indica- tions pointed to an attempted passage of this ice sheet. A thorough survey of the glacier and of the approaches to it was made during three days, but on- ly with a negative result. While eas ily traversed in its upper course, the lower portion of the ice-sheet presented an impassable barrier of crevasses and hummocks, studded with treacherous snow-bridges and deep holes, and it is all but certain that the unfortunate man met his fate here.* Under this conviction, and recognizing the futility of further search, the expedition regret- fully returned to McCormick Bay, on the northwestern promontory of which (known as Cape Robertson), on Cairn Point, a cache of provisions was left by Lieutenant Peary. The final departure from McCormick Bay took place on the day following the return from the search (the 24th). At 2.20 P.M. a parting salute was blown, and the Oomeakshua, whose presence had given so much joy to the rude children of the North, turned her nose homeward. Much ice, as a result of continuous south and southwest winds, had driven into the North Water and choked the shore passage of Melville Bay, but groping out in the direction of the middle sea we found our exit, and, early in the morning of the 30th, reached the first outpost of civilization, Godhavn. Without special incident, be- yond the official courtesies which the ex- pedition received at the capitals of the two Inspectorates of Greenland, God- havn, and Godthaab, and which must forever remain among our pleasura- ble reminiscences, the voyage was con- tinued to the port of destination of the Kite, St. Johns, and thence to Phila- delphia. The debarkation at the lat- ter port was made between ten and eleven oclock on the morning of Sep- tember 23d. The mission of the Relief Expedition had been accomplished. * It is but proper to state here that a sister and uncle (the Rev. Mr. Keigwin) of Mr. Verhoeff believe the miss- ing man to be still alive, and that he designedly sepa- rated himself from the expedition through a fondness for the life that he had been leading, and f6r the purpose of making a record. No one wishes more heartily that this may be the fact than the writer of this article. w SONNETS AFTER THE ITALIAN. By John Hall Ingham. I. ALL loveliest light that wraps the wold in dreams, And haunts the shadowy deeps of moonlit skies, And trembles through the mist of mountain streams,. Floats on her hair and softens in her eyes. All sweetest sound in leafy knoll or nook Of swaying bough and ecstasy of bird And mossy murmurings of the hidden brook, Is in her voice yet more melodious heard. Nature in her doth hold high carnival, Where fair things still a fairer guise employ; There beauty hath no blen4ish, bliss no pall, Sunshine no shadow, sainthood no alloy. So blest is Paradise, so sad a fate To wander ever onwithout the gate! Ii o Love, Love, Love! What else is there in life That is immortal? War and hatred cease, The sheath outlives the sword: the day of strife Is prelude to the centuries of peace. The night is but the shadow of the sun The evil, of the good. The atoms yearn Each to the othereven as I turn To thee, the type of all, yet being one. As the poor peasant in the wayside shrine Sees the Great Sacrifice, so I divine The passion of the universe in thee. What do I say? How signifies to me This world of God and men (nay, do not start !), So thou but rest thy head upon my heart?

John Hall Ingham Ingham, John Hall Sonnets After The Italian 25-26

SONNETS AFTER THE ITALIAN. By John Hall Ingham. I. ALL loveliest light that wraps the wold in dreams, And haunts the shadowy deeps of moonlit skies, And trembles through the mist of mountain streams,. Floats on her hair and softens in her eyes. All sweetest sound in leafy knoll or nook Of swaying bough and ecstasy of bird And mossy murmurings of the hidden brook, Is in her voice yet more melodious heard. Nature in her doth hold high carnival, Where fair things still a fairer guise employ; There beauty hath no blen4ish, bliss no pall, Sunshine no shadow, sainthood no alloy. So blest is Paradise, so sad a fate To wander ever onwithout the gate! Ii o Love, Love, Love! What else is there in life That is immortal? War and hatred cease, The sheath outlives the sword: the day of strife Is prelude to the centuries of peace. The night is but the shadow of the sun The evil, of the good. The atoms yearn Each to the othereven as I turn To thee, the type of all, yet being one. As the poor peasant in the wayside shrine Sees the Great Sacrifice, so I divine The passion of the universe in thee. What do I say? How signifies to me This world of God and men (nay, do not start !), So thou but rest thy head upon my heart? PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. By the Marquis de Chambrun. [THE late Marquis de Chambrun (Charles Adoiphe Pineton) was born at the Chateau de CarrR~re, near Marve- jols, France, on August 10, 1831. He was a graduate of the i~cole des Chartes and of the law faculty of Paris. Though a liberal, he was, from family traditions, attached to the legitimist branch of the royalist party that centred around the Comte de Chambord. Under the empire, to which he was opposed, he left France and came over to the United States early in 1865, where he became an intimate friend of Charles Sumner, to whom his friend- ship for Alexis de Tocqueville was known. He accompanied President Lincoln on his journey to City Point and Petersburg. The following article was written in French shortly after Mr. Lincolns death and remained among the Marquiss papers, where it was found at his death, which occurred in September, 1891.] It was toward the close of February, 1865, at one of the weekly receptions at the White House, that I was first pre- sented to Mr. Lincoln. Entering the drawing-room, I found him standing. As the crowd was great, each entering visitor was made to pass quickly before him. When my turn came, I briefly expressed the interest I took in the Northern victories. I added that, so far as I could judge, they concerned in the highest degree all nations who en- joyed liberty, or who aspired to possess it. He seemed grateful for this cordial adhesion which I gave to his views, and answered that he was particularly happy to hear them expressed by a French- man. These were the only words we exchanged on that day. From this first interview I could naturally only bring home a very superficial impression of the man I had thus seen. On March 4th, the day appointed for Mr. Lincolns second inauguration, I was able to observe him more closely. This inauguration was to take place under memorable circumstances. By Mr. Lincolns re-election the American people had clearly signified its political intentions: the war was to be carried on to ultimate success and slavery to be abolished. Such were the solemn and decisive utterances of the national will, and it had endowed the Union armies with a new and irresistible im- petus. As the Vice-president is by right President of the Senate, it is by his admission to office that the inaugura- tion solemnities begin. Vice-president Johnson was still speaking when Mr. Lincoln entered the Senate chamber. He crossed it slowly and took his seat at the foot of the Presidents chair. From his seat he faced the assembly. Hardly had he seated himself, when I saw him close his eyes and abstract himself completely, as though absorbed in deep meditation. Far from seeking the glances of those who sought his own, he seemed suddenly to become sad. When the Vice-president had been duly sworn into office, the procession marched onward, the President heading it, escorted by those appointed to in- troduce him to the people. Following came Chief Justice Chase, who also, ac- cording to custom, was to administer the oath of office. Then, regardless of order or precedence, followed Senators, Congressmen, and a few invited guests. When we had crossed the rotunda, the President advanced upon the platform amid enthusiastic applause. A scene indeed new to us, and momentous to America, was then before us. At the horizon of that applauding multitude were arrayed those battal- ions which Grant had summoned for the campaign about to open, and among them several negro companies. Be- tween these lines of men and the col- amns which upheld the platform, the eye met a compact mass, the aspect of which was rough and energetic; in its midst stood a multitude of negroes but w

The Marquis De Chambrun De Chambrun, The Marquis Personal Recollections Of Mr. Lincoln 26-39

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. By the Marquis de Chambrun. [THE late Marquis de Chambrun (Charles Adoiphe Pineton) was born at the Chateau de CarrR~re, near Marve- jols, France, on August 10, 1831. He was a graduate of the i~cole des Chartes and of the law faculty of Paris. Though a liberal, he was, from family traditions, attached to the legitimist branch of the royalist party that centred around the Comte de Chambord. Under the empire, to which he was opposed, he left France and came over to the United States early in 1865, where he became an intimate friend of Charles Sumner, to whom his friend- ship for Alexis de Tocqueville was known. He accompanied President Lincoln on his journey to City Point and Petersburg. The following article was written in French shortly after Mr. Lincolns death and remained among the Marquiss papers, where it was found at his death, which occurred in September, 1891.] It was toward the close of February, 1865, at one of the weekly receptions at the White House, that I was first pre- sented to Mr. Lincoln. Entering the drawing-room, I found him standing. As the crowd was great, each entering visitor was made to pass quickly before him. When my turn came, I briefly expressed the interest I took in the Northern victories. I added that, so far as I could judge, they concerned in the highest degree all nations who en- joyed liberty, or who aspired to possess it. He seemed grateful for this cordial adhesion which I gave to his views, and answered that he was particularly happy to hear them expressed by a French- man. These were the only words we exchanged on that day. From this first interview I could naturally only bring home a very superficial impression of the man I had thus seen. On March 4th, the day appointed for Mr. Lincolns second inauguration, I was able to observe him more closely. This inauguration was to take place under memorable circumstances. By Mr. Lincolns re-election the American people had clearly signified its political intentions: the war was to be carried on to ultimate success and slavery to be abolished. Such were the solemn and decisive utterances of the national will, and it had endowed the Union armies with a new and irresistible im- petus. As the Vice-president is by right President of the Senate, it is by his admission to office that the inaugura- tion solemnities begin. Vice-president Johnson was still speaking when Mr. Lincoln entered the Senate chamber. He crossed it slowly and took his seat at the foot of the Presidents chair. From his seat he faced the assembly. Hardly had he seated himself, when I saw him close his eyes and abstract himself completely, as though absorbed in deep meditation. Far from seeking the glances of those who sought his own, he seemed suddenly to become sad. When the Vice-president had been duly sworn into office, the procession marched onward, the President heading it, escorted by those appointed to in- troduce him to the people. Following came Chief Justice Chase, who also, ac- cording to custom, was to administer the oath of office. Then, regardless of order or precedence, followed Senators, Congressmen, and a few invited guests. When we had crossed the rotunda, the President advanced upon the platform amid enthusiastic applause. A scene indeed new to us, and momentous to America, was then before us. At the horizon of that applauding multitude were arrayed those battal- ions which Grant had summoned for the campaign about to open, and among them several negro companies. Be- tween these lines of men and the col- amns which upheld the platform, the eye met a compact mass, the aspect of which was rough and energetic; in its midst stood a multitude of negroes but w PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. 27 yesterday freed, and for the first time admitted to take part in a national so- lemnity. When the hurrahs had ceased, Mr. Lincoln began reading his address, and hardly had he read its first sentence, when none could question its immense success. The utterance, in almost a religious manner, of his thought, seemed to speak out the very sentiments of all his lis- teners, and the condemnation of slavery which he was pronouncing, intermixed here and there with biblical quotations, seemed tinged with something of the eloquence of the prophets. Fondly do we hope, he concluded, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until the wealth piled by the bondmans two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and that every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous alto- gether. With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see~the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nations wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and his orphanto do all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.~~ As Mr. Lincoln was thus invoking the aid of the Almighty on behalf of the holy cause he was defending, little did he know how near his eloquent prayer was to being granted. On or about March 20th, General Grant had completed the concentra- tion of his forces; at that moment the Army of the Potomac presented a new aspect; many unmistakable signs indi- cated that the final struggle was about to begin. Mr. Lincoln started for the head- quarters, which were at City Point. He had deemed his presence there neces- sary, in view of hastening the last ar- rangements, of being in personal read- mess should any propositions come from Richmond, or of conveying his own political instructions to the Lieu- tenant-General On the 25th, or about, the army began its march forward. It was at City Point, on Wednesday, April 6th, that a small party of invit- ed guests, which comprised members of the Cabinet and distinguished Sena- tors, and in which Mrs. Lincoln had been kind enough to include me, came to join the President. We found him established on board the River Queen. He led us at once to the drawing- room of that handsome boat. Curious- ly enough, it was in that very drawing- room, two months previous, that there had taken place, between Stephens, Hunter, and Campbell, delegates from the Richmond government, on the one hand, and Messrs. Lincoln and Seward, on the other, the conference called that of Hampton Roads. Mr. Lincoln showed us the place that each delegate had occupied, and spoke a moment about the details of that historic interview, which took place, as he himself told us, unrecorded by any secretary, the five men present not even having with them a pencil or bit of paper to note down what had been said or done. But he remained silent regarding the questions agitated during the confer- ence. One of the few confidants of Mr. Lincolns thoughts, however, added, in- dicating the place occupied by Mr. Campbell at the interview: From there came the only serious proposi- tion. He was alluding to the pro- posed war with Mexico, which the rebel government had submitted, and which Mr. Lincolns political uprightness had made him decline. Drawing then from his pocket a bun- dle of papers, the President read to us the despatches he had just received from General Grant. In the midst of this reading he paused a moment, and went to fetch his maps. He soon re- turned holding them in his hands, ar~d spreading them on a table, he showed us the place of each army corps, in- dicating further the exact spot where, according to General Grants precise messages, it was certain that the rebels would lay down their arms. 28 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. It seemed evident that his mind was satisfied and at rest; but in spite of the manifest success of his policy it was im- possible to detect in him the slightest feeling of pride, much less of vanity. He spoke with the modest accent of a man who realizes that success has crowned his persistent efforts, and who finds in that very success the end of a terrible responsibility. He had visited Richmond, he said to us; the reception given him there did not seem to be of good omen; his only preoccupation ap- peared to be the necessity of wiping out the consequences of the civil war, and to drive the war itself from the memory of all, nay, even of its criminal instiga- tors; far then, from feeling any resent- ment against the vanquished, he was rather inclined to place too much con- fidence in them. After having thus explained to us the state of affairs, which seemed so sat- isfactory, Mr. Lincoln left us and went ashore to the headquarters. He was obliged, he told us, to draw up instruc- tions for the Lieutenant-General We then spent the entire forenoon visiting the Federal encampments. City Point two years before was still an ordinary farm; but Nature seemed to have destined that lonely spot for the great events, the theatre of which it was to be. And, as a matter of fact, it is precisely at that point that the Appomattox River, which flows from Petersburg, an.d the James, that sweeps by Richmond, unite. These two streams outline the natural limits of this geo- metrically designed area. It is a great triangle, of which Petersburg and Rich- mond are the basis and City Point the apex. At that point the banks of the James are particularly high. When stragglers leave the beach to ascend the cliffs they are obliged to climb an immense stair- way, at the top of which appears a first cluster of log-houses, forming a rectan- gle. At the centre of these, one some- what higher than the rest attracts the eye. There, were the headquarters. Four tables, a few chairs, charts and maps covering the wooden walls, were all the furniture they possessed. Be- yond this first group of log - houses extends a vast plain bordered at the horizon by long lines of pines. The many trunks of trees, half uprooted, no- ticeable on looking at the plain, attest- ed that a year before welluigh all this cleared space had been woodland. It was in this newly cleared plain that one of the Federal encampments had stood. Each corps, each regiment, was there located on a space of ground systemati- cally assigned to it for camping pur- poses. In each of these spaces long lines of tents and log-huts were seen. Soldiers accustomed to clearing off woodland, as the Federal soldiers of- ten were, had quickly made room for themselves in these woods; they had camped there as though it had been in a far Western forest. When we visited this large encamp- ment, however, it had been vacated. Nearly the entire army was with Gen- eral Grant in pursuit of Lee. We even saw passing before us a number of ne- gro regiments, marching onward to the scene of conflict. These were the last remaining available forces in the camp. General Grant had wired two hours be- fore to direct them toward Burkesville. He needed them there, he said, not for fighting purposes, but to hem in the rebel army, which he was sure to capt- ure entire. As Mr. Lincoln had asked us to ac- company him that day to Petersburg, we went to join him on the banks of the James. A train was in readiness. Strange as it may justly seem, in fact, Petersburg had fallen only six days be- fore into the hands of the Federal forces, and already a railroad connect- ed it with the camp. Our car was an ordinary American car, and we took seats in its centre, grouping ourselves around Mr. Lincoln. In spite of the cars being devoted to Mr. Lincolns special use, several officers also took their places in it without attracting any remark. Curiosity, it seems, also had induced the negro waiters of the River Queen to accompany us. The President, who was blinded by no prej- udices against race or color, and who had not what can be termed false dignity, allowed them to sit quietly with us. For several miles the train followed the outer line of Federal fortifications w PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. 29 which extended at our left; we were a half hour without noticing them; at the end of which time we reached a place known as Fort Steadman; there a battle had been fought less than a fortnight before. General Lee had made desperate efforts to break in the Federal lines at that point; the fight had been bloody, and its result disas- trous for the Confederate army, which had made a disorderly retreat; the ground before us had been strewn with the dead. Since then, however, both armies had buried their dead and car- ried away their wounded. The ground, foot-trodden and here and there broken up by the wheels of artillery wagons, had retained no other traces of a past so recent and so terrible. Farther on we crossed the Confederate lines of de- fence that had protected Petersburg eight days ago; the guns were yet on their mountings, but no human sound troubled any longer that solitude. Soon Petersburg loomed up in the dis- tance. Mr. Lincoln gazed a while on its first houses, which had been partly destroyed by Federal bullets. When we had passed these the train slack- ened its speed; it had been hardly pos- sible to open us a path through this mass of ruins; at our left the depot buildings were torn down, on the right the railroad bridge had been wrenched by the explosion of a mine. It was Lees army, said the President, which, on retiring toward Burkesville, had de- stroyed all lines of communications. Arrived at Petersburg we inspect- ed the town, in which everything be- spoke desolation. All the houses were closed, the shops abandoned or pil- laged; crowds of darkies were in the streets greeting and cheering loudly the author of their independence. Every now and then a white man could be seen hastening to take refuge in some house, in order to escape the sight of his conqueror. Here and there were seen houses burned by the explosion of shells or torn by bullets. The headquarters were located at the w other end of the town; we drove over to them. They occupied a prettyhouse, around which the vegetation of spring was already luxuriantly developing in this Southern climate. While Mr. Lin coin was in conference with the gen- erals commanding the garrison, we visited this house without a master, and its gardens carefully laid out, but now abandoned. I asked one of the officers who escorted us the name of the former occupants of the place; I have now forgotten it. I only remember the following words of his answer: These people were traitors.~~ Soon after we regained our carriages. While we were on the road which was to lead us back to the train, Mr. Lin- coin noticed on the roadside a very tall and beautiful tree. He gave orders to stop the carriage, looked a while at the tree with particular attention, and then applied himself to defining its pe- culiar beauty. He admired the strength of its trunk, the vigorous development of branches, reminding one of the tall trees of Western forests, compared it to the great oaks in the shadow of which he had spent his youth, and strove to make us understand the distinctive character of these differ- ent types. The observations thus set forth were evidently not those of an artist who seeks to idealize nature, but of a man who seeks to see it as it really is; in short, that dissertation about a tree did not reveal an effort of imagi- nation, but a remarkable precision of mind. When the carriage again moved on, the topic of conversation changed, and Mr. Lincoln imparted ~ us the good news which the Federal commanders had given him. Animosity in the town is abating, said he; the inhab- itants now accept accomplished facts, the final downfall of the Confederacy, and the abolition of slavery. There still remains much for us to do, but every day brings new reason for confi- dence in the future. The inspection we made of the hos- pitals, on the afternoon of April 8th, was to show us war scenes under a dif- ferent aspect, and Mr. Lincoln in a light altogether new. In the most sa- lubrious portion of the vast plains where the encampments were located a large area had been reserved for am- bulances. These were organized ac- cording to a plan as simple as it was 30 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. logical Each army corps had its sep- arate ambulance space. This consisted of a large rectangle of ground divid- ed by open corridors placed at equal distances from one another. Between these corridor~ stood a row of tents or of frame huts, each of which was capa- ble of containing about twenty wound- ed. One side of these corridors was given up to officers, the other to pri- vates. At the centre of each rectangle of ground was located a pharmacy, a kitchen, and that which Americans consider as always essentiala post- office. Those who have visited one of these tents or of these frame huts have seen them all. A Bible and newspa- pers were to be found on nearly every bed. The Christian Commission had distributed in each tent Bible verses printed in large type, and these had been hung on the walls. Our visit began with the hospitals of the Fifth Corps. Mr. Lincoln went from one bed to another, saying a friendly word to each wounded man, or at least giving him a handshake. It was prin- cipally the Fifth Corpss mounted in- fantry which had been in battle under Sheridan during the preceding days; it had fought incessantly from Peters- burg to Burkesville, over a distance of more than a hundred miles, and the enemys fire had made cruel havoc in its ranks. The greater number of wounds were located in the abdominal regions, and w~ therefore of a serious character, and caused much suffering. During these moments, when physi- cal torture makes one nearly lose all sell-control, the American displays a sort of stoicism which has nothing of affectation. A control, nearly absolute, over himself is the distinctive trait of his nature; it manifests itself in all phases of his lifein the depth of the wilderness, as well as upon the field of battle. His life is an incessant strug- gle, and when he falls in that struggle in which his life is at stake, he will suf- fer without complaining, for by com- plaining he would deem that he is lowering himself. Strange men they are, whom many approach and cannot understand, but who explain to him who does understand them the true greatness of their land. Following Mr. Lincoln in this long review of the wounded, we reached a bed on which lay a dying man; he was a captain, aged twenty-four years, who had been noticed for his bravery. Two of his friends were near him; one held his hand, while the other read a pas- sage from the Bible in a low voice. Mr. Lincoln walked over to him and took hold of his other hand, which rested on the bed. We formed a circle around him, and every one of us remained silent. Presently the dying man half-opened his eyes; a faint smile passed over his lips. It was then that his pulse ceased beating. Our visit to the ambulances lasted over five hours. We inspected, with Mr. Lincoln, that of each corps. As we were visiting the wounded of the Ninth Corps, passing before the kitchen, one of the surgeons who accompanied us invited me to enter. In the midst of five or six servants stood a woman whose dress barely distinguished her from them, and who seemed to share the same labor they performed. On see- ing her the surgeon went to her, spoke with marks of profound respect, and presented me. Soon after she left us a moment to give an order; then the officer said to me: Miss G belongs to one of the wealthiest families of Massachusetts; when the war broke out, she gave up all comforts of life in order to devote herself to the following of those regiments which New England sent over to join the army. Since then she has lived with us, and her occupa- tion has been to tend the wounded. Just then Miss G came back, and when I expressed to her the particular admiration which that sort of heroism awakened in me, There is nothing pe- culiar in that, she answered. You are not aware then, that nearly all our regiments are accompanied by women who share camp life in order to minister to the suffering soldiers. You would have found them in the Tennessee cam- paign, at the siege of Yicksburg, and as far as the Red River, just as you see me at the Potomac encampments. Be- fore me was standing one of the most perfect types of New England woman- hood. It was my first acquaintance with these women, whom I have often PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. 31 since had occasion to study; women in whom it may be said that the Puritan flame lighted some two hundred and fifty years ago still continues burn- ing; who, in the performance of deeds most heroic, remain stiff and proud; who sustain themselves by efforts of stoical fortitude, and not by the more tender feelings of charity; who accom- plish by a yearning of the mind what women of other countries would accom- plish by a yearning of the heart; who aspire to command admiration, rather than to awaken gratitude; women, in short, whom the wounded must thank, but whom he cannot bless. Finding Mr. Lincoln near by, I spoke to him of my encounter, and we returned together to the kitchen. Miss G urged the President to enter into what she was pleased to call her room, and invited us to enter with him. It was a small room adjoining the kitchen, in which was a soldiers bed, a table which stood on four rustic legs, and several tree-stumps in lieu of chairs. While the conversation was in prog- ress I noticed a book lying on a small table at the bedside. Finally I deci- phered its name. It was a Bible. Its well-worn pages testified that Th had been often read. Possibly ~Miss G sought in it, from preference, those texts w1 the Almighty is represent ed as m~hing along witli the chosen people, mingling, so to speak, its cause with His own, and crushing down His enemies by acts of His omnipotence. She had doubtless seen in such descrip- tions a jaithful reproduction of the American people, imagining that same God stretching out His protecting hand over the Federal armies, and, in such a religious view, she had derived a firmer conviction in the holiness of the North- ern cause, and in its final triumph. She observed the sort of curiosity which the sight of that book stirred in me, and spoke of it to Mr. Lincoln. That is not my only book, she added; here is another I found in the pocket of a German soldier who died a few W days ago. We looked at the book. It, too, had been often read. The title was: How to Make Ones Way in the World. Strange subject for this poor German to meditate; he who, dreaming of wealth, perhaps of liberty, had come to Virginia to die! It was in the midst of these scenes, so varied in their character, that Mr. Lincoln revealed himself to me. Amid the many incidents that filled these few days, I was able to study him at leisure; a study easy enough to make, indeed, for Mr. Lincoln would have scorned that sort of art which consists in showing ones self to a looker-on in a carefully-prepared light. At this stage of my narrative I wish to explain how I have understood him. I have seen many attempts at por- traits of Mr. Lip,coln, many pI~ioto- graphs; neither lilA portraits nor his pholographs have reproduced, or are likely ever to reproduce, the complete expression of his face; still more will they fail in the reproduction of his men- tal physiognomy. He was very tall,. but his bearing was almost peculiar; the habit of always carrying one shoulder higher than the other might at first sight make him seem slightly deformed. He had also a defect common to many Americans his shoulders were too sloping for his height. But his arr~is were strong and his complexi& n sunburned, like that of a man who hasispent his youth in the open air, exposed to all inclemencies of the weather and to all hardships of manual labor; his gestures were vigor- ous and supple, reveali~ great physi- cal strength and an extraordinary en- ergy for resisting privation and fatigue. Nothing seemed to lend harmony to the decided lines of his face; yet his wide and high forehead, his gray-brown eyes sunken under thick eyebrows, and as though encircled by deep and dark wrinkles, his nose straight and pro ~nounced, his lips at the same time thick and delicate, together with the furrows that ran across his cheeks and chin, formed an ensemble which, al- though strange, was certainly powerfuL It denoted remarkable intelligence, great strength of penetration, tenacity of will, and elevated instincts. His early life had left ineffaceable marks upon the former rail-splitter, and the powerful President of the United States made no efforts of bad taste to 32 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. conceal what he had been under what he had become. That simplicity gave him perfect ease. To be sure, he had not the manners of the world, but he was so perfectly natural that it would have been impossible I shall not say to be surprised at his manners, but to no- tice them at all. After a moments inspection, Mr. Lin- coln left with you a sort of impression of vague and deep sadness. It is not too much to say that it was rare to con- verse with him a while without feeling something poignant. Every time I have endeavored to describe this impression, words, nay, the very ideas, have failed me. And, strange to say, Mr. Lincoln was quite humorous, although one could always detect a bit of irony in his hu- mor. He would relate anecdotes, seek- ing always to bring the point out clearly. He willingly laughed either at what was being said to him, or at what he said himself. But all of a sud- den he would retire within himself; then he would close his eyes, and all his features would at once bespeak a kind of sadness as indescribable as it was deep. After a while, as though it were by an effort of his will, he would shake off this mysterious weight under which he seemed bowed ;~ his generous and open disposition would again reap- pear. In one evening I happened to count over twenty of these alternations and contrasts. Was this sadness caused by the warn- ings and threats in the midst of which Mr. Lincoln lived? by those letters which, soon after, were found carefully classified on his table under the gen- eral heading of Assassination Let- ters? I am inclined to think not. No one more than he possessed that confident audacity so common among Americans, and which cannot be termed courage, because it is not the result of determination. Was it owing to the constant auxie- Lies of his first years in office? to the civil war scenes cruelly disturbing the peaceful s~oul of this descendant of Quakers? These questions remain unanswered for me, and will probably never be an- swered at all. Anyone hearing him express his ideas, or think aloud, either upon one of the great topics which absorbed him, or on an incidental question, was not long in finding out the marvellous rectitude of his mind, nor the accuracy of his judgment. I have heard him give his opinion on statesmen, argue political problems, always with astounding precision and justness. I have heard him speak of a woman who was considered beautiful, discuss the particular character of her appearance, distinguish what was praise- worthy from what was open to criti- cism, all that with the sagacity of an artist. Lately two letters in which he speaks of Shakespeare, and in particu- lar of Macbeth, have been published; his judgment evinces that sort of deli- cacy and soundness of taste that would honor a great literary critic. He had formed himself by the difficult and powerful process of lonely meditation. During his rough and humble life he had had constantly with him two books which the Western settler always keeps on one of the shelves of his hutthe Bible and Shakespeare. From the Bible he had absorbed that religious color in which he was pleased to clothe his thoughts; with Shakespeare he had learned to reflect on man and pas- sions. In certain respects one can ques- tion whether that sort of j~~lltl culture be net more peneti~g than any other, and if it be not more par- ticularly suited in the development of a gifted mind to preserve its native originality. These reflections may serve to ex- plain Mr. Lincolns talent as an orator. His incisive speech found its way to the very depths of the soul; his short and clear sentences would captivate the audiences on which they fell. To him was given to see nearly all his definitions pass into daily proverb. It is he who, better than anyone, stamped the character of the war in these well- known words, spoken some years before it broke out: A house divided against itself cannot stand; this government cannot continue to exist half free and half slave. It would not be true to say that he was a man gifted with creative fac- ulties; he was not one of those rare w PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. 33 and terrible geniuses who, being once possessed of an idea, apply it, curbing and sacrificing other men to the impe- rious instinct of their will. No; but, on the other hand, he knew better than anyone the exact will of the American people. Amid the noisy confusion of discordant voices which always arises in a free country at moments of crises, he would distinguish with marvellous acuteness the true voice of public opinion. He had, however, nothing in common with these politicians, ever on the track of what seems to them to be popular caprice. His firm will, his exalted nature, above all, his inflexible honesty, always kept him aloof from those lamentable schemes; yet he well understood that he was the peoples agent, and that his duty obliged him to stand by his principal; for he was well aware of that close union which must exist in a free democracy between the authority representing the nation and the nation itself. If he was guided by like general con- siderations, if his conduct depended on them, so to speak, it cannot be doubted, however, that the tendencies of his mind were all liberal To him slavery seemed unquestionably unjust, and for that reason he hated it. He had found in the Declaration of Inde- pendence the principles of liberty and equality for all men, and already, long before his elevation to the Presiden- cy, in a celebrated controversy, he had openly declared his firm adhesion to these principles. The emancipation proclamation, which assures the im- mortality of his name, was, therefore, not a concession made to the aroused feelings of the moment, or a measure of war destined to stab the enemy in the heart; no, it corresponded to the generous tendencies of his mind and realized the yearnings of his soul Such a nature was admirably con- stituted to direct through the vicissi- tudes of an heroic struggle a people proud enough to prefer a guide to a chief, a man commissioned to execute its will to one who would enforce his own. And when success had at last crowned so many bloody efforts, it was impos- sible to discover in Mr. Lincoln a single sentiment, I shall not say of revenge, but even of bitterness, in re- gard to the vanquished. Recall, as soon as possible, the Southern States into the Union, such was his chief preoccupation. When he encountered contrary opinion on that subject, when several of those who surrounded him insisted upon the necessity of exacting strong guarantees, at once on hear- ing them he would exhibit impa- tience. Although it was rare that such thoughts influenced his own, he nevertheless would evince, on hearing them expressed, a sort of fatigue and weariness, which he controlled, but was unable to dissimulate entirely. But the one point on which his mind seemed most irrevocably made up was his action in regard to the men who had taken part in the rebellion. Clemency never suggested itself more naturally to a victorious chieftain. The policy of pardon and forgiveness appeared to his mind and soul an ab- solute necessity. In our presence he received a de- spatch from General Grant announc- ing for the 10th or 11th of the month the final defeat and surrender of the whole army of Virginia. The Lieuten- ant-General added, that possibly he might capture at the same time Jeffer- son Davis and his cabinet. This possibility thus announced troubled greatly Mr. Lincoln, and in a few remarks, full of force, he point- ed out to us the extreme difficulty in which this unfortunate capture would place the government. One of the persons present, who enjoyed the privilege of speaking free- ly before him, said: Dont allow him to escape the law; he must be hung. The President replied calmly, by that quotation from his inaugural address: Let us judge not, that we be not judged. Pressed anew by the remark that the sight of Libby Prison forbade mercy, he repeated twice the same biblical sentence he had just quoted. On foreign questions I found him a~ fervent advocate of peace. I ques- tioned him several times regarding the good relations existing between France and the United States, then imperilled 34 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. by our Mexican expedition. He al- ways answered me: There has been war enough. I know what the Ameri- can people want, but, thank God, I count for something, and during my second term there will be no more fighting. Possibly Mr. Lincoln was mistaken in his plans for immediate reconstruc- tion of the South; but what was this first impression, if not the generous impetus of the victor prone to forgive- ness? The space of time, so short, that elapsed between April 3d, the date of the taking of Richmond, and the dreadful catastrophe which, only twelve days later, was to change the course of events, deserves special attention on the part of historians. On the day of triumph the whole North appeared magnanimously to forget that it was the victor. The morrows preoccupa- tions, the intricate problems, the im- pending solutions of which remained, did not present themselves at first to it in all their magnitude. It seemed to rely upon the vanquished for the achievement of its work. The only sentiments then expressed were those of forgiveness, forgetfulness, and clem- ency. In the life of nations there exist sol- emn hours during which animosities seem to fade away and silence to drown confficting passions. The word on every lip is that of magnanimity! France, at an early stage of her revolutionary history, was permitted to feel once or twice the pure effects of such inspira- tions. She seemed suddenly to forget the course of events, to pour water over the flaming passions; then her chil- dren appeared reconciled to one another and to lay the foundations of a new and more perfect friendship. Unfortu- nately, such hours pass quickly away; but, however rare and fleeting, they are none the less memorable. The sentiments which then animated Mr. Lincoln were echoed throughout the American Union. The very words that fell ~from his lips I have heard ut- tered at the bedside of the wounded; I have heard them expressed by a Massa- chusetts colonel, who, I remember, had just gone through the amputation of one of his legs. Not only did he for- give, but he wished the United States to forgive those who, five days before, in the affray of Plank Road, had shat- tered him with their bullets. To this general outline of the policy and character of Mr. Lincoln I shall limit myself in this narrative. Cer- tainly I have had a close insight into his family life; but when to a stranger is given the privilege of lifting a corner of that sacred veil, he must, out of re- spect, let it fall again, lest he be tempt- ed to express that which he has been allowed to see. We were to leave City Point on Sat- urday, April 8th. A few hours prior to our leaving, the military band came from the headquarters on board the River Queen. We assembled to hear it. After the performance of several pieces, Mr. Lincoln thought of the Marseillaise, and said to us that he had a great liking for that tune. He ordered it to be played. Delighted with it, he had it played a second time. You must, however, come over to America, said he to me, to hear it. He then asked me if I had ever heard Dixie, the rebel patriotic song, to the sound of which all their attacks had been conducted. As I answered in the negative, he added: That tune is now Federal property; it belongs to us, and, at any rate, it is good to show the reb- els that with us they will be free to hear it again. He then ordered the some- what surprised musicians to play it for us. Thus ended that last evening; at ten oclock our boat steamed off. Mr. Lincoln stood a long while looking at the spot we were leaving. Above us were these hills, so animated a few days ago, now dark and silent; around us more than a hundred ships at an- chor were silent proofs of the coun- trys maritime strength, testifying to the great efforts made. Mr. Lincolns mind seemed absorbed in the many thoughts suggested by this scene, and we saw him still pursue his meditation long after the quickened speed of the steamer had removed it forever from him. On Sunday, April 9th, we were steam- ing up the Potomac. That whole day i~. w PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. 85 the conversation dwelt upon literary subjects. Mr. Lincoln read to us for several hours passages taken from Shakespeare. Most of these were from Macbeth, and, in particular, the verses which follow Duncans assassi- nation. I cannot recall this reading without being awed at the remem- brance, when Macbeth becomes king after the murder of Duncan, he falls a prey to the most horrible torments of mind. Either because he was struck by the weird beauty of these verses, or from a vague presentiment coming over him, Mr. Lincoln paused here while reading, and began to explain to us how true a description of the murderer that one was; when, the dark deed achieved, its tortured perpetrator came to envy the sleep of his victim; and he read over again the same scene. Evening came on quickly. Passing before Mount Vernon, I remember say- ing to him: Mount Vernon and Spring- field, the memories of Washington and your own, those of the revolutionary and civil wars; these are the spots and names America shall one day equally honor. This remark appeared to call him to himself. Springfield! an- swered he. How happy, four years hence, will I be to return there in peace and tranquillity! Arrived at the Potomac wharf, our party was forced to disperse. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln, Senator Sumner, and my- self drove home in the same carriage. We were nearing Washington when Mrs. Lincoln, who had hitherto re- mained silently looking at the town a short distance off, said to me: That city is filled with our enemies. On hearing this the President raised his arm and somewhat impatiently retort- ed, Enemies! We must never speak of that. This was on the evening of April 9th. On the following day, the 10th, all the papers were announcing victorious news. General Grant had written to General Lee: The result of the last weeks must convince you of the hopelessness of further resistance on the part of the Army of Northern Virginia in this struggle. I feel that it is so, and re- gard it as my duty to shift from myself the responsibility of any further effu- sion of blood, by asking of you the sur- render of that portion of the Confed- erate army known as the Army of Northern Virginia.~~ Several letters were then exchanged between the two generals, letters more glorious for Grant than his most suc- cessful battles, for they place him among those rare chieftains who, after having wielded their countrys sword, have known how to increase the lustre of victory by magnanimity toward the vanquished. At the close of this cor- respondence General Lee signed his capitulation, and is credited with these words on putting down the pen which had written his name: Now you can march all through the South as in this room; you will encounter no further resistance. Thus the war was nearing its end. All minds seemed electrified by these great events. On Monday, April 10th, began a long series of public rejoicings which were to last until the following Sunday. The first days of the week the joy of the American people mani- fested itself in varied and tumultuous ways. At this solemn moment of his life, Mr. Lincoln could, with satisfaction, look back upon the past and find in the consciousness of duty fulfilled, and in the unrivalled part he was justly en- titled to claim in the general success, a well-deserved compensation for the troubles and anxieties of his first term in office. His war policy was now justified. It was he who had called the American people to the countrys defence, and the immense armies created at his call were now on the point of returning to their homes after having saved the Union. His selection of persons was equally justified. He had intrusted the Depart- ment of War to Mr. Stanton, and in spite of many enmities and attacks preferred against him, Mr. Lincoln had stood by him against all. Mr. Stan- ton, whose name America now utters with pride, had armed and equipped a million men. As was said of a French- man of our revolutionary period, he 36 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. had organized victory. It was again Mr. Lincoln who had discerned in the modest colonel of the Twenty-first Regi- ment of Illinois the future victor of Donelson, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, and Richmond. His emancipation policy was also suc- cessfuL In the midst of hesitations, ignorant prejudices, and animosities, Mr. Lincoln had seen the decisive mo- ment and had evoked from the calam- ities of war the pure glory of slaverys abolition. Despite all this, however, no successful man was ever more mod- est and retiring. On the morrow of Lees surrender, when the war was practically termi- nated, sealing irrevokably the freedom of the negro race, as a portion of the population of Washington came to con- gratulate Mr. Lincoln, these were the modest words he spoke: We meet this evening, not in sor- row, but in gladness, of heart. The evacuation of Petersburg and Rich- mond, and the surrender of the princi- ple insurgent army, give hope of a righteous and speedy peace, whose joy- ous expression cannot be restrained. In the midst of this, however, He from whom all blessings flow must not be forgotten. A call for a national thanks- giving is being prepared and will be duly promulgated. Nor must those whose painful efforts give us the cause of rejoicing be overlooked. Their honors must not be parcelled out with others. I myself was near the front, and had the sincere pleasure of transmitting much of the good news to you; but no part of the honor, for plan or execution, is mine. To General Grant, his skilful officers, and brave men all belongs. The remainder of this speech is de- voted to the development of his plan of reconstruction for the rebel States, or rather to the making known his first impressions regarding the same. Then, as I have since done, I do not hesitate to say that that plan for reor- ganization was quite insufficient. On that day Mr. Lincoln seemed to limit his view to the horizon of a material restoration; he did not seem to see that an entire moral and social trans- formation of the South was the only safeguard for a peaceful future. I only see in that enunciation of ideaa an effort made to fathom the depths of public opinion, with a view perhaps to awake contradiction. On that day the President was simply repeating the question as it had been formulated three months prior to the close of the war; he was, so to speak, summing up facts, and before deciding upon his own line of conduct, awaited the peoples answer to his words. I do not in that speech find Mr. Lincolns personal ideas ex- pressed fully. They seem to me far better summed up in a letter he wrote in 1864 to General Wadsworth, one of the victims of the civil war, in which he said: The restoration of the rebel States to the Union must rest upon the prin- ciple of civil and political equality of both races; and it must be sealed by general amnesty. Words truly worthy of him who declared, in 1863, at Phila- delphia, in the very hall in which the Declaration of Independence had been elaborated, that all his political opin- ions originated from careful meditation on the sentiments first expressed in that hall, which have since become the worlds inheritance. The morning of April 14th seemed to prophesy a happy day for Mr. Lin- coln. On it General Grant arrived at Washington to prepare the disbanding of a portion of the Union armies; on it also Mr. Lincoln welcomed home his eldest son, Captain Robert Lincoln, who was returning to his studies, and whose coming seemed to his father a sure sign of peace. At half after four oclock in the after- noon Mr. Stanton called at the White House; he had just received a com- munication from Thompson and San- ders, two rebel agents in Canada, whose names have since then become sadly notorious, asking leave to pass through the Union States. Mr. Stanton was op- posed to granting this leave. But after a moments thought, Mr. Lincoln said: Let us close our eyes, and let them pass unnoticed. The President afterward drove out with Mrs. Lincoln. He seemed unu~ sually animated; his wife was almost frightened on noticing this, and said: w PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. 37 I have seen you thus oniy once before; it was just before our dear Willie died. This allusion made to his sons death saddened him a moment, but a while after his spirits rose again. He spoke of the future, of the easy task that was left him to perform, and of the happy days so many signs seemed to announce. That Friday evening, April 14th, was entirely given up to rejoicing; many houses were illuminated; torch - light processions were in the streets, and the sound of music passing was heard in the distance. But to the eye of the keen observer that public gladness was far from being unanimous throughout the city of Washington. On the day of the taking of Richmond I had seen among other things a gen- tleman purchase a newspaper which contained one of the first telegrams announcing the capture of the town, then crumple it, and throw it violently to the ground. Many infallible signs indicated that the city contained a large number of inhabitants who regretted slavery and who sided with the slave- holders. It was in the early part of the even- ing, and at that very moment near the rejoicing groups, that a few miserable wretches, filled with the sanguinary passions which slavery had lighted within them, were giving the last touch to what they termed The Confeder- acys Revenge. For four years past had the thought of assassination ger- minated and developed in the South. The Presidents murder had become a topic of common conversation. Many spoke of it in the camps, many spoke of it through the streets of Richmond. And all these cowardly passions, all this blood-thirstiness, had found their exponents in that band of assassins. In Tenth Street they were posted to await their victim; they stood close by the happy crowd which passed before them, and whose triumphant shouts doubt- less seemed to them so many goads to vengeance, if they yet hesitated to strike. At about nine oclock that evening Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln entered the Tenth Street Theatre. At half-past ten a man passed into the Presidential box unno- VOL. XIII.5 ticed, approached Mr. Lincoln from be- hind, applied a pistol to his ear, fired his shot, then leaped upon the stage and escaped, informing the spectators that he had slain him whom he dares call a tyrant. Mr. Lincoln fell forward seemingly lifeless. He was at once carried over to one of the neighboring houses op- posite the theatre. Instantly the news spread through the city. At eleven oclock I was myself standing before the house in which Mr. Lincoln was lying. The crowd was rap- idly increasing; squads of soldiers were coming, too, and soon formed in line on the pavement. At that moment all were silent, and no one exactly knew what had happened. Suddenly I heard Booths name muttered by the crowd: he was the assassin, it was said. A few minutes later we heard that Mr. Seward had been murdered at his house, and soon after rumors were current of sim- ilar deeds perpetrated upon Mr. Stanton and General Grant. Then the aspect of the crowd changed all of a sudden. Un- til then it had seemed panic - stricken; all at once it became infuriated. Every- one thought himself in the presence of mysterious enemies hidden in the dark- ness of night, and from whose murder- ous steel it became incumbent to save those who were yet alive. The first floor of the house where Mr. Lincoln had just been carried was com- posed of three rooms, opening on the same corridor. It was in the third, a small room, that the dying man lay. His face, lighted by a gas-jet, under which the bed had been moved, was pale and livid. His body had already the rigidity of death. At intervals only the still audible sound of his breathing could be faintly heard, and at intervals again it would be lost entirely. The surgeons did not enter- tain hope that he might recover a moments consciousness. Judge Will- iam T. Otto, a thirty years friend of Mr. Lincolns, was standing at the bedside holding his hand; around the bed stood also the Attorney-General, Mr. Speed, and the Rev. Mr. Gurhey, pastor of the church Mr. Lincoln usually attended. Leaning against the wall stood Mr. 88 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF MR. LINCOLN. Stanton, who gazed now and then at the dying mans face, and who seemed overwhelmed with emotion. From time to time he wrote telegrams or gave the orders which, in the midst of the crisis, assured the preservation of peace. The remaining members of the Cabinet and several Senators and generals were pac- ing up and down the corridor. Thus the night passed on. At last, toward seven oclock in the morning, the sur- geon announced that death was at hand, and at twenty minutes after seven the pulse ceased beating. Everyone present seemed then to emerge from the stupor in which the hours of night had been spent. Mr. Stanton approached the bed, closed Mr. Lincolns eyes, and drawing the sheet over the dead mans head, uttered these words in a very low voice: He is a man for the ages. On that same Saturday morning, April 15th, at ten oclock, Chief Justice Chase went over to the hotel where Vice-president Johnson had taken up his residence, and there, in a small cham- ber, administered the oath of office to Mr. Lincolns successor. In the midst of such tragical events the transmission of supreme power took place in aperfectly natural manner. Mr. Johnson, unknown or hated yester- day, received to-day the support of the entire North. Hardly had he come into power, when he found himself in pos- session of an authority almost irresist- ible. The unanimous regrets bestowed upon his noble predecessor, did not im- pede for one moment the exercise of his function. Nothing revealed to me more clearly the true greatness of America. The voice of public opinion was already placing. the man who had governed during the civil war beside the man who had commanded during the strug- gle for independence; the honest and pure liberator of slaves beside the one whose sword had made the nation free Lincoln beside Washington; and al- ready the people was wending its way toward its destiny, which no one can fathom without being convinced of its greatness. Thus while I stood motionless and awed with sadness before Mr. Lincolns bloody remains, his country had already recovered self-possession. I then un- derstood and realized that a nation may place her confidence in a chief without giving herself wholly to him; and that room still is left for great chara~ters and great virtues in a people proud enough to believe that however pure, honest, and noble those to whom it in- trusts governmental honors may be, it- self remains greater yet than they. V ~i w By Jessie White Va. Mario. ~HE old saying Vedi Napolipoi morir may be translated See misery in Naples to learn what misery means to realize what amonnt of hnnger, nakedness; vice, ignorance, superstition, and op- pression can be condensed in the caves, dens, and kennels unfit for beasts, in- habited by the poor of Naples. In 1871 it was affirmed by the authori- ties that, of the entire population of the city, two-thirds had no recognized means of livelihood; no one knew how more than a qnarter of a million hnman beings lived, still less where they passed their lives of privation, pain, and wretch- edness; or how, when death ended all, their bodies were flung down to rot to- gether in foul charnel holes, far away and apart from the holy ground where the npper third were laid to rest that From their ashes may be made The violets of their native land. Five years later, in 1876, when mis- ery, gannt and stark, reared its head for the first time defiantly in every city, town, and village of Italythe grinding tax, proving the proverbial feather on the too patient camels back, inqui- ries into distress, its canses and possi- A ble remedies, were proposed by some of the old makers of Italy, who main- tamed that the aim of the revolution had been to create a country for all the Italians and not for a privileged few. The government sanctioned the propos al, and the agricultural inquiry was set on foot and carried out in every prov- ince by special commissioners. It re- vealed such depths of misery in the ru- ral districts as could never be imagined or believed in by those who still apos- trophize: Thou Italy, whose ever golden fields, Ploughed by the sunbeams only, would suffice For the worlds granary.~, In Lombardy, Mantua, and Venetia, all fertile wheat - producing provinces, it was found that the patient, toiling, abstemious peasant, fed upon maize ex- clusively, tasting white bread only at gleaning time, rarely touching wine, washing down his unsavory polen ta with impure, fetid water, was affected with pellagra. This awful diseasenow, alas, become endemic and hereditary after wasting the body by slow degrees, affects the brain and lands the victims raving maniacs in the male and female mad asylums of Venice and of Milan. It is now being successfully grappled with in the first stages, by the parish doctors who, in many communes, are authorized to administer white bread, wine, and even meat; in the second, by special establishments where patients are received and treated, i.e., well fed until they recover pro tern.; while for the poor wretches who have reached the third stage, there is no help but in the grave, no hope save in a speedy release. But a worse state of things was re- vealed in Naples by private studies and researches set on foot by Pasquale Nil- THE POOR IN NAPLES.

Jessie White Va. Mario Mario, Jessie White Va. The Poor In Great Cities. VII. The Poor In Naples 39-59

By Jessie White Va. Mario. ~HE old saying Vedi Napolipoi morir may be translated See misery in Naples to learn what misery means to realize what amonnt of hnnger, nakedness; vice, ignorance, superstition, and op- pression can be condensed in the caves, dens, and kennels unfit for beasts, in- habited by the poor of Naples. In 1871 it was affirmed by the authori- ties that, of the entire population of the city, two-thirds had no recognized means of livelihood; no one knew how more than a qnarter of a million hnman beings lived, still less where they passed their lives of privation, pain, and wretch- edness; or how, when death ended all, their bodies were flung down to rot to- gether in foul charnel holes, far away and apart from the holy ground where the npper third were laid to rest that From their ashes may be made The violets of their native land. Five years later, in 1876, when mis- ery, gannt and stark, reared its head for the first time defiantly in every city, town, and village of Italythe grinding tax, proving the proverbial feather on the too patient camels back, inqui- ries into distress, its canses and possi- A ble remedies, were proposed by some of the old makers of Italy, who main- tamed that the aim of the revolution had been to create a country for all the Italians and not for a privileged few. The government sanctioned the propos al, and the agricultural inquiry was set on foot and carried out in every prov- ince by special commissioners. It re- vealed such depths of misery in the ru- ral districts as could never be imagined or believed in by those who still apos- trophize: Thou Italy, whose ever golden fields, Ploughed by the sunbeams only, would suffice For the worlds granary.~, In Lombardy, Mantua, and Venetia, all fertile wheat - producing provinces, it was found that the patient, toiling, abstemious peasant, fed upon maize ex- clusively, tasting white bread only at gleaning time, rarely touching wine, washing down his unsavory polen ta with impure, fetid water, was affected with pellagra. This awful diseasenow, alas, become endemic and hereditary after wasting the body by slow degrees, affects the brain and lands the victims raving maniacs in the male and female mad asylums of Venice and of Milan. It is now being successfully grappled with in the first stages, by the parish doctors who, in many communes, are authorized to administer white bread, wine, and even meat; in the second, by special establishments where patients are received and treated, i.e., well fed until they recover pro tern.; while for the poor wretches who have reached the third stage, there is no help but in the grave, no hope save in a speedy release. But a worse state of things was re- vealed in Naples by private studies and researches set on foot by Pasquale Nil- THE POOR IN NAPLES. 40 THE POOR IN NAPLES. lan * and the recruits he pressed into the service of his native city. The facts and figures set down in unvarnished prose in his Southern Letters, con- vinced the authorities that something must be done if only to protect the up- per third from the possible upheaval of the seething masses below, increasing ever in numbers, terribly dispropor- tioned to the means of accommodation provided for them. Heart-rending as were the descrip- tions given of the misery of the masses by Villari, Fucino Renato, Fortunato Sonnino, and others, they by no means prepared me for the actual state of things which I heard, saw, and touched in Naples, accompanied alternately by priests, policemen, and parish doctors, and always by old friends and com- rades of the campaigning days when all believed that the overthrow of despots, the ousting of the foreigner, the aboli- tion of the temporal power, when Ita- ly should be one in Rome, would find bread and work for all as the result of liberty and the ballot. I spent hours and days, later, weeks and months, in the lower quarters of Porto, Pendino, Mercato, and Vicaria, in the fondaci, the cellars, caves, grottoes, brothels, and locande (penny - a - night lodging-houses) where the miserables congregate. Sickening were the sights by day, still sadder the scenes by night as you passed church steps, serving as * The present writer was among the recruits, but for a long time declined to write of misery in Naples for the an ress, believing that the state of the poor in Lon- don was even worse than in Naples. Professor Villari, the well-known author of the lives of Savonarola and Machiavelli, now Minister of Public Instruction, under- took to go to London and see for himself, and on his re- turn we received a long letter from which the following is an extract: I assure you, on my honor, that the poor in Naples are infinitely worse off than the poor in london. F~- nished with an order from the chief of police in Lon- don, I have visited with detectives in p lain clothes the worst quarters of the citythe Docks, the East End, say- ing always : Show me all that is most horrible in Lon- don. I want to see the dwellings of the most wretched and miserable inhabitants. Great and widespread is misery in London; but I do not hesitate to declare, with profound conviction, that those who say that the conditions of the poor in London are worse than those of the poor in Naples, have either never seen the poor in London or have never visited the poor in Naples. If it happens that cases of death from starvation are more frequent in London than in Naples, the cause lies in the climate of London. If in Naples we had the climate of London a very large number of our poor would find peace in the grave and cease to live a life that is worse than death. PAsQu~xa ViLLAin. FLOBEncE, March 30, 15T6. After the receipt of this letter we published, in 1511, a book entitled La Miseria di Napoli. the only bed for hundreds; under porches where you stumbled over, with- out awakening the sleepers, who also occupied the benches of the vendors of fish and other comestibles in Basso Porto, while in fish-baskets and empty orange - boxes, curled up like cats but without the cats fur coat, were hun- dreds of children of both sexes who had never known a father and rarely knew their mothers name or their own. It was a farce to talk of statistics of births and deaths in these quarters. The existence of the boys is known to the authorities, writes an eminent physi- cian, now (Assessore digiene) Sanitary Officer in the Municipality of Naples, when they are taken up for theft or a piccola mancanza; of the girls when they come on the brothel registers (abolished, humanity be praised! in 1889). Of what use was it to take stock of vice, disease, and crime, save to hold it up as the legitimate out- growth of the foul dens in which the masses herd? In the first report made by the corporation it was shown that 130,000 lived in the bassi e sotter- ranei, in cellars, caves, and grottoes. No mention was then made of the fon- daci, which the Swedish physician, Axel Munthe,t stigmatizes as the most ghastly human dwellings onthe face of the earth. Let the American reader take that wonderful book, How the Other Half Lives, and look at the photograph of Hells Kitchen and Sebastopol (page 6). Imagine such a building, but with blank walls all round, no windows in any, en- tered by a dark alley leading to a court where the common cesspool fraternizes with the drinking - water well, where, round the court, are stables for cows, mules, donkeys, and goats while in the corners of the same court, tripe, liver and lights vendors prepare their edibles, or stale-fishmongers keep their depositsand they will have the frame- work and exterior of afondaco. Then let them construct in their minds eye one single brick or stone staircase lead- ing up to inner balconiesup, up, three, four, or five stories. Fifteen or twenty rooms are entered from each balcony, which serves for door and window, f See Letters from a Mourning city. DRAWN BY ETTORE TITO. ENGRAVED BY C. I. BUTLER. An Evicted Family of Neapolitans. 0 //(//! 42 THE POOR IN NAPLES. there being no other aperture: each then, irritated by the taunts that they corner room on each story being abso- were living in houses built for the poor, lutely dark even at mid-day, as each inscribed on the front of the block, The balcony is covered with the pavement houses of the Co-operative Society are not poor-houses! Again, in 1879, a loan was raised for demolishing the worst fondaci and grottoes, cel- lars, and caves, and for the erection of airy, healthy ten- ements for the people, and in 1880 the writer was in- vited by the mayor to in- spect these. Capital houses they were! built on the spot where last I had seen the fondaci Arcella, Castig- hone, Conventino, San Ca- millo, Cento Piatti, Pisca- vino S. Felice, Miroballo and after due admiration of the spacious e o u r t, wide street, decent ingress, outer balconies, etc., I ventured to ask: Where are the fun- nach~re? These clean, well dressed people, with their pianos and excellent furni- ture, are not the poor creat- ures we used to visit here. Of course they are not, said the contractor, what are they to us ? while a vice- A Girl of the People. syndic said: This is my section, I know that my of the upper one. Put a hole between rwne is redeemed, that we have got rid each two rooms for the public perform- of the plebs: what care we where they ance of all private offices; shut out from arc gone? Let them burst, it would be the top story such light as might gleam better for them. Crepino pure, ehe sari from the sky, by dint of poles, strings, meglio ! ~ ropes, and cords laden with filthy rags As I was turning from the spot in and you have a more or less accurate silent despair, an old man came up and idea of the interior of the fondaco of said: I can tell you where some of the Naples. poor creatures are gone. They were All of these I have visited at intervals turned out into the streets, many of during the last seventeen years, finding them went into the fondaci that remain, their numbers diminished at each visit, two families, and even three in a room but never till this year have I found a the price of these has been raised as the new tenement inhabited by the evicted numbers grow less, and many of theni funnach~re for whom they were osten- are in the grotto at the IRampa di Bran- sibly built. caccio. With a newspaper man, seep- In 1877 the municipality made a tical of the misery of the poor in grant of land to a co-operative society Naples, and an English and a German for the purpose of building houses for lady, I walked along the splendid Corso the poor. As soon as these were fin- Yittorio Emanuele, whence you have ished, small shop - keepers, civil ser- * I quote from a letter printed in the Pungele, of Naples, vants, etc., secured all the apartments; on the day of the visit. THE POOR IN NAPLES. 43 the finest view of Naples, of Vesuvius and the sea, and suddenly: Out of the sun-lit glory Into the dark we trod literally dropping down into the grotto del Brancaccio, where, at first, absolute darkness seemed to reign. hundred human beings, some forty families; their apartments being divid- ed by a string where they hung their wretched rags. The families who had the apartments by the grating that served for window, paid ten, nine, eight, seven lire per month each. These poor creatures subscribed among themselves An Old Street in the Poor Quarter being Metemorphoned. It was a cavern with mud for pave- ment, rock for walls, while the water dripped from the ceiling, and one sink in the centre served for the wants of all. Here were lodged more than two two lire so that a poor old man should not be turned out, but allowed to sleep on straw by the common sink, and they fed a poor woman who was dying, with scraps from their scant repasts. This 44 THE POOR IN NAPLES. grotto yielded its owner a monthly rent, In order to convince the sceptic still always paid up, far exceeding that paid further that there was no exaggeration by the inhabitants of the new tenements in the accounts of the horrors, we invit- and decent houses, and he continued to ed him to accompany us to what was Gossip in Pendino Street, Naples. so grind the faces of the poor until 1884, when King Cholera carried off his tenants, and the grotto was closed as was the charnel-house to which the in- mates were carried to their last abode. then the only cemetery for the poor of Naples. It is an immense square with three hundred and sixty-five holes, each covered with a huge stone, with a ring in each for uplifting. On the first of Jan- / -..----- 6 THE POOR IN NAPLES. 45 nary, hole No. 1 was opened and all the poor who died on that day were bronght up in great pomp of funeral car and trappings, with priests and tapers, etc. The first to be thrown in was a corpse with shirt and tronsers. He is a private, said La iRaffaella, the poor woman who used to take charge of the child corpses, kiss each of them so that they might take the kiss to limbo. He died at home and his people had dressed him. He was placed in the zinc coffin, the crank swnng this over the hole, you heard a fall, then the cof- fin came up empty; next were flung down the naked corpses of the inhabi- tants of the poor-houses and charitable institutions, then the little children. Last came up the car of the Hospital Degli Incurabili, with the scattered members swept from the dissecting table. Then the hole No. 1 was closed not to be reopened un- til next year. On the morrow, over hole No. 2 the same horrors were re - enacted. The vic- tims of King Cholera in 1884 were the last buried in these charnel- holes; the cemetery was closed when he was dethroned, and a new cemetery for the poor opened just opposite the monumental ceme- tery of the rich at Foria. It was in the sum- mer of that year that the cholera reappeared and its swift and sud- den ravages compelled attention to the where and how ,~ L6~8LAA~ its numerous victims lived and died. In these same quarters of Porto Pendino, Merca- to, and Vicaria, 20,000 died of cholera in 183637; an equal number in 185465, 1866, and 1873, while the higher quar- ters of Naples were comparatively free from the scourge. In 1884, from the 17th of August to the 31st, the cases were not more than three every twen- ty-four hours. On the 1st of Septem- ber 143 were attacked, 72 succumbed on the 10th of the same month; 966 cases, 474 deaths, are given as the ofli- cial statistics; the sum total of deaths is variously stated at eight, nine, and ten thousand. But official bulletins are never trustworthy in these cases, the au- thorities strive to abate panic, and it is a well - known fact that numbers of cases were never reported to the muni- cipality, the dead being carried off in carts and omnibuses to the special cholera cemetery and charnel - house, without any possible register. Dr. Axel Munthe, who lived and worked among the poor during the entire time, gives it as his belief, supported by others, that during not one but four or five days there were about one thousand cases per diem. So markedly was the disease confined to the poor quarters that for many days it was impossible for the municipal authorities to do any- Begging Hands. thing to alleviate its ravages; the poor, ignorant, superstitious plebs being firm- ly convinced that the cholera had been introduced among them for the express purpose of diminishing their numbers. Hence the refusal to go to the hospi- tal, to take the medicines sent, to allow disinfectants to be used, to abstain from fruit, vegetables, and stale fish, even when good soup and meat were offered THE POOR IN NAPLES. instead. Then it was that King Hum- bert went to Naples and visited in per- son the stricken patients in theirfonda- ci and cellars, in the caves and slums, and this, his first experience of actual misery, save as the result of war or a Hunger a Sketch in the Poor Quarter. sudden catastrophe, made such a pro- found impression on his mind that he promised the poor people there and then that they should have decent houses built expressly for them. Even now they will tell you that Oo Be kept his word, but that the Signori have taken the palaces all for themselves. The royal example was speedily fol- lowed; bands of students and work- ingmen under the white cross prof- fered their services, and the Neapolitan citizens who had not all fled, enlisted under the doctors, who are ever brave and devoted in Italy, and worked as nurses, cooks, helpers of the living, even as porters of the dead. The poor peo- ple, ever grateful, gentle, docile, yielded to these kind strangers, and allowed themselves to be taken to the hospitals or tended in their own dens where, by the white cross band alone, assistance was furnished to 7,015 cases. Of the volun- teer nurses, Lombards, Tus- cans, iRomans, some ninety in all, several were attacked but only three succumbed, all ad- hering strictly to the rules laid down as to diet and the speci- fics to be used in case of seiz- ure. The cholera, at its height between the 10th and 18th of September, abated gradually from that day until the 9th of October, when suddenly, on the 10th and 11th, 122 were attacked and 37 succumbed. This 10th of October is the first of the famous ottobrate, when the poorest of the poor manage to get a taste of the new wine which is still fer- menting, and that year it is very probable that they toast- ed with unwonted zeal the dis- appearance of the cholera, which on the 9th had not made a single victim. The luscious blue figs, the bread and watermelons which could in that cholera year be had for a song, were also unusually abundant. The regulations at last enforced by the authori- ties had been relaxed; the sale of rags recommenced, and to all these causes may doubtless be owing in part the reappearance of the foe sup- posed to be vanquished. But fortunately for poor Naples, the cholera found in King Humbert an ad- versary determined to resist its intru- sion for the future ; and men of science, doctors, students, were encouraged to study the causes of the disease even more diligently than the cure for it, when in possession. When the sudden reappearance filled the city with fresh alarm, and the poor, wretched people were soundly abused in the newspapers DRAWN BY ETTORE TITO. ChRap Bathing. ENGRAVED BY B. H. DELORME. 48 THE POOR IN NAPLES. for their orgies, more than one pro- fessor affirmed that the real canse must be traced to the sudden change of tern- peratnre, to the sonthwest wind, si- rocco, which prevents the sewers from discharging their contents into the sea On the Stairs of Santa Lucia. and drives the refnse back to the streets and shores, which, in the qnarters of Pendino and Porto, are almost on a level with the sea; and to the condition of the water under gronnd which, swelled by the tremendons rainfalls, carried more putrid matter than nsual into the drinking-wells and streams. Certain it is that as soon as the tramorttana (north wind) began to blow, and the low tides allowed the impnrities to pnt ont to sea, the cholera diminished and for three years returned no more. Then came the narrations in the newspapers of the actual state of the habitations of the poorhow hnman beings and beasts were crowded together, how the stables were never cleaned, how the sinks filtered into the wells twelve hundred and four- teen of these being foul but possibly cleansible, while sixty-three were ordered to be filled np and closed. It was shown that these quar- ters were more densely pop- nlated than any other por- tion of Enrope, London included; while the insalu- brions trades were carried on in the most populous portions of the over-crowd- ed quarters, there being no less than two hundred and thirty-five large and small rag and bone stores in the midst, while decayed vege- tables, the entrails of beasts, stale fish were left w h e r e flung, scavengers and dust- men confining their labors to the quarters of the up- per third. All these accounts King Humbert read attentively, and to old Depretis, then prime minister, said: Italy must redeem Naples~ at any cost. And the old states- man answered: Yes, Na- ples m u s t b e disembow- elled. Bisognct & ventrare Napoli. A bill was present- ed to the Chamber for the gift of fifty millions of lire, and the loan of other fifty millions for the sanitation of the unhealthy quarters of the city, and for the decent housing of the poor, and the sums were voted without a murmur, so great was the sympathy felt for the victims of the cholera and their survivors, whose misery was por- trayed with heart - rending eloquence. The senate approved, and the king set his seal to the decree on January 15, 1885. As studies for the amelioration of 49 THE POOR IN NAPLES. the poor quarters and the sauitation of Naples had been carried on, and paid for, and the authors of plans decorated during the last ten years, it was sup- posed that (the financial question solved) the work would be commenced there and then, but two more years were wasted in finding out how not to do it. Until 1850 Naples had always been reckoned one of the healthiest cities in Italy. Typhus and diphtheria were rare; no one had ever heard of a Nea- politan fever. True, when the rains were heavy the city in many parts was inundated with flowing streams called lave, and wooden bridges were erected over several streets, otherwise traffic would have been impossible. Once the so-called lava dci vergini carrie away a horse and carriage in its impetuous course. To remedy this state of things the government of King Bomba or- dered a system of sewers which, either owing to the ignorance of the engineers or the j obbery of the contractors, ren- dered the last state of Naples worse than the first. Into these sewers, which had insuffi- cient slope, not only the rain water, but the water from sinks, all the con- tents of the cesspools, were supposed to flow. But in seasons of drought nothing flowed; all remained in the sewers. Often the sewers were so bad- ly constructed that instead of carry- ing off the contents of the cesspools they carried their own contents into the drinking-wells. Hence the stench often noticed in some of the best streets of Naples. Some of the conduits are almost on a level with the street; many of them have burst. One of the best modern engineers of Naples writes: If you uncover the streets of our city ditches of putrid matter most baneful to health will reveal themselves to the eye of the indiscreet observer. He quotes one special spot, Vicolo dcl Sole, where cholera typhus, every sort of lung disease had reigned supreme. This Sun alley, where the sun never shines, was closed, and the health of the neighborhood became normal But Where Street Arabs Sleep. when a number of people were ousted from their houses for the excavation of the corso reale, the Vicolo was again inhabited, and out of seventy-two in- habitants, the cholera carried off sixty. Every time that excavations were made 50 THE POOR IN NAPLES. in any part of the low quarters of Na- ples typhus or diphtheria, or the new- ly invented Neapolitan fever, broke outand, to quote official statements, if one ease of fever broke out in a house where the cesspool communi- cated with the drinking-well, all the families who drew water from that well were laid low with the same fever. Again, these horrible sewers when they Interior of a Poor Quarter. succeeded in emptying themselves, did so in the most populous quarters of the city, so that the Riviera became a putrid lake, and in the best quarters of Chiaia the stench at eventide was so horrible that the people used to call it the malora di Chiaia (bad hour of). When the southwest wind blew the high tide prevented the sewerage from going out to sea, so all the matter brought down remained strewed along the shore. The best hotels were closed owing to the fever that prevailed, and are now nearly all replaced by others built in the higher quarters, the Rione Amadeo, Corso Yittorio Emanuele, etc. Hence the first thing to be thought of for the sanitation of Na- ples was the renovation and purification of the drains. The fewest possible excava- tions, the greatest possible extent of colmate (raising the level), was clearly indi- cated; and as this silting up the lower quarters has to be done, not as in Lin- colushire fens by allowing water to leave its own sedi- ments, but by material im- ported, it was and is a very costly proceeding. Alas! that the lessons taught by the former at- tempts at redeeming the s 1 u m s should have been forgotten, or rather delib- erately neglected. Dont begin at the end instead of at the beginning, said G. Florenzano, in 1885. Dont begin by pulling down the old houses until you have built iiew ones for the evict- ed tenants of the fondaci, grottoes, etc. If you go on the old system the poor creatures who now have a roof over their heads will have to crowd the remain- ing fondaci even as did those of Porto when you beautified the Via del Du- omo, or they will crowd into the cloisters of S. Tommaso di Aquino, where the chol- era mowed down so many victims. You can pull down houses in a week, but it takes a year to build them, and another year must elapse before they are habitable. The dis- cussions and commissions went on for two years and a half. There was the question of whether the municipality THE POOR IN NAPLES. 51 should expropriate, demolish, and re- build on its own account. The majority were against this, urging that public bodies are the worst of all workers. Then should the whole contract be giv- en to one society or to several? And here the war of the one lot or lot of lots raged fiercely. Whoever gets the contract, however few or many be the contractors, said Villari, from his seat in the Senate, and other sentimental- ists, let them be bound over to build healthy houses for the poor who will be evicted from the slums, on a site not so far from their old homes as to prevent them from carrying on their daily em- ployments, and at rents certainly not higher than those they pay at present. To this, practical people answered that: No building society would build at a loss, and that healthy houses in healthy sites in the populous quarters of Naples could not be erected for the letting price of five lire per room.~~ Then let the municipality first de- duct from the hundred millions given for the poor of Naples such sums as are necessary for building these houses without profit, retorted the sentimen talists; in the long run they will be found to pay, but in any case they must be built. As usual the vox clamante resounded in the desert only. In 1888, the munic- ipality entered into a contract with a building society of Milan for the entire work of expropriation, demolition of old houses, the construction of new ones, and the all-important work of lay- ing down the sewers and paving the streets above. The laying down of gas and the canalization of the water of the Serino in the new quarters was alone retained in the hands of the municipal- ity and separately contracted for. The contract itself, to use the words of the minority of the communal council- lors, represented a direct violation of the spirit of the law passed by the Ital- ian parliament in the interests of the community and for the sanitation of Naples, while the commission of in- quiry delegated by the council to ex- amine and report on the works, affirmed that Private speculation, substitut- ed for the superintendence of the com- mune and the State, naturally ignored the philanthropic impulse of the law, One of the New Blocks of Tenements in Nsples. 4 DRAWN BY ETTORE TITO. ENGRAVED BY F. A. PErTlY. The Pleasures of Idleness THIS POOR IN NAPLES. 53 allowing industrial calculation and bankers rings to boss the enterprise especially planned for the benefit of the poorest classes and to sanify the low- est quarters of the city. So much for the spirit of the contract. Coming to its execution, the munic- ipality neither armed itself with suf- ficient powers for compelling the con- tractors to perform their work prop- erly, nor did it put such powers as were reserved into execution. Conse- quently expropriations which, by the terms of the contract, ought to have al- lowed three months to elapse between the notice to quit and the actual de- parture, were often carried out within a week of the notice given. Availing themselves of the law which sanctions expropriations at a fixed price for pub- lic benefit, the society bore hard on many small proprietors, whose houses they took without any immediate need, and these, until the time comes for their demolition, are underlet to the worst class of usurers, who have evict- ed the tenants and doubled the rent. Then the first houses were jerry built. One fell while building and killed sev- eral workmen. Again, the contract bound the society to build houses only three stories high, to avoid the over- crowding so complained of in the old quarters. They built them of four stories. The courtyards were to oc- cupy one-sixth of the whole area of each tenementthey were found to oc- cupy barely one-seventh or even one- eighth. Finally (and this raised a pop- ular outcry at last), in no single tene- ment built by the society could the evicted poor find a room, because they were all about twice the price of their former ones, and so far removed from the scene of their daily labors that it was very doubtful whether they could inhabit them at all. It is neither edi- fying nor interesting to seek out who were the chief culprits; certainly the municipal authorities, who took no thought for the poor for whom the money was voted, were the original sin- ners. But when the hue and cry was raised the money was spent and it was no use crying over spilt milk. The municipality was bankrupt. Besides inheriting the debts and deficits of its VOL. XIII.7 predecessors, it had squandered vast sums on useless works, given three millions to the society which built the King Humbert Gallerya capital build- ing for the cold and uncertain climate of Milan; quite a superfluity in sunny Naples, where everybody lives in the open air, and where you can hardly yet get sellers and buyers to use the new covered market - place instead of the street pavements. So the municipality was dissolved by the government and a Royal Commis- sioner sent to take the affairs of the commune in hand. When I came here last October affairs seemed past pray- ing for, the state of overcrowding in the poorest quarters was worse than ever. I found houses condemned as un- safe and propped up with shores, with- out a window - pane or door on hinges, crowded to excess the fondaci left standing with double their old num- bers of inhabitants; the cellars full, and at night the streets turned into public dormitories. True, the water from the Serino had been brought into Naples, and this is a priceless boon which can only be appreciated by those who re- member the bad old days when even at the best hotels you dared not drink a glass of unboiled water; when the poor people had to purchase water at one or two sous per litre, those who could not do so going athirst. Then the old charnel - house is actually closed, and the new cemetery is as beautiful as a cemetery need be. Though it has only been open two years it is already nearly full. The poor have the graves and a parish coffin gratis, but after eighteen months the bones are exhumed to make room for the fresh corpses. The families who can afford to do so pay for a niche in which to deposit the bones, while the remains of those who have no friends able to do so are placed in a huge cistern outside the cemetery. At any rate the poorest have now for a time a grave to them- selves and need not say with envy as they used to do when accompanying some signore to the monumental cem- etery, 0 Mamma mia, vurria muri pe staced! Mother mine, I would die to stop here. Then NapJe~ as a city is undoubtedly 54 THE POOR IN NAPLES. renovated and beautified; always bella, ever dolce, it is now one of the most commodious cities in the world. Trains take you from Posiipo to the royal pal- ace, from the Via Tasso to the Reel a- soria. New palaces, new houses rise up to the east and west of the city. Besides the demolitions and recon- structions of the famous Societa di Ris~nimento, another society has built largely at the Rione Vasto at Capuana, case economiche and edifizi civili which we should call workmens houses and houses for well - to - do people. Even so in the Ilione Arenaccia Orientale, in the Rione S. Efrern~ Vecchio Ottocalli Ponti Rossi. In the Bione Vomero- Arenella the Banca Tiberina has built enormously; constructed two funi- colari (cable railways), and in two years the population of that quarter has in- creased from 751 to 3,991; but there are nofunnach~re among them. In the favorite quarter of foreign artists, Santa Lucia, where the oyster and fruits of the sea mongers and their wives, the sulphur-water vendors, fryers of polipi and peperoni, congre- gate, these luciani also inhabitfondaci not quite as filthy as those of Porto und Pendino, nor are they nearly as docile. They strongly objected to the tramway as an invasion of their rights, and laughed to scorn the builders of the new houses on the shore of the Gas- tello Dell liJovo and of the new loggie for the shell-fish vendors. The first high wind, they say, would carry stalls and fish into the sea, and as for the new houses, they pizzicarto (are too dear), non jamme n terra (they shall not de- molish our houses), they tell you, and as yet no one has dared to tackle them. The new houses are divided into charm- ing little apartments with a kitchen and convenience in each, but the kitchen and one room cost 15 lire, others 20, 30, even 35 lire. With a budget of thirty million lire and a huge deficit, little margin was left to the Royal Commissary, who had to cut down estimates, retrench in every department, economize to the bone, but as winter approached, the cry of the people became audible in high places. It was one thing to camp out in the summer, but quite another to use the streets for bed and the sky for roof in the months of December, January, and February, while the new commission of engineers and medical men pronounced many of the hovels still inhabited to be dangerous to life and limb, and or- dered the society to repair or close them at once. The society chose the latter alternative, thus reducing still further the scant accommodationbut the Royal Commissary was not a cor- poration. He had a soul, or at least a heart. For six months, he writes, in his report to the government at the close of his mission, a famished mob, turbafamelica, have thronged the stairs of the municipality; children of both sexes, utterly destitute, who must of ne- cessity go to the bad; mothers clasp- ing dying babies to their milkless breasts; widows followed by a tribe of almost naked children; aged and infirm of both sexes, hungry and in tatters and this spectacle, which has wrung my heart, reveals but a small portion of the prevalent destitution. One can but marvel at the docile nature of the lower orders of Neapolitans, who bear with such resignation and patience their un- utterable sufferings. One cannot think without shuddering of this winter, which overtook whole families without a roof over their heads, without a rag to cover them, without the slightest provision for their maintenance. To remedy this awful state of things in some degree, this royal extraordinary commissary, in Naples for six months only (Senator Giuseppe Saredo), gave it to be understood that the society must find means of lodging the evicted poor in some of the new tenements at the old prices. He even consented to a com- promise, by which, leaving all the work of laying down drains and filling up low places intact, he consented to the delay in certain buildings which ought to have been completed in the third biennio, on the conditions that the so- ciety should cede tenements capable of housing fifteen hundred people, no sin- gle room to cost more than five lire per month. The first great exodus took place in December; unfortunately, the housing schedules were not all given to people who could not afford to pay more than five lire; and when I visited THE POOR IN NAPLES. 55 the tenements the brass bedsteads and mahogany chests of drawers told tales of past homes in quite other places than in the slums. But in many rooms we did find our funacchre; the thin end of the wedge was inserted, and when the Royal Commissarys term of office came to an end the new Syndic repeated the experiment, and arranged with the society for other tenements capable of housing other two thousand of the poorest. This time the vice - syndics have had a warning that if they give schedules to any but the houseless poor their offices and honors will be trans- ferred. At first the idea of removing the poor costermongers, porters, coal- heavers, fish, snail, and tripe vendors so far from their old slums and haunts seemed unpractical and even cruel; but having revisited those haunts and the slummers in their new homes, seen the shops opened on the ground floors of the new dwellings, turned on the water tap which is in each room or apartment, inspected the closets which are perfectly scentless, I can only express a feeling of thankfulness that the axe has been laid at the root of the tree at last. It is not only a question of health and longevitythe poor people in the fondaci cellars and underground dens were entirely at the mercy of the ca- morra which, however the police and the authorities may flatter themselves, has never been killed and very slightly scotched. These poor creatures, crowd- ed in one spot, are the terrified victims of the camorrist, that unclean beast of dishonest idleness of yore, who now has cleaned himself up a bit, but is as bestial, dishonest, and idle as ever. With the dispersion of the slummers and the allotment to each of a room or rooms with doors that lock, and win- dows that open, the carnorrists reign is over, especially as the society, though compelled to charge only five lire per room, has no help from the municipal- ity in collecting rents, and therefore selects for porters (concierge) men who attend to their interests and not to those of the camorra. What is now wanted in the new quar- ters are infant schools, elementary and industrial schools, of all of which Naples possesses some of the most perfect that I have ever seen in Italy or in England. Naples, a city of contrasts in all re- spects, is especially so in the manage- ment of her public and private institu- tions. Of charitable institutions belonging to the poor by right, Naples has enough and to spare, with two hundred edifices and over eight or ten millions of annual income. But these edifices and this income serve every interest save that of the poor. Administrators, priests, governors, electors, deputies, council- lors and their clients get thus the lions share. The Albergo dci Poveri, with an income of over a million and a half, maintains a family of employ6s exceed- ing seven hundred, while the poor, many of whom are merely prot6g6s of the rich, have dwindled down to two thou- sand. The children have scarcely a shirt to change; the school for deaf and dumb boys has been so neglected for years that only now has the new director been able to form a class. The girls in charge of the figlie della earild, French nuns, are kept so hard at work at em- broidery and flower making that their health is ruined, and the agglomeration of old men and women, young boys and girls under one roof is by no means conducive to order, discipline, or mo- rality. One governor succeeds to another. One sells 5,000 square me- tres of land to a building society for eleven lire per metre, at a time when in certain portions of the city land is worth three and four hundred lire. His successor brings an action against the purchaser and the costs are enormous. Another has farmed out the rents to some collector at far too low a price; another action is brought. The chem- ist is proved to have substituted flour for q,uinine, Dovers powders without opium, and is suspended. But the corpo delicto, i.e., the analyzed medi- cines, have disappeared; the chemist will come off triumphant and the Al- bergo dei Poveri will have to pay costs and damages, and possibly to meet an action for libeL Of course there is a deficit in the budget; and this will con- tinue to increase, whoever may be gov- ernor, as long as the system remains and as long as places are created for 56 THE POOR IN NAPLES. prot6g6s of Senator A, Deputy B, or Counsellor C. The enormous hospital of the Incura- bili, where also a royal commissionary presides, was found to be in a most de- plorable state. The number of patients reduced from one thousand to seven hundred; the meat of inferior quality to that prescribed. Despite the 25,000 lire which appear in the budget for linen, there were not sufficient sheets to change the beds of the sick, yet there was an accumulated deficit of 869,030 lire, and for last year alone 200,000 lire. As the present special commissioners have really reduced the expenditure, while increasing the number of pa- tients admitted, diminished the enor- mous number of servants, and by sup- plying food to those on guard deprived them of the temptation to steal the ra- tions of the sick; as they have thor- oughly cleansed the hospital from gar- ret to cellar, constructed water-closets, etc., we hope they will be allowed to remain in office sufficient time to ren- der a return to former abuses impos- sible. Some improvement there is, we no- tice, in the Foundling Hospital, which was in a wretched state, the mortality among infants amounting to ninety- five and even one hundred per cent. The system adopted of giving them out to be nursed by poor families in the city and country round Naples, answers admirably, as the poor people here re- gard them as the Virgins children figlie della Madonna. Still there are over three hundred big, lazy girls in the establishment who ought to have been put out to earn their living long ago. The Casa di Maternita, lately added to the establishment, is admirably con- ducted, and the secrets of the poor girls or women who demand admission are religiously kept. The famous convent of the Sepolte Vive of Suor Orsola Benincasa, which created such a sensation in the news- papers a year since, is now completely reformed; the few surviving nuns are pensioned off and allotted a residence in some distant portion of the enor- mous edifice, while the income of 100,- 000 lire is applied to the education of poor children. There are also classes for the children of parents who can pay, a normal school, and a kinder- garten. As the reformed law of charitable in- stitutions is only two years old, and the government and municipal authori- ties are doing their best to apply it in spite of the clergy and the vested in- terests of innumerable loafers, we may hope that in time to come the poor and the poor alone may profit by this their own and only wealth. How such wealth may be profitably applied is shown by the numerous establishments founded and maintained by private charity. The childrens hospital, Ospitale Lina, found- ed and maintained by the well-known philanthropist, Duchessa Ravasehiera, is a perfect gem. There are eighty beds, each occupied by a poor child for whom a surgical operation is necessary. All the first surgeons and doctors of Naples give their services. The Duchess her- self, who founded the hospital in mem- ory of her only daughter, Lina, super- intends it in person, often living and sleeping thete, and the delight of the children when Mamma Duchessa en- ters the wards is very touching. The asylum for girls orphaned dur- ing the cholera of 1884 is another ex- ample of how much can be done, with comparatively small sums, under per- sonal supervision. Here 285 boarders and 250 day scholars are maintained at a cost of little over 100,000 francs, sub- scribed by individuals, by the Bank of Naples, the Chamber of Commerce, etc. All the children frequent the elemen- tary schools, and are each taught a trade, dressmaking, plain needlework, making and mendingmaglieria (machine knit- ted vests), stockings, petticoats, etc., artificial flowers, embroidery, and lace making. At the Exposition of Palermo there was a beautiful collection of the work done by the girls of this school; we could wish that they were not com- pelled to toil so many hours a day, but necessity knows no law, and the admin- istration of the superintendent, Baron Tosti, is above all praise. There are two educational and industrial schools for boys in Naples which may serve as models to the other provinces of Italy and to other nations. THE POOR IN NAPLES. 57 The Instituto Casanova* for boys who have attended the infant schools was founded in 1862 by Alfonzo della Yalle di Casanova. Elementary schools and workshops were opened under the same roof and carried on privately with great success until 1880 ; then recognized as a Corpo Morale by the government, which assigned a large building with open spaces for gymnastics and recrea- tion, surrounded by eleven new work- shops. Industrial schools generally are a failure, owing to the expense in- curred by the payment of directors of workshops, the purchase of machines, tools, instruments, and raw materiaL In this establishment the workshop alone is given rent free to the masterblack- smiths, carpenters, tailors, boot - mak- ers, brass-workers, cameo, lava workers, workers in bronze, sculptors, ebonists, wood-carvers, and printerswith whom a regular contract is signed, for a cer- tain number of years, by which, on November 1st, directors A, B, and C shall open a workshop, furnishing it with all such machines and instruments as are necessary for carrying on and teaching his trade to a fixed number of pupils. In case of bankruptcy the master must at once quit the work- shop. The boys for the first two years, that is until they are nine, attend the elementary schools exclusively; then they or their parents choose their trade, and as soon as their work becomes profitable, they are paid a certain sum fixed by the master - workman and the director of the establishment, who re- ceives the pay of the boys weekly and gives half to them, half to the estab- lishment. At first the boys were com- pelled to place all their portion in pos- tal savings banks, but as all are day scholars and are housed and fed by their parents, it was found that these, being too poor to maintain them, re- moved them from the school before they were proficient in their respective trades. From the report up to March 6, 1892, we find 559 present, 104 pupils who had quitted the establish- ment as skilled workmen, all of whom are eagerly sought by the directors of * An American lady, well known in Boston for her work in prison reform, said to us, as we were taking her over these schools: we have nothing so good as this in America. workshops in this city. The income of the institute does not exceed 72,000 francs, of which 22,000 is paid to school - masters and servants; the re- mainder goes in buildings, prizes to the pupils, etc. The Casanova opera also has a beautiful department at the Exposition at Palermo, where albums and pamphlets show its whole history from the beginning. A similar institution, much rougher, but even more meritorious, is the work- ing school in the ex-convent of S. An- tonio a Tarsia. The boys collected here are the real waifs and strays taken from the streetsgutter sparrows, liter- ally. The founder is Giovanni Floren- zano, ex-member of parliament and at the present moment (assessore) officer of public instruction in the municipality of Naples. It is conducted on the same principles as that of Casanova, but, alas! not with equal funds. There is a workshop for carpenters, ebony-work- ers, wood-carvers, and gilders, for black- smiths, workers in bronze, for the man- ufacture of iron and steel instruments, and a large printing-office. The boys gathered there number from two hun- dred and fifty to three hundred. Un- fortunately the impecuniosity of the mu- nicipality has deprived this school of four thousand francs annually. Signor Florenzano, who has done much for popular instruction in Naples, in 1883 opened a Sunday-school for rec- reation in a large hall with a pretty gar- den in the Vico Cupa a Chiara, where seven hundred children, all under sep- arate patronage of benevolent men and women, were clothed, and on every Sun- day taught choral singing, gymnastics, and military exercises. Alas! both the hall and garden have been demolished by the pickaxe of a building society, and, at the present moment the chil- dren are dispersed. This idea of plac- ing every boy in the working school under the protection of some well-to- do person is excellent. A few more such industrial schools as these of Casa- nova and Tarsia would be the making of the next generation of Neapolitan boys. These private institutions also form a striking contrast with the so- called reformatories, penitentiaries, and correctional establishments with which 58 THE POOR IN NAPLES. Italy, and especially Naples, abounds. In three of these which we visited late- ly, we may say, without fear of con- tradiction, that there are no reforms, and no penitents in any of them. In one of these, where each boy costs three francs per day, discoli, merely naughty boys and boys sent by their own par- ents to be disciplined, are mixed up with culprits who have been condemned once, twice, and thrice, for whom pater- nal discipline is a derision, who break down the doors of their cells, kick the jailors, and yet are fed on coffee and milk in the morning, meat at mid-day, soup at night, and wine three times a week. We have not space for even a brief reference to prison discipline in Italy, but we may say as a general rule that delinquents and criminals alone are housed, fed, clothed, and cared for by the State; that the greater the crime, the more hardened the criminal, the better does he lodge, dress, and, till yes- terday, fare! We must not close this story of the poor in Naples without a reference to two other institutions dedicated to the poor alone. The one is the school for the blind at Caravaggio, which, with the boarding-house and school founded by Lady Strachen, offer a pleasant con- trast to the blind institute at S. Giu- seppe, dependent on the Aibergo dei Poveri. The blind institute, now called Prince of Naples, founded by the broth- ers Martucelli, is admirable. The blind boys and girls read, write, print, and play various instruments, are shoe- makers, carpenters, basket and Vene- tian blind-makers. The correspondent of the London Times, on seeing the de- partment of this school at the Palermo Exhibition, could hardly believe that the work was done by blind children. The Froebel Institute, now called the Victor Emanuel International Institute, was founded by Julia Salis Schwabe, an enthusiastic admirer of Garibaldi, who, in 1860, appealed to women to open popular schools for the education of the poor in the southern provinces. Professor Villari took it under his espe- cial protection, and the old medical col- lege at S. Aniello was assigned for the purpose, so that poor girls taken from the streets could be housed, fed, and educated. At present the boarding- school has been much reduced, but the day, infant, and elementary schools are simply perfect. Side by side with the classes for poor children, are paying classes for the well - to - do, who are taught to find pleasure in bringing clothes and boots for their poorer com- panions. The haves pay seven lire a month, which suffices to give a capital soup every day to about four hundred children of the have nots. The es- tablishment serves also as a training- school for teachers of this Froebelian, or as it ought to be called, Pestalozzian sys- tem, certainly the most admirable yet invented for keeping children bright, happy, and active, and while placing no undue strain on their intellectual facul- ties, disciplining and preparing them for the age when these can be exercised. It is a school such as this which I long to see opened in the new quarters where the children taken from the fondaci cellars and slums in general are now housed. Very dismal they look, shut up in the respective rooms, seated upon the window-sills, longing for the open street, of basso porto, the filthy court- yards, where there were goats and rats to play with, any amount of dirt for the makin o mud pies, and the chance of a stray pizza orfrazaglia, the gift of kindly foodmongers. Now, of course the porters forbid the leaving open the doors of the apartments, the squat- ting on staircases, the congregating in the courtyards where no wash- pools have been erected, expressly to prevent the slummers from reducing the new tenements to the state of the old fondaci. All this is highly proper, but very forlorn for the little ones. By degrees it is to be hoped that the inhabitants of Naples, rich and poor, will be induced to go and live in the suburbs. At present there is a popula- tion which has increased from a little over four hundred thousand to nearly six hundred thousand, crowded over eight square kilometres; deduct the space occupied by churches and public buildings, and there is little more than seven square kilometres. And this is the first greatest misfortune for the AN bLD LOVE-LETTER. 59 poor in Naples. The problem of hous- ing them solved, it will be, after all, but the alpha of the business. There is neither bread nor work for the masses, who increase and multiply like rabbits in a warren. On this point they are extremely sensitive. Finding a lad of eighteen for whom we were try- ing to get work just married to a girl of sixteen, we ventured to remonstrate, asking how they were to keep their children? Volete anche spegnere la razza deipezzenti Do you want even to extinguish the race of miserables? the husband asked, indignantly. Hitherto the surplus population of the provinces has swarmed off to Bra- zil and the United States. From the former country many of them return with sad tales of whole families swept away by yellow fever, of hard labor hoe- ing coffee with insufficient remunera- tion, and the impossibility of obtain- ing proper nourishment. And now comes the natural but sad report from the United States, accentuated by Mr. Chandler, in the Forum, that republi- can citizens are tired of the poor, meek, feckless, unclean offshoots of royal courts and aristocratic institutions who extract a livelihood from New Yorks ash-barrels; who contract for the right to trim the ash - seows before they are sent out to sea, whereas a few years ago men were paid a dollar and a half a day for the said trimming ; who keep the stale beer dives and pig together in the bend; who used at home to re- ceive but five cents per day and wit- tals that dogs refuse, undersell their labor abroad, and thus lower the wages of the natives. We cannot wonder that the cry is: Send them backhere they are en- cumbrances. But when this safety-valve is closed some new outlet will have to be found to prevent an explosion, and the upper third will do well to devise the ways and means while yet there is time. AN OLD LOVE-LETTER. By Margaret Crosby. THE flying years, the silent years, Swept oer this safely hidden page, Till Time, that deep-sunk mystery clears, Gives me the dateless heritage. Where beat the heart, where burnt the brain, That all this pain and passion felt? On leaves defaced by mould and stain, The secret of a life is spelt. Why rashly lift, why rudely rend, The softening veil that Death and Time, Conspiring Life with Art to blend, Have hung between her soul and mine? Enough to know, enough to feel That one immortal bliss endures; The love these ardent words reveal May haply mirror mineor yours.

Margaret Crosby Crosby, Margaret An Old Love-Letter 59-60

AN bLD LOVE-LETTER. 59 poor in Naples. The problem of hous- ing them solved, it will be, after all, but the alpha of the business. There is neither bread nor work for the masses, who increase and multiply like rabbits in a warren. On this point they are extremely sensitive. Finding a lad of eighteen for whom we were try- ing to get work just married to a girl of sixteen, we ventured to remonstrate, asking how they were to keep their children? Volete anche spegnere la razza deipezzenti Do you want even to extinguish the race of miserables? the husband asked, indignantly. Hitherto the surplus population of the provinces has swarmed off to Bra- zil and the United States. From the former country many of them return with sad tales of whole families swept away by yellow fever, of hard labor hoe- ing coffee with insufficient remunera- tion, and the impossibility of obtain- ing proper nourishment. And now comes the natural but sad report from the United States, accentuated by Mr. Chandler, in the Forum, that republi- can citizens are tired of the poor, meek, feckless, unclean offshoots of royal courts and aristocratic institutions who extract a livelihood from New Yorks ash-barrels; who contract for the right to trim the ash - seows before they are sent out to sea, whereas a few years ago men were paid a dollar and a half a day for the said trimming ; who keep the stale beer dives and pig together in the bend; who used at home to re- ceive but five cents per day and wit- tals that dogs refuse, undersell their labor abroad, and thus lower the wages of the natives. We cannot wonder that the cry is: Send them backhere they are en- cumbrances. But when this safety-valve is closed some new outlet will have to be found to prevent an explosion, and the upper third will do well to devise the ways and means while yet there is time. AN OLD LOVE-LETTER. By Margaret Crosby. THE flying years, the silent years, Swept oer this safely hidden page, Till Time, that deep-sunk mystery clears, Gives me the dateless heritage. Where beat the heart, where burnt the brain, That all this pain and passion felt? On leaves defaced by mould and stain, The secret of a life is spelt. Why rashly lift, why rudely rend, The softening veil that Death and Time, Conspiring Life with Art to blend, Have hung between her soul and mine? Enough to know, enough to feel That one immortal bliss endures; The love these ardent words reveal May haply mirror mineor yours. THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL: A MEMORY OF THE MIND OF A CHILD. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. PREFACE. SHOULD feel a serious delicacy in presenting to the world a sketch so .. autobiographical as this if I did not feel myself absolved from any charge of the bad taste of personality by the fact that I believe I might fairly entitle it The Story of any Child with an Imagination. My impression is that the Small Person differed from a world of others only in as far as she had more or less imagination than other little girls. I have so often wished that I could see the minds of young things with a sight stronger than that of very interested eyes, which can only see from the outside. There must be so many thoughts for which child courage and child langaage have not the exact words. So, remember- ing that there was one child of whom I could write from the inside point of view, and with certain knowledge, I began to make a little sketch of the one I knew the best of all. It was only to be a short sketch in my first intention, but when I began it I found so much to record which seemed to me amusing and illustra- tive, that the short sketch became a long one. After all, it was not myself about whom I was being diffuse, but a little unit of whose parallels there are tens of thousands. The Small Person is gone to that undiscoverable far-away land where other Small Persons have emigratedthe land to whose regretted countries there wandered, some years ago, two little fellows, with picture faces and golden love- locks, whom I have mourned and longed for ever since, and whose goingwith my kisses on their little mouthshas left me forever a sadder woman, as all other mothers are sadder, whatsoever the dearness of the maturer creature left behind to bear the same name and smile with eyes not quite the same. As I might write freely about them, so I feel I may write freely about her. FI~xcEs HODGSON BURNETT. MAY, 189~. CHAPTER L tions of the world we lived in at the same period, we made the same men- THE ONE I KNEW THE BE5T OF ALL. tal remarks on people and things, and reserved to ourselves exactly the same I ~n every opportunity for knowing rights of private personal opinion. her well, at least. We were born on I have not the remotest idea of what the same day, we learned to toddle about she looked like. She belonged to an together, we began our earliest observa- era when photography was not as ad-

Frances Hodgson Burnett Burnett, Frances Hodgson The One I Knew The Best Of All: A Memory Of The Mind Of A Child 60-80

THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL: A MEMORY OF THE MIND OF A CHILD. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. PREFACE. SHOULD feel a serious delicacy in presenting to the world a sketch so .. autobiographical as this if I did not feel myself absolved from any charge of the bad taste of personality by the fact that I believe I might fairly entitle it The Story of any Child with an Imagination. My impression is that the Small Person differed from a world of others only in as far as she had more or less imagination than other little girls. I have so often wished that I could see the minds of young things with a sight stronger than that of very interested eyes, which can only see from the outside. There must be so many thoughts for which child courage and child langaage have not the exact words. So, remember- ing that there was one child of whom I could write from the inside point of view, and with certain knowledge, I began to make a little sketch of the one I knew the best of all. It was only to be a short sketch in my first intention, but when I began it I found so much to record which seemed to me amusing and illustra- tive, that the short sketch became a long one. After all, it was not myself about whom I was being diffuse, but a little unit of whose parallels there are tens of thousands. The Small Person is gone to that undiscoverable far-away land where other Small Persons have emigratedthe land to whose regretted countries there wandered, some years ago, two little fellows, with picture faces and golden love- locks, whom I have mourned and longed for ever since, and whose goingwith my kisses on their little mouthshas left me forever a sadder woman, as all other mothers are sadder, whatsoever the dearness of the maturer creature left behind to bear the same name and smile with eyes not quite the same. As I might write freely about them, so I feel I may write freely about her. FI~xcEs HODGSON BURNETT. MAY, 189~. CHAPTER L tions of the world we lived in at the same period, we made the same men- THE ONE I KNEW THE BE5T OF ALL. tal remarks on people and things, and reserved to ourselves exactly the same I ~n every opportunity for knowing rights of private personal opinion. her well, at least. We were born on I have not the remotest idea of what the same day, we learned to toddle about she looked like. She belonged to an together, we began our earliest observa- era when photography was not as ad- THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OP ALL. 61 vanced an art as it is to-day, and no picture of her was ever made. It is a well authenticated fact that she was auburn-haired and rosy, and I can tes- tify that she was curly, because one of my earliest recollections of her emotions is a memory of the momentarily mad- dening effect of a sharp, stinging jerk of the comb when the nurse was absent- minded or maladroit. That she was also a plump little person I am led to believe, in consequence of the well-known joke of a ribald boy cousin and a disrespect- ful brother, who averred that when she fell she bounced like an india-rubber ball. For the rest, I do not remember what the looking-glass reflected back at her, though I must have seen it. It might, consequently, be argued that on such occasions there were so many se- rious and interesting problems to be at- tended to that a reflection in the look- ing-glass was an unimportant detail. In those early days I did not find her personally interestingin fact I do not remember regarding her as a personal- ity at all. It was the people about her, the things she saw, the events which made up her small existence, which were absorbing, exciting, and of the most vi- tal and terrible importance sometimes. It was not until I had children of my own, and had watched their small in- dividualities forming themselves, their large imaginations giving proportions and values to things, that I began to remember her as a little Person, and in going back into her past and reflecting on certain details of it and their curious effects upon her, I found interest in her and instruction, and the most serious cause for tender deep reflection on her as a thing touching on that strange, awful problem of a little soul standing in its newness in the great busy, tragic world of life, touched for the first time by everything that passes it, and never touched without some sign of the con- tact being left upon it. What I remember most clearly and feel most serious is one thing above all: it is that I have no memory of any time so early in her life that she was not a distinct little individual. Of the time when she was not old enough to formu- late opinions quite clearly to herself I have no recollection, and I can remem ber distinctly events which happened before she was three years old. The first incident which appears to me as being interesting, as an illustration of what a baby mind is doing, occurred a week or so after the birth of her sis- ter, who was two years younger than herself. It is so natural, so almost in- evitable, that even the most child-lov- ing among us should find it difficult to realize constantly that a mite of three or four, tumbling about, playing with india-rubber dogs and with difficulty restrained from sucking the paint off Noah, Shem, Ham, and Japhet, not to mention the animals, is a person, and that this person is ten thousand times more sensitive to impression than ones self, and that hearing and seeing one, this person, though he or she may not really understand, will be likely, in in- tervals of innocent destruction of small portable articles, to search diligently in infant mental space until he or she has found an explanation of affairs, to be pigeon-holed for future reference. And yet I can most solemnly declare that such was the earliest habit of that One I knew the best of all. One takes a fat, comfortable little body on ones knee and begins to tell it a story about a fairy or a doggie or a pussy. And the moment the story begins the questions begin also. And with my recollection of the intense little Bogie whom I knew so well and who certainly must have been a most every-day-looking little personage, giv- ing no outward warning of preternatu- ral alertness and tragic earnestness, my memory leads me to think that in- deed it is not a trifle to be sufficiently upright and intelligent to answer these questions exactly as one should. This first incident, which seems to me to de- note how early a tiny mind goes through distinct processes of thought, is a very clear memory to me. I see a comfortable English bedroom, such as would to-day seem old-fashioned without being ancient enough to be picturesque. I remember no articles of furniture in the room but a rather heavy four-posted carved mahogany bed, hung with crimson damask, ornamented with heavy fringe and big cords and tassels, a chair by this bedsideI think it was 62 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OP ALL. an arm-chair covered with chintzand a footstool. This was called a buffet, and rhymed with Miss Muffet eating her curds and whey. In England Miss Muffet sat on a buffet, on the blood- curdling occasion when There came a big spider And sat down beside her And frightened Miss Muffet away. This buffet was placed upon the hearth- rug before the fire, and a very small be- ing was sitting upon it, very conscious, in a quiet way, of her mamma lying on the crimson-draped bed, and the lady friend who was sitting in the chair by her, discussing their respective new babies. But most of all was the Small Person on the buffet conscious of their own personal new baby who was being taken care of by a nurse just near her. Perhaps the interest of such recollec- tions is somewhat added to by the fact that one can only recall them by episodes, and that the episodes seem to appear without any future or any past. Not the faintest shadow of the new baby seems to appear upon the camera, up to this moment, of the buffet, and I have no re- membrance of any mental process which led to the Small Persons wishing to hold it on her knee. Perhaps it was a sudden inspiration. But she did wish to hold it, and noti- fied as much, apparently with sufficient clearness, to the nurse. The shadow of the nurse has no name and no special individuality. She was only a figure known as The Nurse. But she impresses me in these days as having been quite definite in her idea that Persons not yet three years old were not to be trusted entirely with the new-born, however excellent their intentions were. How the Small Person expressed her- self in those days I do not know at all. Before three years articulation is not generally perfect, but if hers was not I know she was entirely unaware of her inadequacies. She thought she spoke just as other people did, and I never re- member her pronunciation being cor- rected. I can recall, with perfect dis- tinctness, however, what she thought she expressed and what her hearers seemed to understand her to say. It was in effect something like this: I want to hold the New Baby on my knee.~~ You are too little, said the Nurse. No, I am not too little. The New Baby is little, and I am on the buffet, and I will hold her tight if you will put her on my knee. She would slip off, I am afraid. No, I will hold her tight with both arms, just like you do. Please give her to me. And the Small Person spread her small knees. I dont know how long the discussion lasted, but the Nurse was a good-natured person, and at last she knelt down upon the hearth-rug by the buffet, holding the white-robed new baby in her arms and amiably pretended to place it in the short arms and on the tiny knees, while she was really supporting it herself. There, she said. Now she is on your knee. She thought she had made it all right, but she was gravely mistaken. But I want to hold her myself said the Small Person. You are holding her, answered the Nurse, cheerfully. What a big girl to be holding the New Baby just like a grown-up lady. The Small Person looked at her with serious candor. I am not holding her, she said. You are holding her. That the episode ended without the Small Person either having held the New Baby, or being deceived into fancy- lug she held it, is as clear a memory to me as if it had occurred yesterday, and the point of the incident is that after all the years that have passed I remember with equal distinctness the thoughts which were in the Small Persons mind as she looked at the Nurse and summed the matter up, while the woman imag- ined she was a baby not capable of thinking at all. It has always interested me to recall this because it was so long ago, and while it has not faded out at all, and I see the mental attitude as definitely as I see the child and the four-post bed with its hangings, I recognize that she was too young to have had in her vo L w THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 63 cabulary the words to put her thoughts and mental arguments intoand yet they were there, as thoughts and men- tal arguments are there to-dayand after these many years I can write them in adult words without the slightest difficulty. I should like to have a pict- ure of her eyes and the expression of her baby face as she looked at the Nurse and thought these things, but perhaps her looks were as inarticulate as her speech. I am very little, she thought. I am so little that you think I do not know that you are pretending that I am holding the new baby, while really it is you who are holding it. But I do know. I know it as well as you, though I am so little and you are so big that you always hold babies. But I cannot make you understand that, so it is no use talking. I want the baby, but you think I shall let it fall. I am sure I shall not. But you are a grown-up person and I am a little child, and the big people can al- ways have their own way. I do not remember any rebellion against an idea of injustice. All that comes back to me in the form of a men- tal attitude is a perfect realization of the immense fact that people who were grown up could do what they chose, and that there was no appeal against their omnipotence. It may be that this line of thought was an infant indication of a nature which developed later as one of its chief characteristics, a habit of adjusting it- self silently to the inevitable, which was frequently considered to represent in- difference, but which merely evolved itself from private conclusions arrived at through a private realization of the utter uselessness of struggle against the Fixed. The same curiosity as to the method in which the thoughts expressed them- selves to the small mind devours me when I recall the remainder of the bedr room episode, or rather an incident of the same morning. The lady visitor who sat in the chair was a neighbor, and she also was the proprietor of a new baby, though her baby was a few weeks older than the very new one the Nurse held. She was the young mother of two or three children, and had a pretty sociable manner toward tiny things. The next thing I see is that the Small Person had been called up to her and stood by the bed in an attitude of modest decor- um, being questioned and talked to. I have no doubt she was asked how she liked the New Baby, but I do not remember that or anything but the se~ rious situation which arose as the re- sult of one of the questions. It was the first social difficulty of the Small Per- sonthe first confronting of the over- whelming problem of how to adjust perfect truth to perfect politeness. Language seems required to mentally confront this problem and try to settle it, and the Small Person cannot have had words, yet it is certain that she confronted and wrestled with it. And what is your New Babys name to be? the lady asked. Edith, was the answer. That is a pretty name, said the lady. I have a new baby, and I have called it Eleanor. Is not that a pretty name? In this manner it wassimple as it may seemthat the awful problem pre- sented itself. That it seemed awful actually almost unbearableis an illus- tration of the strange, touching sensi- tiveness of the new-born butterfly soul just emerged from its chrysalis the impressionable sensitiveness which it seems so tragic that we do not always remember. For some reasonit would be im- possible to tell whatthe Small Person did not think Eleanor was a pretty name. On strictly searching the inner- most recesses of her diminutive men- tality she found that she could not think it a pretty name. She tried, as if by muscular effort, and could not. She thought it was an ugly name; that was the anguish of it. And here was a lady, a nice lady, a friend with whom her own mamma took tea, a kind lady, who had had the calamity to have her own newest baby christened by an ugly name. How could anyone be rude and hard-hearted enough to tell her what she had donethat her new baby would always have to be called something ugly? She positively quaked with mis- ery. She stood quite still and looked 64 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. at the poor nice lady helplessly without speaking. The lady probably thought she was shy, or too little to answer read- ily or really have any opinion on the subject of names. Mistaken lady: how mistaken, I can remember. The Small Person was wrestling with her first soci- ety problem, and trying to decide what she must do with it. Dont you think it is a pretty name? the visitor went on, in a pet- ting, coaxing voice, possibly with a view to encouraging her. Dont you like it? The Small Person looked at her with yearning eyes. She could not say No blankly. Even then there lurked in her system the seeds of a feeling which, be- ing founded on a friendly wish to be hu- mane, which is a virtue at the outset, has increased with years, until it has become a weakness which is a vice. She could not say a thing she did not mean, but she could not say brutally the unpleas- ant thing she did mean. She ended with a pathetic compromise. I dont think, she faltered I dont thinkit isas prettyas Edith. And then the grown - up people laughed gayly at her as if she were an amusing little thing, and she was kissed and cuddled and petted. And nobody suspected she had been thinking any- thing at all, any more than they imag- ined that she had been translating their remarks into ancient Greek. I have a vivid imaginatiou as regards children, but if I had been inventing a story of a child, it would not have occurred to me to imagine such a mental episode in such a very tiny person. But the vivid- ness of my recollection of this thing has been a source of interest and amuse- ment to me through so many mature years that I feel it has a certain signifi- cance as impressing upon ones mind a usually unrealized fact. When she was about four years old a strange and serious event happened in the household of the Small Person, an event which might have made a deep and awesome impression on her but for two facts. As it was, a deep impres- sion was made, but its effect was not of awfulness, but of unexplainable mys- tery. The thing which happened was that the father of the Small Person died. As she belonged to the period of Nurses and the Nursery she did not feel very familiar with him, and did not see him very often. Papa, in her mind, was represented by a gentleman who had curling brown hair and who laughed and said affectionately funny things. These things gave her the impression of his being a most agreeable relative, but she did not know that the funny things were the jocular remarks with which good-natured maturity generally salutes tender years. He was intimately con- nected with jokes about cakes kept in the dining- room sideboard, and with amiable witticisms about certain very tiny glasses of sherry in which she and her brothers had drunk his health and her mammas, standing by the table after dinner, when there were nuts and other fruits adorning it. These tiny glasses, which must really have been liqueur glasses, she thought had been made specially small for the accommo- dation of persons from the Nursery. When papa became ill the Nursery was evidently kept kindly and wisely in ignorance of his danger. The Small Persons first knowledge of it seemed to reach her through an interesting ad- venture. She and her brothers and the New Baby, who by this time was quite an old baby, were taken away from home. In a very pretty countrified Public Park not far away from where she lived there was a house where people could stay and be made com- fortable. The Park still exists, but I think the house has been added to and made into a museum. At that time it appeared to an infant imagination a very splendid and awe-inspiring man- sion. It seemed very wonderful indeed to live in a house in the Park where one was only admitted usually under the care of Nurses who took one to walk. The park seemed to become ones own private garden, the Refresh- ment Room containing the buns almost part of ones private establishment, and the Policemen, after ones first awe of them was modified, to become almost mortal men, It was a Policeman who is the chief feature of this period. He must have been an amiable Policeman. I have no doubt he was quite a fatherly Policeman, w 65 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. but the agonies of terror the One I knew the best of all passed through in consequence of his disposition to treat her as a joke, are something never to be forgotten. I can see now from afar that she was a little person of the most law-abiding tendencies. I can never remember her feeling the slightest inclination to break a known law of any kind. Her inward desire was to be a good child. Without actually formulating the idea, she had a standard of her own. She did not want to be naughty, she did not want to be scolded, she was peace-loving and pleasure-loving, two things not compat- ible with insubordination. When she was naughty, it was because what seemed to her injustice and outrage roused her to fury. She had occasional furies, but went no further. When she was told that there were pieces of grass on which she must not walk, and that on the little boards adorning their borders the black let- ters written said Trespassers will be prosecuted, she would not for worlds have set her foot upon the green, even though she did not know what prose- cuted meant. But when she discov- ered that the Park Policemen who walked up and down in stately solitude were placed by certain awful authorities to take up anybody who trespassed, the dread that she might inadvertently trespass some day and be taken up caused her blood to turn cold. What an irate Policeman, rendered furious by an outraged law, represented to her tender mind I cannot quite clearly define, but I am certain that a Policeman seemed an omnipotent power, with whom the boldest would not dream of trifling, and the sole object of whose majestic existence was to bring to swift, uner- ring justice the juvenile law-breakers who in the madness of their youth drew upon themselves the eagle glance of his wrath, the awful punishment of justice being to be torn shrieking from ones Mamma and incarcerated for life in a gloomy dungeon in the bowels of the earth. This was what Prison~~ and being taken up meant. It may be imagined, then, with what reverent awe she regarded this super- natural being from afar, clinging to her Nurses skirts with positively bated breath when he appeared; how ostenta- tiously she avoided the grass which must not be trodden upon; how she was filled with mingled terror and gratitude when she discovered that he even de- scended from his celestial heights to speale to Nurses, actually in a jocular manner and with no air of secreting an intention of pouncing upon their charges and taking them up in the very wantonness of power. I do not know through what means she reached the point of being suffi- ciently intimate with a Policeman to ex- change respectful greetings with him and even to indulge in timorous conver- sation. The process must have been a very gradual one and much assisted by friendly and mild advances from the Policeman himself. I only know it came about, and this I know through a recol- lection of a certain eventful morning. It was a beautiful morning, so beauti- ful that even a Policeman might have been softened by it. The grass which must not be walked upon was freshest green, the beds of flowers upon it were all in bloom. Perhaps the brightness of the sunshine and the friendliness of nature emboldened the Small Person and gave her giant strength. How she got there I do not know, but she was sitting on one of the Park benches at the edge of the grass, and a Policemana real, august Policeman was sitting beside her. Perhaps her Nurse had put her there for a moment and left her under the friendly officials care. But I do not know. I only know she was there, and so was he, and he was doing nothing alarming. The seat was one of those which have only one piece of wood for a back and she was so little that her short legs stuck out straight before her, con- fronting her with short socks and plump pink calf and small ankle-strap shoes, while her head was not high enough to rest itself against the back, even if it had wished to. It was this last fact which suggested to her mind the possibility of a catas- trophe so harrowing that mere mental anguish forced her to ask questions even from a Minion of the law. She looked at him and opened her lips half a dozen 66 THE ONE J KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. times before she dared to speak, but the words came forth at last: If anyone treads on the grass must you take them up? Yes, I must. There is no doubt but that the innocent fellow thought her and her question a good joke. Would you have to take anyone up if they went on the grass? Yes, with an air of much official sternness. Anyone. She panted a little and looked at him appealingly. Would you have to take me up if I went on it? Possibly she hoped for leniency because he evident- ly did not object to her Nurse, and she felt that such relationship might have a softening influence. ~ he said, I should have to take you to prison. But, she faltered, but if I couldnt help it if I didnt go on it on pur- pose. Youd have to be taken to prison if you went on it, he said. You couldnt go on it without knowing it. She turned and looked at the back of the seat, which was too high for her head to reach, and which consequently left no support behind her ,exceeding smallness. Butbut, she said, I am so lit- tle I might fall through the back of this seat. If I was to fall through on to the grass should you take me to prison? What dulness of his kindly nature I feel sure he was not an unkindly fellowblinded the Policeman to the terror and consternation which must in some degree have expressed themselves on her tiny face, I do not understand, but he evidently saw nothing of them. I do not remember what his face looked like, only that it did not wear the feroc- ity which would have accorded with his awful words. ~ he said, I should have to pick you up and carry you at once to prison. She must have turned pale; but that she sat still without further comment, that she did not burst into frantic howls of despair, causes one to feel that even in those early days she was governed by some rudimentary sense of dignity and resignation to fate, for as she sat there, the short legs in socks and small black ankle-straps confronting her, the marrow was dissolving in her infant bones. There is doubtless suggestion as to the limits and exaggerations of the tender mind in the fact that this inci- dent was an awful one to her and caused her to waken in her bed at night and quake with horror, while the later epi- sode of her hearing that Poor Papa had died seemed only to be a thing of mystery of which there was so little ex- planation that it was not terrible. This was without doubt because, to a very young childs mind, death is an idea too vague to grasp. There came a day when someone carried her into the bedroom where the crimson-draped four-post bed was, and standing by its side held her in her arms that she might look down at Papa lying quite still upon the pillow. She only thought he looked as if he were asleep, though someone said: Papa has gone to Heaven, and she was not frightened, and looked down with quiet interest and respect. Seven years later the sight of a child of her own age or near it, lying in his coffin, brought to her young being an awed realization of death, whose anguished intensity has never wholly repeated itself; but being held up in kind arms to look down at Poor Papa, she only gazed without comprehension and without fear. CHAPTER II. THE LITTLE FLOWER-BOOK AND THE BROWN TESTAMENT. I DO not remember the process by which she learned to read or how long a time it took her. There was a time when she sat on a buffet before the Nursery firewhich was guarded by a tall wire fender with a brass topand with the assistance of an accomplished elder brother a few years her senior, seriously and carefully picked out with a short, fat finger the capital letters adorning the advertisement column of a newspaper. But from this time my memory makes a leap over all detail until an occasion when she stood by her Grand- THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 67 mammas knee by this same tall Nursery fender and read out slowly and with dignity the first verse of the second chapter of Matthew in a short, broad, little specklcd brown Testament with large print. When Jesus was bornin Bethlehemof Judea, she read, but it is only this first verse I remember. Either just before or just after the accomplishing of this feat she heard that she was three years old. Possibly this fact was mentioned as notable in con- nection with the reading, but to her it was a fact notable principally because it was the first time she remembered hearing that she was any age at all and that birthdays were a feature of human existence. But though the culminating point of the learning to read was the brown Tes- tament, the process of acquiring the ac- complishment must have had much to do with the Little Flower book. In a life founded and formed upon books, one naturally looks back with af- fection to the first book one possessed. The one known as the Little Flower book was the first in the existence of the One I knew the best of all. No other book ever had such fascina- tions, none ever contained such marvel- lous suggestions of beauty and story and adventure. And yet it was only a little book out of which one learned ones alphabet. But it was so beautiful. One could sit on a buffet and pore over the pages of it for hours and thrill with wonder and delight over the little picture which illustrated the fact that A stood for Ap- ple-blossom, C for Carnation, and R for Rose. What would I not give to see those pictures now. But I could not see them now as the Small Person saw them then. I only wish I could. Such lovely pictures! So like real flowers! As one looked at each one of them there grew before ones eyes the whole gar- den that surrounded itthe very astral body of the beauty of it. It was rather like the Brown Testa- ment in form. It was short and broad, and its type was large and clear. The short page was divided in two; the upper half was filled wi1~h an oblong black background, on which there was a flower, and the lower half with four lines of rhyme beginning with the letter which was the one that stood for the flower. The black background was an inspiration, it made the flower so beautiful I do not remember any of the rhymes, though I have a vague im- pression that they usually treated of some moral attribute which the flower was supposed to figuratively represent. In the days when the Small Person was a child, morals were never lost sight of; no well-regulated person ever mentioned the Poppy, in writing for youth, with- out calling it flaunting or gaudy; the Violet, without laying stress on its modesty ; the Rose, without calling attention to its sweetness, and daring indeed would have been the individual who would have referred to the Bee with- out calling him busy. Somehow one had the feeling that the Poppy was de- liberately scarlet from impudence, that the Violet stayed up all night, as it were, to be modest, that the Rose had invent- ed her own sweetness, and that the Bee would rather perish than be an idle butterfly and not spend every mo- ment improving each shining hour. But we stood it very well. Nobody repined, but I think one rather had a feeling of having been born an innately vicious little person who needed labor- ing with constantly that one might be made merely endurable. It never for an instant occurred to the Small Person to resent the moral at- tributes of the flowers. She was quite resigned to them, though my impression is that she dwelt on them less fondly than on the fact that the rose and her alphabetical companions were such vis- ions of beauty against their oblong background of black. The appearing of the Flower book on the horizon was an event in itself. Somehow the Small Person had become devoured by a desire to possess a book and know how to read it. She was the fortunate owner of a delightful and ideal Grandmamma not a modern graudmamma, but one who might be called a comparatively early English graudmamma. She was stately but benevolent; she had silver-white hair, wore a cap with a full white net border, and carried in her pocket an antique 68 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. silver snuff-box, not used as a snuff-box, but as a receptacle for what was known in that locality as sweeties, one of which being bestowed with ceremony was regarded as a reward for all nur- sery virtues and a panacea for all earth- ly ills. She was bounteous and sym- pathetic, and desires might hopefully be confided to her. Perhaps this very early craving for literature amused her, perhaps it puzzled her a little. I re- member that a suggestion was tenta- tively made by her that perhaps a doll would finally be found preferable to a book, but it was strenuously declared by the Small Person that a book, and only a book, would satisfy her impas- sioned cravings. A curious feature of the matter is that, though dolls at a later period were the joy and the great- er part of the existence of the Small Person, during her very early years I have absolutely no recollection of a feeling for any doll, or indeed a mem- ory of any dolls existing for her. So she was taken herself to buy the book. It was a beautiful and solemn pilgrimage. Reason suggests that it was not a long one, in consideration for her tiny and brief legs, but to her it seemed to be a journey of great lengthprincipally past wastes of sub- urban brick-fields, which for some rea- son seemed romantic and interesting to her, and it ended in a tiny shop on a sort of country road. I do not see the inside of the shop, only the outside, which had one small window, with toys and sweet things in glass jars. Perhaps the Small Person was left outside to survey these glories. This would seem not improbable, as there remains no memory of the interior. But there the Flower book was bought (I wonder if it really cost more than sixpence); from there it was carried home under her arm, I feel sure. Where it went to, or how it disappeared, I do not know. For an ~on it seemed to her to be the greater part of her life, and then it melted away, perhaps being absorbed in the Brown Testament and the more dramatic interest of Herod and the In- nocents. From her introduction to Herod dated her first acquaintance with the villain in drama and ro- mance, and her opinion of his conduct was, I am convinced, founded on some- thing much larger than mere personal feeling. CHAPTER III. THE BACK GARDEN OF EDEN. I DO not know with any exactness where it was situated. To-day I believe it is a place swept out of existence. In those days I imagine it was a comfort- able, countrified house, with a big gar- den round it, and fields and trees be- fore and behind it; but if I were to describe it and its resources and sur- roundings as they appeared to me in the enchanted days when I lived there, I should describe a sort of fairyland. If one could only make a picture of the places of the world as these Small Persons see them, with their wondrous proportions and beauties the great heights and depths and masses, the garden - walks which seem like stately avenues, the rose - bushes which are jungles of bloom, the trees adventur- ous brothers climb up and whose top- most branches seem to lift them to the sky. There was such a tree at the bot- tom of the garden at Seedly. To the Small Person the garden seemed a mile long. There was a Front Garden and a Back Garden, and it was the Back Gar- den she liked best and which appeared to her large enough for all ones world. It was all her world during the years she spent there. The Front Garden had a little lawn with flower-beds on it and a gravel walk surrounding it and lead- ing to the Back Garden. The interest- ing feature of this domain was a wide flower-bed which curved round it and represented to the Small Person a state- ly jungle. It was filled with flowering shrubs and trees which bloomed, and one could walk beside them and look through the tangle of their branches and stems and imagine the things which might live among them and be concealed in their shadow. There were rose-bushes and lilac-bushes and rho- dodendrons, and there were laburnums and snowballs. Elephants and tigers might have lurked there, and there might have been fairies or gypsies, though I do not think her mind formu THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 69 lated distinctly anything more than an interesting suggestion of possibilities. Bat the Back Garden was full of beau- tiful wonders. Was it always Spring or Summer there in that enchanted Gar- den which, out of a whole world, has re- mained throughout a lifetime the Gar- den of Eden? Was the sun always shining? Later and more material ex- perience of the English climate leads me to imgaine that it was not always flooded and warmed with sunshine, and filled with the scent of roses and mignon- ette and new-mown hay and apple-blos- soms and strawberries all together, and that when one laid down on the grass on ones back one could not always see that high, high world of deep sweet blue with fleecy islets and mountains of snow drifting slowly by or seeming to be quite stillthat world to which one seemed somehow to belong even more than to the earth, and which drew one upward with such visions of running over the white soft hills and springing, from little island to little island, across the depths of blue which seemed a sea. But it was always so on the days the One I knew the best of all remem- bers the garden. This is no doubt be- cause, on the wet days and the windy ones, the cold days and the ugly ones, she was kept in the warm nursery and did not see the altered scene at all In the days in which she played out of doors there were roses in bloom, and a score of wonderful annuals, and bush- es with gooseberries and red and white and black currants, and raspberries and strawberries, and there was a mysteri- ous and endless seeming alley of Sweet- briar, which smelt delicious when one touched the leaves and which sometimes had a marvellous development in the sh~pe of red berries upon it. How is it that the warm, scented alley of Sweet- briar seems to lead her to an acquaint- ance, an intimate and friendly acquaint- ance, with the IRimmerss pigs, and somehow through them to the first Crime of her infancy. The Rimmers were some country working-people whose white-washed cot- tage was near the Back Garden. Rim- mer himself was a market gardener, and in his professional capacity had some connection with the Back Garden itself and also with the gardener. The cot- tage was very quaint and rural; and its garden, wherein cabbages and currant- bushes and lettuces, etc., grew luxuri- antly, was very long and narrow, and one of its fascinating features was the pig-sty. A pig-sty does not seem fascinating to mature years, but to Six-years-old, looking through an opening in a garden hedge and making the acquaintance of a little girl pigowner on the other side, one who knows all about pigs and their peculiarities, it becomes an interesting object. Not having known the pig in his do- mestic circles, as it were, and then to be introduced to him in his own home, surrounded by Mrs. Pig and a family of little Pink Pigs, squealing and hustling each other, and being rude over their dinner in the trough, is a situation full of suggestion. The sty is really like a little house. What is he thinking of as he lies with his head half-way out of the door, blink- ing in the sun, and seeming to converse with his family in grunts? What do the grunts mean? Do the little Pink Pigs understand them? Does Mrs. Pig really reply when she seems to? Do they really like potato and apple par- ings, and all sorts of things jumbled to- gether with buttermilk and poured into the trough? The little girl whose father owns the pigs is very gifted. She seems to know everything about the family in the sty. One may well cherish an acquaintance with a person of such knowledge and experience. One is allowed to talk to this little girl. Her name is Emma Rimmer. Her father and mother are decent people, and she is a well -behaved little girl. There is a little girl whose mother keeps the toll-gate on the road, and it is not permitted that one should converse with her. She is said to be a rude little girl, and is tabooed. But with Emma Rimmer it is differ- ent. She wears a print frock and clogs, and speaks in the Lancashire dialect, but there seems to be no serious objec- tion to occasional conversation with her. At some time the Small Person must have been taken into the narrow 70 TUE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. garden, because of a remembrance of luxuries there revealed. A yard or so from the door of the cottage there was a small wooden shed, with a slanting roof protecting a sort of table or count- er, with toothsome delicacies spread up- on it for sale. They were refreshments of the sort which the working classes patronize during their Sunday walks into the country. Most of them are purchasable for one penny, or one halfpenny, in coin of the realm. Pieces of cardboard in the cottage window announce: Pop. A penny a bottle. Ginger beer Sold here. Also Nettle beer. On the stall there are, Real Eceles Cakes. One penny each. Parkins. A halfpenny. There are glass bottles with Raspberry Drops in them, and Bulls Eyes, and Humbugs beauti- ful striped sticky things which taste strongly of peppermint. If one is capi- talist enough to possess a halfpenny, one can spend half an hour in trying to decide what luxury to invest it in. There was in those days in the air a rumorfor which Emma Rimmer was responsiblea sort of legend repeated with bated breath and not regarded with entire confidence of a female Monte Christo of tender years, who once had spent a whole sixpence at a time. But no one saw her. She was never traced and could not have belonged to the neighborhood. Indeed there was an impression in the small persons mind that she was somehow connected with someone who worked in factoriesper- haps was a little factory girl herself. No well-regulated little girl, with a nurses eye upon her, would have been permitted to indulge in such reckless, even vulgar, extravagance. Through the nearness of these temp- tations Crime came. The Serpent en- tered the Back Garden of Eden. The Serpent was innocent little Emma Rim- mer. There was a day on which the Small Person was playing with Emma Rim- mer. Perhaps the air was sharp and hunger-creating, perhaps she had not eaten all her bowl of bread - and - milk at her Nursery breakfast that morning. Somehow she was not in the Back Gar- den, but in the road outside the big gates which opened into the carriage- way. Why she was without her Nurse is not explained. She seemed to be jumping about and running in a circle with Emma Rimmer, and she became suddenly conscious of a gnawing sense of vacancy under the belt of her pina- fore. I am so hungry, she said; I am so hungry. Emma looked at her and then continued to jump up and down. Something unusual must have been in the situation, because there seemed to be none of the usual methods to fall back upon in the way of going in search of bread-and-butter. I wish I had a halfpenny, she con- tinued. If I had a halfpenny I would get you to go to your cottage and get me a halfpenny parkin. A parkin is a spicy thing made of molasses and oat- meal and flavored with ginger. It can only be found in Lancashire and York- shire. Emma stopped jumping and looked sharply reflective. Familiarity with commerce had rendered her daring. Why doesna tha go an get a par- kin on trust? she said. My mother d trust thee for a hapny. Ah! gasped the Small Person. The boldness of the suggestion over- whelmed her. She had never dreamed of the possibility of such a thing. Aye, she would, said Emma. Tha could just get thy parkin an pay next toime tha had a hapny. A moit o people does that way. Ill go an ax Mother fur thee now. The scheme seemed so gigantic, so far from respectable, so fraught with periL Suppose that one got a parkin on trust, and net~er got a halfpenny, and ones family were consequently involved in eternal dishonor and disaster. Mamma would be angry, she said; she would not let me do it. Tha neednt say nowt about it, said Emma. This was not actual duplicity, I am convinced. Her stolid rusticity retained its red cheeks like rosy apples, and she hopped about like a cheerful sparrow. It was doubtless this serene and mat- THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 71 ter-of-fact unconsciousness of any seri- ous aspect of the matter which had its effect upon the Small Person. There is no knowing how long the discussion lasted, or in what manner she was final- ly persuaded by prosaic, practical argu- ment that to make an investment on trust was an every - day commercial affair. The end of the matter was that stress of the moment prevailed and Emma went for the parkin. But the way of the infant transgressor is hard. The sense of proportion is as exaggerated in regard to mental as to physical objects. As lilac and rhodo- dendron bushes form jungles, and trees reach the sky, so a nursery law defied assumes the stature of a crime, and sur- rounds itself with horror. I do not think there is a defalcator, an abscond- ing bank president, a criminal of any degree, who is beset by such a monster of remorse as beset the Small Person, when her guilt was so far an accom- plished fact that the brown and sticky cake was in her hand. The incident is nothing, but its ef- fect, in its illustration of the dimen- sions facts assume to the contempla- tive mind of tender years, has its inter- est. She could not eat the parkin. Her soul revolted against it after the first bite. She could not return it to Mrs. Rimmer with a semi-circular piece taken out of its roundness, and the marks of small, sharp teeth on the edge. In a situation so fraught with agony and so clouded with infamy she could confide in no one. I have never murdered anyone and had the body of my victim to conceal from the public eye, but I know how a murderer suffer- ing from this inconvenience feels. The brown, sticky cake with the semi-circu- lar bite taken out of it, was as awful and as difficult to manage. To dispose of it involved creeping about on tiptoe, with beating heart and reeling brain. It involved looking stealthily for places where evidences of crime might be con- cealed. Why the Small Person hit on a specially candid shelf in a cupboard w in an undisguised sideboard in the din- ing-room, as a good place, it would be difficult to say. I comfort myself by saying that this indicated that she was naturally unfitted for crime and under- handed ways, and was not the least clever in stealth. How she separated from her partner in iniquity I do not remember. My chief memory is of the awful days and nights which followed. How many were there? She thought a thousand it is probable there were two or three. She was an infant Eugene Aram, and the body of her victim was mouldering in the very house with her. Her an- guish, however, did not arise from a fear of punishment. Her Mamma was not severe, her Nurses were not allowed to slap her. It was a mental affair alto- gether. She felt that she had disgraced her family. She had brought ignominy and dishonor upon her dearest relatives. She was very fond of her relatives, and her conception of their moral and men- tal altitude was high. Her Mamma was a lady, and her little daughter had gone and bought a halfpenny parkin on trust. She would have felt it not the least an undue thing if a thunderbolt had struck her dead in the Back Gar- den. It was no longer the Back Gar- den of Eden. A degraded criminal de- filed it with her presence. And the Body was mouldering in the sideboard, on the second shelf in the lit- tle cupboard. I think she would have faded away and perished with the parkin, as witch- stricken victims perish with the waxen figure which meltsbut there came re- lief. She had two brothers older than her- self, and so to be revered, as represent- ing experience and the powerful mind of masculinity. (Being an English little girl she knew the vast superiority of the Male.) The younger of the two was a combative little fellow with curly hair, a belted-in roundabout, a broad white collar, and two broad white front teeth. As she was only a girl, he despised her in a fraternal British way, but as she was his sister he had a kind of affection for her, which expressed itself in occa- sional acts of friendly patronage. He was perhaps seven or eight years old. In some moment of severest stress of anguish she confessed herself to him. It is so long ago that I cannot describe the manner or the occasion. I can only remember the magnificence of his 72 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. conduct. He must have been a good- natured little fellow, and he certainly had a lordly sense of the family dignity, even as represented or misrepresented by a girl. That he berated her roundly it is not unlikely, but his points of view concern- ing the crime were not as dispropor- tionately exalted as her own. His mas- culine vigor would not permit her to be utterly crushed, or the family honor lost. He was a Man and a Capitalist, as well as a Man and a Brother. He had a penny of his own, he had also a noble and Napoleonic nature. He went to the cottage of Mrs. Rimmer (to his greater maturity was accorded the freedom of leaving the garden unaccompanied by a nurse) and paid for the paricin. So the blot was erased from the escutcheon, so the criminal, though still feeling herself stained with crime, breathed again. She had already begun to have a sort of literary imagination, and it must in some way have been already fed with some stories of heroic and noble little boys whose conduct was to be emulated and admired. I argue this from the fact that she mentally and reverently compared him to a boy in a book. What book I cannot say, and I am not sure that she could have said herself, but at that time he figured in her im- agination as a creature too noble to be anything but a creation of literature the kind of boy who would refuse to steal apples, and invariably gave his plum-cake to beggars or hungry dogs. But there was a feature of the melting away of this episode which was always a mystery to her. Her Mamma knew all, so did her Graudmamma, so did the Nurses, and yet she was not treated as an outcast. Nobody scolded her, no- body reviled her, nobody seemed to be afraid to leave her with the Baby, for fear she might destroy it in some mad outburst of her evil instincts. This seemed inexplicable. If she had been branded on the brow, and henceforth kept under the custody of a strong es- cort of policemen, she would not have been surprised. And yet she was al- lowed to eat her breakfast bowl of bread- and-milk at the Nursery table with inno- cent children, and to play in the Back Garden as if her presence would not blight the gooseberries, and the red cur- rants would not shrivel beneath her evil eye. My opinion is that, hearing the story from the Capitalist in the roundabout, her Mamma and her Graudmamma were privately immensely amused, and felt it more discreet to preserve a dignified si- lence. But that she was not swept from the earth as she deserved, did not cause her to regard her crime as less. She only felt the wonderfulness of mercy as embodied in ones Grandmamma and ones Mamma. CHAPTER IV. LITERATURE AND THE DOLL. WHETHER as impression-creating and mind-moulding influences, Literature or the Doll came first into her life it would be most difficult to decide. But remember- ing the rOle the Doll played, and wherein its fascination lay, I see that its way must have been paved for it in some rudimen- tary manner by Literature, though their clearly remembered existences seem to have begun at one and the same time. Before the advent of literary influence I remember no Doll,and,curiously enough, there is, before the advent of the Doll, a memory of something like stories imperfect, unsatisfactory, filling her with vague, restless craving for greater com- pleteness of form, but still creating im- ages for her, and setting her small mind at work. It is not in the least likely she did not own dolls before she owned books, but it is certain that until literature assisted imagination and gave them character, they seemed only things stuffed with sawdust and made no special impres- sion. It is also certain that she cannot have been told stories as a rule. I should say that she did not hear them even as the exception. I am sure of this be- cause I so well recollect her desperate efforts to wring detail of any sort from her nurses. The Slaughter of the Innocents seems to me to have been the first story impression in her life. A little illustrated scripture history afforded a picture of -w THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 73 Jewish mothers rushing madly down broad stone stairways clasping babies to their breasts, of others huddling un- der the shadow of high walls clutching their little ones, and of fierce armed men slashing with swords. This was the work of Herod the King. And In iRama was there a voice heard, lamentation and weeping, and great mourning. Rachel weeping for her chil- dren, and would not be comforted, be- cause they were not. This was the first story, and it was a tragedyonly made endurable by that story of the Star in the East which led the way to the Manger where the little Child lay sleeping with a light about his headthe little Child before whom the wise men bent, worshipping and offering gifts of frankincense and myrrh. She wondered greatly what frankincense and myrrh were, but the wise men were beautiful to her, and she could see quite clearly the high deep dome of blue which vaulted the still plain where the Shepherds watched their flocks at night, when the angel of the Lord came to them and glory shone round about. and they were sore afraid, until the angel said unto them, Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy. This part of the story was strange and majestic and lovely, and almost consoled her for Herod the King. The Nurse who was the unconscious means of suggesting to her the first ro- mance of her life, must have been a dull person. Even at this distance I find myself looking back at her vague, stupid personality with a sense of impatience. How could a person learn a couple of verses of a song suggesting a story, and not only neglect to learn more, but neglect to inquire about the story itself. And oh, the helpless torture of hear- ing those odd verses and standing by that phlegmatic persons knee with ones yearning eyes fixed on her incompre- hensible countenance, finding ones self unable to extort from her by any cross- examination the details! Even the stray verses had such won- derful suggestion in them. They opened up such vistas. At that time the Small Person faithfully believed the song to be called Sweet Alice Benbolt Miss Alice Benbolt being, as she supposed, the name of the young lady described in the lines. She was a very sensitive young lady, it appeared, from the de- scription given in the first verse: Ah, dont you remember Sweet Alice Ben. bolt, Sweet Alice with hair so brown, How she wept with delight when you gave her a smile, And trembled with fear at yonr frown? It did not then occur to the Small Person that Miss Benbolt must have been trying.in the domestic circle; she was so moved by the tender image of a brown - haired girl who was called Sweet Alice and set to plaintive mu- sic. Somehow there was something touching in the way she was spoken of as if people had loved her and were sorry about her for some reasonthe boys who had gone to the school-house under the ~hill, connected with which there seemed to be such pathetic mem- ories, though the Small Person could not comprehend why they were pathetic. But there was a pathos in one verse which broke her heart when she un- derstood it, which she scarcely did at first. In the little churchyard in the valley Ben- bolt, In a corner obscure and alone, They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray, And Sweet Alice lies under the stone. Why does she lie there? she asked, with both hands on the Nurses knee. Why does Sweet Alice lie under the stone p Because she died, said the Nurse, without emotional compunctions, and was buried there.~~ The Small Person clung rather help- lessly to her apron. Sweet Alice, she said, Sweet Alice with hair so brown? (Why was the brown hair pathetic as well as the name? I dont know. But it was.) Why did she die? she asked. What did she die for? I dont know, said the nurse. Butbuttell me some more, the Small Person gasped. Sing some more. 74 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. I dont know any more. But where did the boys go? I dont know. What did the schoolmaster do? The song doesnt tell. Why was he grim U It doesnt tell that either. Did Sweet Alice go to school to him U I dare say. Was he sorry when she died? It does not say. Are there no more verses? I cant remember anymore. Questioning was of no use. She did not know any more and she did not care. One might implore and try to suggest, but she was not an imaginative character, and so the Small Person was left to gaze at her with hungry eyes and a sense of despair before this stolid being, who might have known the rest and would not. She probably made the womans life a burden to her by imploring her to sing again and again the stray verses, and I have no doubt that at each repetition she invented new questions. Sweet Alice Benbolt, she used to say to herself. Sweet Alice with hair so brown. And the words always called up iu her mind a picture which is as clear to-day as it was then. It is a queer little picture, but it seemed very touching at that time. She saw a hillside covered with soft green. It was not a high hill and its slope was gentle. Why the school- house under the hill was placed on the top of it, would be difficult to explain. But there it was, and it seemed to look down on and watch benignly over some- thing in a corner at the foot of it. The something was a slab of the granite so gray lying among the soft greenness of the grass. And Sweet Alice lay under the stone. She was not a shadowSweet Alice. She is something far more than a shadow even now, in a mind through which thousands of shadows have passed. She was a tender thingand she had brown hairand somehow people loved her and she died. It was not Lutil Literature in the form of story, romance, tragedy, and adven- ture had quickened her imagination that the figure of the Doll loomed up in the character of an absorbing interest, but once having appeared it never retired from the scene until advancing years forced the curtain to fall upon the ex- citing scenes of which it was always the heroine. That was the truth of the matterit was not a Doll, but a Heroine. And some imagination was required to make it one. The Doll of that day was not the dimpled star-eyed creature of to-day, who can stand on her own firm little feet, whose plump legs and arms can be placed in any position, whose attitudes may be made to express emotions in accordance with the Del- sarte system, and who has parted lips and pearly teeth, and indulges in feat- ures. Not at all. The natural advantages of a doll of that period confined themselves to size, hair which was sewn on a little black skull-cap-if it was not plastered on with mucilageand eyes which could be jerked open if one pulled a wire which stuck out of her side. The most expensive and magnificent doll you could have was merely a big wax one, whose hair could be combed and whose eyes would open and shut. Otherwise they were all the same. Only the face and neck were of wax, and features were not studied by the manufacturers. All the faces were exactly the same shape, or rather the same shapelessness. Ex- pression and outline would have been considered wanton waste of materiaL To-day dolls have cheeks and noses and lips and brows, they look smiling or pensive, childlike or sophisticated. At that time no doll was guilty of looking anything at all. In the middle of her smooth, round face was a blunt excres- cence which was called a nose, beneath it was a line of red paint which was meant for a mouth, on each side of it was a tight-looking black or blue glass eye as totally devoid of expression and as far removed from any resemblance to a real eye as the combined talents of ages of doll manufacturers could make it. It had no pupil and no meaning, it stared, it glared, and was only a little more awful when one pulled the wax lid THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 75 over it than it was when it was fixed and open. Two arches of brown paint above it were its eyebrows, and all this beauty was surmounted with the small black cap on the summit of which was sLretched a row of dangling curls of black or brown. Its body was stuffed with sawdust which had a tragic tenden- cy to burst forth and run out through any hole in the white calico which was its skin. The arms and legs were like sawdust - stuffed sausages, its arms were covered with pink or blue or yellow or green kid, there being no preju- dice caused by the fact that arms were not usually of any of these shades; its legs dangled painfully and presented no haughty contours, and its toes invaria- bly turned in. How an imagination, of the most fer- vid, could transform this thing into a creature resembling anything human one cannot explain. But nature is very good sometimes to little children. One day, in a squalid London street, I drove by a dirty mite sitting upon a step, cuddling warmly a little bundle of hay tied round the middle with a string. It was her baby. It probably was lily fair and had eyes as blue as heaven, and cooed and kissed her again but grown-up people could not see. When I recall the adventures through which the Dolls of the Small Person passed, the tragedies of emotion, the scenes of battle, murder, and sudden death, I do not wonder that at times the sawdust burst forth from their calico cuticle in streams, and the Nursery floor was deluged with it. Was it a thing to cause surprise that they wore out and only lasted from one birthday to another? Their span of life was short but they could not complain that exist- ence had not been full for them. The Doll who, on November 24th, begins a checkered career by mounting an un- tamed and untamable, fiercely prancing and snorting steed, which, while it strikes sparks from the earth it spurns with its disdainful hoofs, wears to the outward gaze the aspect of the mere arm of a Nursery Sofa covered with green W baizethe Doll who begins life by mount- ing this steed, and so conquering its spirit that it responds to her touch and leaps the most appalling hedges and abysses, and leaves the lightning itself behind in its career; and having done this on the 24th, is executed in black velvet on the 25th as Mary Queen of Scots, besides being imprisoned in the Tower of London as someone else and threatened with the rack and the stake because she will not recant~ and be- come a Roman Catholica Doll with a career like this cannot be dull, though she may at periods be exhausted. While the two little sisters of the Small Person arranged their dolls house prettily and had tea-parties out of miniature cups and saucers, and visited each others corners of the nursery, in her corner the small person entertained herself with wildly- thrilling histories, which she related to herself in an undertone, while she acted them with the assistance of her Doll. She was all the characters but the heroinethe Doll was that. She was the hero, the villain, the banditti, the pirates, the executioner, the weeping maids of honor, the touchingly benevo- lent old gentleman, the courPers, the explorers, the king. She always spoke in a whisper or an undertone, unless she was quite alone, because she was shy of being heard. This was probably an instinct at first, but it was a feeling intensified early by finding out that her habit of talking to herself, as others called it, was con- sidered a joke. The servants used to listen to her behind doors and giggle when they caught her, her brothers re- garded her as a ridiculous little object. They were cricket-playing boys, who possibly wondered in private if she was slightly cracked, but would have soundly thumped and belabored any other boy who had dared to suggest the same thing. The time came when she heard it said that she was romantic. It was the most crushing thing she had ever ex- perienced. She was quite sure that she was not romantic. She could not bear the ignominy of the suggestion. She did not know what she was, but she was sure she was not romantic. So she was very cautious in the matter of keeping to her own~ corner of the Nursery and putting an immediate stop to her per- formance the instant she observed a si- lence, as if anyone was listenina~ But 76 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. her most delightful life concentrated it- self in those dramatized stories through which she talked to herself. At the end of the entrance hail of the house in which she lived was a tall stand for a candelabra. It was of worked iron and its standard was ornamented with certain decorative supports to the upper part. What were the emotions of the Small Persons Mamma, who was the gentlest and kindest of her sex, on coming upon her offspring one day, on descending the staircase, to find her apparently fu- rious with insensate rage, muttering to herself as she brutally lashed with one of her brothers toy whips, a cheerfully hideous black gutta - percha doll who was tied to the candelabra stand and appeared to be enjoying the situation. My dear, my dear! exclaimed the alarmed little lady, what are you do- ing? The Small Person gave a little jump and dropped at her side the stalwart right arm which had been wielding the whip. She looked as if she would have turned very red, if it had been possible for her to become redder than her exer- tions had made her. II was only playing, she faltered, sheepishly. Playing! echoed her mamma. What were you playing? The Small Person hung her head and answered, with downcast countenance, greatly abashed. I wasonly justpretending some- thing, she said. It really quite distressed me, her Mamma said, in discussing the matter afterward with a friend. I dont think she is really a cruel child. I always thought her rather kind-hearted, but she was lashing that poor black doll and talking to herself like a little fury. She looked quite wicked. She said she was pretending something. You know that is her way of playing. She does not play as Edith and Edwina do. She pretends her doll is somebody out of a story and she is somebody else. She is very romantic. It made me rather nervous the other day when she dressed a baby-doll in white and put it into a box and covered it with flowers and kuried it in the front garden. She was so absorbed in it, and she hasnt dug it up. She goes and strews flowers over the grave. I should like to know what she was pretending when she was beat- ing the black doll. Not until the Small Person had out- grown all dolls, and her mother re- minded her of this incident, did that innocent lady know that the black dolls name was Topsy, but that on this occa- sion it had been transformed into poor Uncle Tom, and that the little fury with the flying hair was the wicked Legree. She had been reading Uncle Tom~ s Cabin. What an era it was in her existence. The cheerful black doll was procured immediately and called Topsy, her best doll, which fortunately had brown hair in its wig, was Eva, and was kept actively employed slowly fad- ing away and dying, while she talked about the New Jerusalem, with a hec- tic flush on her cheeks. She converted Topsy, and totally changed her gutta- percha nature, though it was impossi- ble to alter her gutta-percha grin. She conversed with Uncle Tom (then the Small Person was Uncle Tom), she cut off her long golden-brown curls (Not literally. That was only pretended. The wig had not ringlets enough on it.) and presented them to the weeping slaves. (Then the Small Person was all the weeping slaves at once.) It is true that her blunt-nosed wax countenance remained perfectly unmoved throughout all this emotion, and it must be con- fessed that at times the Small Person felt a lack in her, but an ability to pretend ardently was her consolation and support. It surely must be true that all chil- dren possess this right of entry into the fairyland where anything can be pretended. I feel quite sure they do and that if one could follow them in the pretendings, one would make many discoveries about them. One day in the Cascine in Florence a party of little girls passed inc. They were led by a handsome child of eleven or twelve who, with her head in the air, was speaking rapidly in French. Moi, she said to the others as she went by, and she made a fine gesture with her hand, Moi je suis la Reine; vousvous ~tes ma suite! w THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 77 It set one to thinking. Nature has the caprice sometimes, we know, to en- dow a human thing at birth with gifts and powers which make it through life a leader la reine or le roi, of whom afterward others are always more or less la suite. But one wondered if such gifts and powers in themselves had not a less conscious and imperious air than this young pretender wore. The green-covered sofa in the Nursery was an adventurous piece of furniture. To the casual observer it wore a plain old-fashioned, respectable exterior. It was hard and uninviting and had an arm at each end under which was fitted a species of short, stiff green bolster or sausage. But these arms were capable of things of which the cold unimagina- tive world did not dream. I wonder if the sofa itself dreamed of them and if it found them an interesting variety of its regular Nursery life. These arms were capable of transforming them- selves at a moments notice into the most superb equine form. They were coal-black steeds or snow-white pal- freys, or untamed mustangs ; they curvetted, they caracoled, they pranced, their proud hoofs spurned the earth. They were always doing things like these, while the Doll sprang lightly to her saddle, or sat erect as a dart. They were always untamable, but the Doll in her character of he- roine could always tame them and re- main smiling and fearless while they dashed across the boundless plain or clawed the heavens with their fore- feet. No equestrian feat ever disturbed the calm hauteur of the DolL She is- sued triumphant from every deadly peril. It was Sir Walter Scott who trans- formed the sofa - arms to coal-black steeds, G. P. R. James and Harrison Ainsworth who made them snow-white paifreys, and Captain Mayne Reid whose spell changed them to untamed mustangs and the Nursery into a boundless prairie across which troops c~f Indian warriors pursued the Doll upon her steed, in paint and feathers, and with war-whoops and yells, having as their object in view the capture of her wig. What a beautiful, beautiful story the War Trail waswith its white horse of the prairie which would not be caught. How one thrilled and palpi- tated in the reading of it. It opened the gateway to the world of the prairie, where the herds of wild horse swept the plain, where buffaloes stampeded, and Indian chieftains, magnificent and ferocious and always covered with wam- pum (whatever wampum might be), pur- sued heroes and heroines alike. And the delight of Ainsworths Tower of London. That beloved book with the queer illustrations. The pictures of Og, Gog, and Magog, and Xit the Dwarf, Manger the Headsman, the crafty Benard, the Princess Eliza- beth with Courtenay kneeling at her feet, and poor embittered Queen Mary looking on. What a place it was for a Small Per- son to wander through in shuddering imaginings, through the dark, dank subterranean passages, where the rats scurried, and where poor mad Alexia roamed, persecuted by her jailer. One passed by dungeons where noble pris- oners pined through years of dying life, one mounted to towers where queens had waited to be beheaded, one was led with chilling blood through the dark Trait- ors gate. But one reached some time or other the huge kitchen and servitors hall, where there was such endless riot- ous merriment, where so much sack and Canary was drunk, where there were great rounds of roast beef, and venison pasties, and roast capons, and even peacocks, and where they ate man- chets of bread and quaffed their flagons of nut-brown ale, and addressed each other as Sirrah and Varlet, and Knave in their elephantine jok- ing. Poor little Lady Jane Grey! Poor handsome, misguided Guilford Dudley! Poor anguished, terrified, deluded Nor- thumberland! What tragic, historical adventures the Doll passed through in these days; how she was crowned, discrowned, sentenced, and beheaded, and what horror the Nursery felt of wretched, unloved, here- tic-burning Bloody Mary! And through these tragedies the Nursery Sofa almost invariably accompanied her as palfrey, scaffold, dungeon, or barge from which 78 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. she stepped to proudly, sadly, pass the Traitors Gate. And if the Nursery Sofa was an en- deared and interesting object, how un- grateful it would be to ignore the charms of the Green Arm Chair in the Sitting- room, the Sitting Room Cupboard, and the Sitting-Room Table. It would seem simply graceless and irreverent to write the names of these delightful objects, as if they were mere common nouns, with- out a title to capital letters. They were benevolent friends who lent their aid in the carrying out of all sorts of fascinat- ing episodes, who could be confided in, as it were, and trusted never to laugh when things were going on, however dramatic they might be. The sitting - room was only a small one, but somehow it had an air of seclu- sion. It was not the custom to play in it, but when nobody was there and the nursery was specially active it had powerful attractions. One could go in there with the Doll and talk to ones self when the door was shut, with perfect freedom from fear of listeners. And there was the substantial sober-looking Arm Chairas sober and respectable as the Nursery Sofa, and covered with the same green stuff, and it could be trans- formed into a bark of any descrip- tion from a pinnace to a gondola, a canoe, or a raft set afloat by the surviv- ors of a sinking ship to drift for weeks upon the trackless ocean ~ without water or food. Little incidents of this description were continually taking place in the ca- reer of the Doll. She was accustomed to them. Not a hair of her wig turned at the agreeable prospect of being bare- ly rescued from a burning ship, of be- ing pursued all over the Indian Ocean or the Pacific by a rakish-looking craft, flying the black flag and known to be manned by a crew of bloodthirsty pi- rates whose amusement of making cap- tives walk the plank was alternated by the scuttling of ships. It was the head pirates habit to attire himself almost wholly in cutlasses and pistols, and to greet the appearance of any prepos- sessing female captive with the blood- curdling announcement. She shall be mine! But the Doll did not mind that in the least, and it only made it thrilling for the hero who had rescued her from the burning ship. It was also the opinion of the Small Peron that no properly constituted pirate chief could possibly omit greeting a female captive in this mannerit rather took, in fact, the form of a piratical custom. The sitting - room floor on these occa- sions represented mid - ocean the Pa- cific, the Indian, or the Mediterranean Sea, their waters being so infested with sharks and monsters of the deep (in or- der that the hero might plunge in and rescue the Doll, whose habit it was to fall overboard) that it was a miracle that it was possible at all to steer the Green Arm Chair. But how nobly and with what nauti- cal skill it was steered by the hero! The crew was necessarily confined to the Doll and this unconquerable beingbe- cause the Green Arm Chair was not big. But notwithstanding his heroic con- duct, the cold judgment of maturer years has led me to believe that this young mans mind must either have been enfeebled by the hardships through which he had passed, or that the ardor of his passion for the Doll had caused his intellect to totter on its throne. I am led to this conviction by my distinct recollection of the fact that on the occasion of some of their most perilous voyages, when the Doll had been rescued at the peril of his noble life, the sole article which he rescued with her, as being of practical value upon a raft, was a musical instrument. An in- different observer who had seen this instrument in the hand of the Small Person might have coarsely supposed it to be a tin whistleof an order calcu- lated to make itself specially unpleasant but to the hero of the raft and to the doll it was known as a lute. Why, with his practical knowledge of navi- gation, the hero should have felt that a rescued young lady on a raft, without food or water, might be sustained in moments of collapse from want of nu- trition by performances upon the lute only persons of deep feeling and sen~i- ment could explain. But the lute was there and the hero played on it, in in- tervals of being pursued by pirates or perishing from starvation with ap- propriately self -sacrificing sentiments. THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 79 For myself I have since thought that possibly the tendency the Doll developed for falling into the depths of the ocean arose from an unworthy desire to dis- tract the attention of her companion from his musical rhapsodies. He was, of course, obliged to lay his instrument aside while he leaped overboard and rescued her from the sharks, and she may have preferred that he should be thus engaged. Were my nature more hardened than years have as yet made it I might even say that at times she perhaps thought that the sharks might make short work of his lute or him- self and there may have been mo- ments when she scarcely cared which. It must be irritating to be played to on a lute, when one is perishing slowly from inanition. But ah! the voyages in the Green Arm Chair, the seas it sailed, the shores it touched, the enchanted islands it was cast upon! The Small Person has never seen them since. They were of the fair world she used to see as she lay npon her back on the grass in the Back Garden of Eden, and looked up into the sky where the white islands floated in the blue. One could long for a no more perfect thing than that, after the long years of wanderings on mere earth, one might find them again, somewhere somewhere. Who knows where? How surprised the governess would have been, how amused the mamma, how derisive in their ribald way the brothers, if they had known that the Sitting Room Cupboard was a temple in Central America that the strange pigmy remnants of the Aztec royal race were kept there and worshipped as gods, and that bold explorers, hearing of their mysterious existence, went in search of them in face of all danger and difficulty and with craft and daring dis- covered and took them away. All these details were in a penny pamphlet which had been sold at the hall of exhibition where the two Aztec dwarfs had been on view, the object of the scientific explorer having apparently been to make a good thing of them by exhibiting them at a shilling a head, children half price. The Small Person had not been taken to see them; in fact, it is possible that the exhibition had not belonged to her time. But at some time, some member of her family must have been of their audience, for there was the pamphlet, with extraordinary woodeuts of the ex- plorers, woodcuts of the Aztecs with their dwarfed bodies and strange re- ceding profiles, and woodcuts of the temple where they had been worshipped as the last remnant of a once magnifi- cent, now practically extinct, royal race. The woodcuts were very queer, and the Temple was apparently a ruin, whose massive broken and fallen columns made it all the more a place to dwell upon in wild imaginative dreams. Restored, in the Sitting Room Cupboard, it was a ma- jestic pile. Mystic ceremonials were held there, splendid rites were solem- nized. The Doll took part in them, the Small Person officiated. Both of them explored, both discovered the Aztecs. To do so it was necessary to kneel on the floor with ones head inside the cupboard while the scenes were enacted, but this in no wise detracted from the splendor of their effect and the intensity of their interest. Nothing could. The Sitting Room Table must have been adorned with a cover much too large for it, or else in those days table - covers were intended to be large. This one hung down so far over the table that when one sat on the floor underneath it with the Doll, it became a wigwam. The Doll was a squaw and the Small Person a chief. They smoked the calumet and ate maize, and told each other stories of the war-trail and the happy hunting- grounds. They wore moccasins, and feathers, and wampum, and brought up pappooses, and were very happy. Their natures were mild. They never scalped anyone, though the tomahawk was as much a domestic utensil as the fire-irons might have been if they had had an In- dian flavor. That it was dark under the enshrouding table-cloth made the wig- wam all the more realistic. A wigwam with bay windows and a chandelier would not have been according to Mayne Reid and Fenimore Cooper. And it was so shut out from the world there, one could declaimin undertones with such freedom. It seemed as if surely outside the wall of the table-cloth there was no world at allno real world 80 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOR IN ROME. it was all wader the Sitting Room Ta- bleinside the wigwam. Since then I have often wondered what the grown-up people thought, who, coming into the room, saw the table-cloth drawn down, and heard a little voice whispering, whis- pering, whispering, beneath its shadow. Sometimes the Small Person did not know when they came or went, she was so deeply absorbedso far away. Ah, the world went very well then. It was a wonderful worldso full of story and adventure and romance. One did not need trunks and railroads; one could go to Central America, to Central Africato Central Anywhereon the arm of the Nursery Sofaon the wings of the Green Arm Chair under the cover of the Sitting Room Table. There is a story of the English painter Watts which I always remember as a beautiful and subtle thing, though it is only a brief anecdote. He painted a picture of Covent Gar- den Market, which was a marvel of pict- uresque art and meaning. One of his many visitorsa ladylooked at it long and rather doubtfully. Well, Mr. Watts, she said, this is all very beautiful, of course, but 1 know Covent Garden Market and I must confess I have never seen it look like this. No? replied Watts. And then, looking at her thoughtfully. Dont you wish you could! It was so pertinent to many points of view. As one looks back across the thousand years of ones life, to the time when one saw all things like thisrecognizing how far beyond the power of maturer years it is to see them so again, one says with half a smile, and more than half a sigh: Ah, does not one wish one could! (To be continued.) IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. By Frederic Crowninshield. FIRST PAPER. 0 great and incessant have been the vicissitudes in the Eternal City from the misty days of Romulus to the twentieth of September, 1870, when the Italian soldiery poured over the breach at Porta Pia, and so marked and rapid ever since, that a mere chronicling of the topographical changes of any epoch must always prove interesting, and none more so than those of the last twenty-one years. Yet, stu- pendous as have been these objective mutations, they have not outstripped the subjective evolution of the sight- seer. A quarter of a century has wit- nessed the transformation of artistic methods and testhetic canons. Mr. Mur- ray may importune us to admire the macchinisti, the tenebrosi, and all of that ilk, or try to fix our wandering attention on his big-lettered gods by ex cerpts from the poetsstill it will wan- der. The following sheets have been in- dited by one who loves the beautiful, and has been much interested in monu- mental decoration, not from a histori- cal or an archaiological point of view. Art and archteology frequer~tly meet on common ground, but each has its dis- tinctive province. It has long been my opinion that Rome is the richest treas- ure house of artistic precedents in the world. Other places may be more opu- lent in certain departments. The so- called Gothic is notably lacking. Paris, Dresden, London, Florence, Ven- ice, or Madrid may be better endowed with easel-picturesthough there are not a few master-pieces in the Roman galleries. But as a whole, the Italian capital knows no rivaL She has more- over her specialties. Her frescos are

Frederick Crowninshield Crowninshield, Frederick Impressions Of A Decorator In Rome - I. 80-91

80 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOR IN ROME. it was all wader the Sitting Room Ta- bleinside the wigwam. Since then I have often wondered what the grown-up people thought, who, coming into the room, saw the table-cloth drawn down, and heard a little voice whispering, whis- pering, whispering, beneath its shadow. Sometimes the Small Person did not know when they came or went, she was so deeply absorbedso far away. Ah, the world went very well then. It was a wonderful worldso full of story and adventure and romance. One did not need trunks and railroads; one could go to Central America, to Central Africato Central Anywhereon the arm of the Nursery Sofaon the wings of the Green Arm Chair under the cover of the Sitting Room Table. There is a story of the English painter Watts which I always remember as a beautiful and subtle thing, though it is only a brief anecdote. He painted a picture of Covent Gar- den Market, which was a marvel of pict- uresque art and meaning. One of his many visitorsa ladylooked at it long and rather doubtfully. Well, Mr. Watts, she said, this is all very beautiful, of course, but 1 know Covent Garden Market and I must confess I have never seen it look like this. No? replied Watts. And then, looking at her thoughtfully. Dont you wish you could! It was so pertinent to many points of view. As one looks back across the thousand years of ones life, to the time when one saw all things like thisrecognizing how far beyond the power of maturer years it is to see them so again, one says with half a smile, and more than half a sigh: Ah, does not one wish one could! (To be continued.) IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. By Frederic Crowninshield. FIRST PAPER. 0 great and incessant have been the vicissitudes in the Eternal City from the misty days of Romulus to the twentieth of September, 1870, when the Italian soldiery poured over the breach at Porta Pia, and so marked and rapid ever since, that a mere chronicling of the topographical changes of any epoch must always prove interesting, and none more so than those of the last twenty-one years. Yet, stu- pendous as have been these objective mutations, they have not outstripped the subjective evolution of the sight- seer. A quarter of a century has wit- nessed the transformation of artistic methods and testhetic canons. Mr. Mur- ray may importune us to admire the macchinisti, the tenebrosi, and all of that ilk, or try to fix our wandering attention on his big-lettered gods by ex cerpts from the poetsstill it will wan- der. The following sheets have been in- dited by one who loves the beautiful, and has been much interested in monu- mental decoration, not from a histori- cal or an archaiological point of view. Art and archteology frequer~tly meet on common ground, but each has its dis- tinctive province. It has long been my opinion that Rome is the richest treas- ure house of artistic precedents in the world. Other places may be more opu- lent in certain departments. The so- called Gothic is notably lacking. Paris, Dresden, London, Florence, Ven- ice, or Madrid may be better endowed with easel-picturesthough there are not a few master-pieces in the Roman galleries. But as a whole, the Italian capital knows no rivaL She has more- over her specialties. Her frescos are IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 81 incomparable, the Cosmati work unique, the opus alexandrinum abundant; nor can any city illustrate with more splen- did examples the evolution of mosaic from the time of the ancients to the age in which we now live. In these days of what may be termed the Greek fad, it is the fashion to sneer at everything Roman. It would be superfluous to say that no intelli- gent person, with a jot of artistic feel- ing or training, can fail to revere the sweet and pure simplicity of the match- less Greek forms, be they embodied in the graceful Lekythos, a coquettish Tan- agra, a beardless Ephebos of the Phi- dian school, or the perfectly propor- tioned edifices of the Acropolis. Yet this worshipful attitude need not pre- clude a sincere admiration for the colos- sal buildings of Rome. If anyone wants to experience the joys of pure construc- tion, let him stand in the Pantheon. Degraded as it now is with false decora- tion, the mere form, the splendid a~irial concavity sends a shiver down the spine. Nor must it be taken for granted that Roman decoration of the best epoch is a thing to be scoffed at. Such colored stucco-work as we find in the lately ex- cavated Teverine villa, or on the Pala- tine, and particularly in the tombs on the Via Latina, are marvels of refine- ment, invention, and execution. When we speak of Roman art, we must do so with reserve. There never has been, strictly speaking, an original, indige- nous art. The political and ecclesiastical supremacy of Rome drew unto herself, in all ages, the artistic dite of the world. Greek artists were supreme in imperial days long after their political indepen- dence had been forfeited. Renaissance Rome attracted the very flower of Tus- cany. Moreover, her great traditions, her vast and suggestive ruins, amplified the Florentine manner, gave it a big- ness, if I may be allowed the term, it never would have acquired on its native soiL For several centuries individuals, societies, and governments have recog- __ nized the artistic importance of a so- journ in Rome, and time has justified their attitude. It is to be hoped that we, too, who are not backward in gener- ous aid to promising youth, may so con- centrate and regulate our somewhat dif fused and independent benefactions as to enable our young architects, painters, and sculptors to add something to their valuable but insufficient Parisian expe- riences, and follow the example of the French themselves, by consulting orig- inal documents in the great archives of Rome. The vision of an American Villa Medici is indeed entrancing. In order to present in a condensed form a concrete idea of numberless in- coherent and ill - assorted impressions, the diarial method has been adopted, be- cause its informality licenses an abrupt- ness of transition from one topic to an- other, and quickens the interest in sub- jects that have been exhaustively treat- ed in an endless series of pedantic and somniferous works. June 12, 1890.It was about half-past five A.M., when I awoke in the express from Paris, which was nearing Palo, a small station on the Mediterranean, about an hours distance from Rome. The cool, refreshing ponente was blowing in from the sea, and the yield- ing, pale grass was glistening in the dazzling light of morning. Many years ago I had first entered Rome by this same route, and was on the qui vive of expectancy to catch a glimpse of the fa- miliar landmarks. Would they have lost their charm after more than a decades stern life of American realities? The gorgeous poppies glowing scarlet against the gray brick ruins, the grand sweep of the middle distancea vast amphithea- treexquisitely varied by the undula- tions of the soil and perspective of aque- ducts, the shadow-flecked forms of the Alban and Sabine hills, and the sculptu- resque silhouette of more distant Leon- essa, soon dispelled any doubts. There is nothing comparable to this unique Roman Campagna. To convey an ade- quate idea of its ineffable beauties, its lovely tones, and perfect lines through the medium of words is a hopeless task. It must be seen and feltfor there are those who cannot feel it, and deem it a triste, unsightly waste. One is often prone to gauge the artistic sensibilities of a person by the degree of their im- pressibility to its subtle charms. Un- like most of our own scenery (east of the Mississippi, at least) it has an anat 82 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. omy. Form cannot be slighted by its pictorial interpreter, who in spite of his inclinations must for the nonce turn classicist. As for me, I never weary of chanting its changing glories, changing with the seasons, with the skies, with the hot blasts of the moist, white scirocco, or the cold waves of the clear, blue tra- montana. One is almost inclined to as- sert that landscape plays the protago- nists r6le here, notwithstanding the allurements of countless artistic treas- ures. Pure heroism is needed at times to drag the resisting body and reluctant soul out of their lovely environments into the sombre abodes of the chefs- dzeuvre. To put it humbly, it goes against the grain to do the sights. Tis so much more delectable to loaf away the hours under the sombre green ilexes of a stately villa, if the tempera- ture be high, or bask in the sunshine of a garden or piazza, if it be cool, than ex- ercise the legs and brains in a round of duty. The train sweeps around S. Giovanni in Laterano, passes Minerva Medica, and we are in iRome. June 13, 1890.My friend Lanciani piloted me about the city, for verily there had been such a shifting of land- marks, a guide was necessary. Conserv- ative love for a past, vainly regretted by the impossible, irreconcilable ~esthetes, and their captious aggressiveness against the present, freely ventilated in print, had prepared me for the very worst, so that the pleasurable surprise produced by the first glimpse of the new city was almost too reactionary. Roma Nuova proved to be no eyesore, while those parts of Roma Yecchia through which we drove seemed to be much the same as in the days of Pio Nono. A fever- ish and unwarranted speculation, not peculiar to Italy, which ruined many a princely house, and enriched many an obscurity, impoverished those who incontinently bought, and made the fortunes of those who judiciously sold, metamorphosed stately villas and se- questered gardens into blocks of cheap, perishable, and unnecessary construc- tions, some of which were abandoned before they were roofed in. Only a very few of those buildings which were ne- cessitated by the legitimate and urgent demands of a newly established govern- ment, as well as by the sudden incre- ment of the population to considerably more than twice its former number, sat- isfy the artistic or practical eye. Per contra, they are well grouped in the healthiest sections of the city, separated by broad, clean, well-paved streets, or ef- fectively massed about a piazza. From a sanitary point of view they form a strik- ing contrast to the low.lying, damp, din- gy, and over-crowded lanes of old Rome, of which some of the most pestiferous sections, such as the Ghetto, have been remodelled without detriment to the precious monuments of antiquity. It can scarcely be expected that a pater- nal government should jeopard the lives of its subjects to gratify the whims of travelling ~esthetes. Possibly, if the population of the too densely inhabited quarters of the city were evenly distrib- uted over the newer and healthier, the untenanted houses would be occupied to the great advantage of all concerned. But here am I, an artist, dilating on the distribution of the population! Let us at once return to the fine arts. The modern Italian seems to have an inborn and ineradicable hankering after plas- ter. To do him justice, he makes good plaster. He slakes his lime and pre- serves it in pits, where it lies for an in- definite period in store. He never uses it till it has lain there for at least a year, and the prudent frescoist will insist on a duration of two years. Consequent- ly it is thoroughly slaked, will not blis- ter nor flake. The artisan handles his plaster with consummate manual skill. He imitates the more precious materials with an astounding facility, inspired ap- parently by the mere joy of counterfeit- ing in a compliant medium. Slender resources formerly suggested the sub- stitution of plaster for stone, but years of falsification have so perverted the national taste that the sham has ceased to be offensive. Naturally this mortar veneer is quickly defiowered, its fresh- ness lasting but a few years. The rav- ages of time and weather are occa- sionally vamped up, but not drastically enough to prevent a general air of shab- biness in the older constructions, pleas- ing and profitable to the aquarellist, but disagreeable to the tidy citizen. The w IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 83 whole epidermis of the cheapest houses is plaster. Frequently the base courses and trimmings are of travertine, the rest coarse brick, tufa, or concrete, plas- tered. The color applied with a vehicle of milk, or glue and milk, with perhaps a touch of oil, is usually very agreeable. Pale tones predominate, such as light ochres, and reds, or browns, that har- monize admirably with the sky and with each other, producing a general air of cheerfulness. The uniformity is occa- sionally broken by a loggia brilliantly decorated in the Pompeian fashion, the cast shadows of roof and column ton- ing down the garishness, and more fre- quently by a gay sgraffito fa9ade of light- buff arabesques, on a cool gray or umber ground, which are sometimes grouped about centres of highly colored pictures executed a buon fresco. On paper this sounds crude and noisy. In reality it is not. The vibrating air ties it all together, and the general concordance of tone and method permits emphasized color spots, and gains by them. Truth compels me to state that there are not a few fa9ades of genuine ma- terial, save at times the cornice. These are either of travertine, or a lovely combination of delicate rose, or buff brick, with travertine trimmings. The new Villa Ludovisi, for example, the re- cent additions to S. Giovanni in Late- rano or the many nameless residences. With due circumspection it can be as- serted that, for artistic effect, no mun- dane stone is comparable to travertine. From the hour it leaves the stone- cutters hands to such as we see it to- day in the Flavian Amphitheatre after a lapse of eighteen hundred years, it thoroughly satisfies the eye. lIJnlike white marble, it does not perforce pass through a chill and unsympathetic novi- tiate before proving acceptable. It starts both with texture and tone. From a rich cream color when it is quarried, it runs through the gamut of ochres in- to a rich burnt-sienna, or deeper van- dyke, and sometimes into soft markings of velvety black. Count Vespignani, ar- chitect to the Vatican, in answer to my question whether the finer qualities of this stone would resist the inclemen- cies of the American climate, replied that, though he could not speak from personal experience, he saw no reason to doubt its ability to do so, seeing that on such fountains as the Tritone~ in the piazza Barberini, which alternate- ly freezes and thaws during the colder winters, it had very successfully resisted for years the action of the weather. Tra- vertine calls to my mind the curb-stones of that material, which constructively are very good. They are not merely jux- taposed as with us, but are mortised by means of semi-circular joints, produc- ing a pleasing effect, as well as adding considerably to their stability. While the general harmony of new Rome is enhanced by uniformity of tone and decoration, it is assured by the uniformity of architectural style, and that a simple one. There are no acrid transitions from Romanesque to Moorish, from Gothic to Queen Anne. Eclecticism does not obtain. The ar- chitects work but in one vein, the clas- sic, or that modification of it known as the renaissance, and which, both in ancient and revival practice, is much freer and more elastic than many imag. inc. The classic is their legitimate heritage, well adapted to the natural conditions of the country. They act wisely in adapting a style, flesh of their flesh, to the modified environments of the nineteenth century, rather than in- efficiently dabble with an exotic. The classic in its purest forms has always been synchronous with a refined and cultivated civilization, and its principles are in full sympathy with the thoughts and habits of to-day. Picturesque grotesqueness is irrecon- cilable with our modern feeling. It is to be regretted that the modern Roman, with his easy access to the most perfect examples of the past the reserved, elegant, and unobtrusive forms of the ancients, as well as the refined fancies of the quattro - centisti should prefer the ponderous details of the barocco, and vulgar taste of the decadence. Were the past veiled, with a few rare exceptions one would say that there was no taste. The Latin races seem for the moment to be infected with the barocco malady. Certain symptoms, as yet scarcely perceptible, leave me, how- ever, to hope that, for the Italians at least, the cure is not far distant. 84 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. When we weigh the charges of van- dalism preferred against the Italian Government with the positive benefits they have conferred on the world of art, we shall find that the latter pre- ponderate. Time, the new order of things, and the exigencies of modern life have brought about certain un- avoidable changes for which no one in particular is responsible. That the ubi- quitous chimney should loom against the sky somewhat aggressively; that fac- tories should be established in some of the less attractive environs; that, last and worst of all, certain temporary structures of a Coney Island-like order of architecture near the Tor di Quinto should mar the beautiful view from the Acqua Acetosa across the historic mead- ows of the Tiber, are disagreeable but patent facts. Yet as we drove through the Roman Forum I noticed that it had been greatly amplified. From the old, insignificant excavation around the col-. umn of Phocas, through the splendid expanse of uncovered ruin on either side of the Sacred Way, as far as S. Fran- cesca Romana, there is visible testi- mony of a considerable outlay of money and intelligence by a government amply endowed with the latter, but much in need of the former. The necessary ex- cavations for the very buildings which the irreconcilables so deeply deplore, have brought to light a countless mass of artistic and archtnological documents. Should anyone doubt the veracity of my statement, let him turn to the long lists in the monthly bulletins of archa~ologi- cal discoveries made in the different provinces of regenerated Italy. Taking, then, both the official and unofficial ex- cavations into consideration, the vast number of rare objects unearthed dur- ing the extension of the new city, the establishment of several museums, the severity of the laws protecting the so- called national monuments, which often weigh heavily on the individual, and the rescuing of many precious rel- ics from threatening disintegration, the lover of the fine arts has cause to re- joice rather than complain. In contrast to all this, it must be re- membered that, in comparatively recent papal times, restorations were freely made, well-intentioned no doubt, and in accordance with the methods then in vogue, but to - day deemed barbaric. The interior, for instance, of S. Agnese Fuori le Mura, the sham mosaics on the exterior of the basilica of S. Lorenzo, the fa~ade of S. Pudentiana, etc. Let those who have never yet seen the Eternal City be assured that it is still worthy of a pilgrimage. July 10, 1890.Visited S. Giovanni in Laterano to study the restorations, begun during the reign of Pius IX. by the father, and recently completed by the son, Count Francesco Vespignani. In order to enlarge the basilica, the choir has been lengthened by moving back the apse with its splendid mosaics, the work of a Franciscan monk, Jacopo Torriti, commenced during the pontifi- cate of Nicholas IV. (12881292). The new side walls and ceiling have been treated to harmonize with the rest of the church, which is ultra barocco, tawdry, and restless. There were never, perhaps, such antitheses of taste as in Rome, such oppositions of the rare and vulgar. Priceless jewels of art have too frequently a setting of tasteless finery. A homogeneous ensemble is the exception. Unless the sight-seer be an expert, it is difficult to make the required abstractions. Without dwell- ing on the unsympathetic side-walls of the choir, or reopening the controversy touching the necessity, or propriety, of the restorations, but accepting them as an accomplished fact, it must be con- ceded that the circular termination of the choir, or apse proper, is one of the most successful, sumptuous, and well- composed decorative works of modern times, and possibly the most costly. Certainly I know of no other that vies with it in opulent, ringing effect. Words never portray to the intelli- gence a satisfactory idea of the visual impression produced by art or nature. Photography and chromo-lithography, accessible to all, are much more elo- quent; therefore I shall dispense with a detailed description of the apsidal decorations, merely signalizing the dif- ferent zones that girdle the domed semi- circle. Four pointed windows, glazed with white bulls eyes, and red cathe- dral~~ in the interstices, pierce the apsis about midway from the pavement to the IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TON IN ROME. 85 apex of the dome. The sills of these the barbarismcovered with tesserat.* windows correspond to the boundary This is in accordance with sound mosaic line between tbe old work and the new, doctrine, giving great breadth and a cer- while just above their heads the dome tam soft richness to the decorated sur- begins to spring. This semi-spherical face; everything being carpeted, as it surface is cut by a narrow band into were, with uninterrupted color of the Mosaic on the Vaults of Santa Costanza. two unequal zones. In the upper, or same quality. All below the windows is narrower, is depicted the head of Christ modern. First, a broad dark-blue band with attendant angels, the ground being with a dedicatory inscription in gold dark blue. On the lower are represent- (what an impressive thing, subjectively ed certain saintly personages, standing and objectively, is an. inscription !), then on a narrow strip of flowering meadow, a superb girdle of floriated forms on and grouped processionally on either a deep-red ground. Here the mosaic side of the cross. The background is ceases. Beneath these bands there is a gold. Beneath this composition, and lofty dado of wbite marble, the white separated from it by a nufriber of nar- being almost obliterated by incrusta- row fillets, is the zone intersected by tions of colored stones, symmetrically the windows already referred to. On it arranged in circles or rectangles, and are represented a number of the apos- framed by that peculiar kind of glass tles, as well as the artist and his assist- mosaic known as Cosmati work, which ant, standing like the figures above on is supposed to have originated, or rather a flower-bedecked field. The back- to have been developed, in Rome, during ground is gold. The figures in the the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, by zone above are, according to Gerspach, the Cosmati family. Of this work the 13 feet 9 inches high. In this zone they city offers many splendid examples are but 9 feet 2 inches, except the artists, the ambones, or pulpits, of Ara Cceli, for who have represented themselves on a instance, the basilica of S. Lorenzo Fuori greatly diminished scale. The reveals of le Mura, the church of SS. Nerco ed the windows are richly ornamented with Achilleo, the cloisters of S. Giovanni in conventionalized fioriated designs, on Laterano, and S. Paolo Fuori, etc. The alternate blue and gold grounds. There chancel is paved with large pieces of are no ~rchitraves of foreign material, highly colored polished marble, geomet- the transitions from the reveals to the rically grouped about the arms of Leo walls being effected by a necessarily 5Tesserne are the small blocks, or cuboids, with which rounded angle~if one may be permitted the mosaic is composed. VOL. XIIL9 86 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. XIII., in order to harmonize with the contiguous pavement of the transept; otherwise it is to be presumed opus alex- andrinum, the usual accompaniment of thirteenth century mosaic, would have been used. While the arrangement of the principal picture is similar to most apsidal compositions, being procession- al, the majestic proportions of the vault, and the preponderance of lustrous back- ground, produce a greater feeling of space than usual without in the least offending by emptiness, but, on the con- trary, heightening by opposition the in- tricacy of the closer work below. The composition is not so original and opu- lent as that by the same artist in S. Maria Maggiore, which, by the way, has apparently suffered much less at the hands of the restorers. Like many openness so dear to the modern heart. Its general tonality is blue-green, height- ened by an abundant use of gold, and a very moderate use of red. From the suppression of classic decorative canons, down to their rehabilitation in the be- ginning of the sixteenth century after the excavations in the baths of Titus, this blue-green-gold tonality generally obtains for vaults and ceilings. Red is used merely as a foil, and with great reserve. The classic scheme for vault or pavement and most of the extant mosaics are pavements was a white ground brilliantly flecked with color, the white usually predominating, or at least, framing the colored motives. The sim- ple combination of black and white, of course, then as in all times, was freely used for the floor. In the earliest Chris- Mosaic Floor (Opus Alexandrinum) Santa Maria in Coamedis. other apsidal mosaics, however, the lat- tian mosaics, as in the catacomb frescos, ter is so ill-lighted, that without a spe- classic traditions still predominate. The cial staging it would be difficult to ap- mosaics on the vaults of S. Costanza preciate its technical qualities. What (fourth century) are but little more than the S. Giovanni composition (which is antique decorations rebaptized. The mo- brilliantly illuminated) loses in original- saic picture in the apsis of S. Pudentia- ity and wealth of massed story, and na, of the same century, is still imbued loaded decorative forms, it gains in with classicism. The drawing is infinitely 87 especially those of Torriti, surpass all others, and may well claim the at- tention of those who are interested in the propagation of this splendid art. Several condi- tions operate against an ade- quate appreciation of the technical methods employed by the early mo- saicists; their fre- quent great height from the spectator, the obscurity in which they are en- veloped, and worst of all, their fre- quent restorations if some of the barbaric manipulations to which they have been subjected can be so dignified. Occasionally, I suspect, they have even been painted. Nor is it always easy to differentiate concisely, though one may feel it, the method of an epoch from that immediately pre- ceding or following it, so gradual is the evolution of mosaic technique. Yet I should say that the distinctive feature of the Torriti mosaics was the peculiar and liberal use of gold. In the later Christian mosaics the tones are fre- quently broken by the occasional inser- tion of gold tesser~e. Torriti not only used it in this wise, but also in places IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. superior to anything that followed it for centuries, infinitely superior even to that of Jacopo Torriti, but infinitely in- ferior in color-splendor. Though the art of delineation degenerated with the centuries following the obliteration of the Roman Empire, till the human form became a mere grotesque conventional- ity; color, through the development of glass mosaic, took upon itself a sol- emn splendor the ancients never dreamed of. The antique mosaics were exquisite and appropriate in their way, a light, grace- ful, scholarly way, but the times had changed, and new thoughts, new tastes, and new creeds, demanded more sombre, rich- er, and, if you will, more barbaric im- pressions. As far as pure decorative execution is con- cerned, it seems to me that the mo- saics of the thir- teenth century, and Mosaic Pavement Ostia. to define the forms instead of emphatic dark lines, which have 88 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. Apse of San Giovanni in Laterano. been employed with great moderation Like all cunning mosaicists, Torriti has and, from below at least, are scarcely vis- enhanced the value of his color, and ible. In the Chigi Chapel mosaics (Santa cleaned up his work by a moderate Maria del Popolo) by Luigi di Pace, af- use of pure white. The surface of these ter the designs of Raphael, masses of mosaics, both in the old parts and in the gold are most infelicitously used to cx- new, is exceedingly rough. Consequent- press the high-lights on the drapery, ly the vitreous tesser~ glisten marvel- while in San Giovanni it is more deli- lously, even the opaque cubes radiating a cately and evenly distributed, producing certain amount of light. Nor are they a richer, but less harsh and garish effect. placed close together, the interstices be- IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOR IN ROME. 89 ing filled with the grayish-white cement in which they are set, a technical detail that contributes potently to the har- mony of the whole. In the sacristy of Santa Maria in Cosmedin there is an in- teresting mosaic said to have been pre- sented to St. Peters by John VII., in 705 A.D., and brought hither from the old basilica. That it is a very ancient mosaic is evident. It bears no marks of restoration, is wonderfully fresh, is conveniently placed on a level with the eye, and well lighted. It offers, there- fore, favorable conditions for study. Among other things I noted that the surface was very rough; that the tesse- r~e were so far apart that, viewed close- ly, the forms were unintelligible, though perfectly distinct from a distance of sev- eral yards; that the cement, or rather plaster, was almost dead - white; that the blue-greens and red were made up of glass tesserse, while a white robe was composed of stone cubes, with here and there shining bits of white opaque glass; that the whole was sprinkled with occasional tesseue of gold; and finally, that the forms were outlined not with black, but usually with a darker shade of the circumscribed tone. The old mosaicists work directly on the wall from the cartoon which they designed themselves. There can be no doubt that this method, when possible, is the best, not only for mosaics, but for all mural decoration. At the world- famed mosaic factory of the Vatican, the mother of all governmental works, I was informed that this direct method would be too costly and lengthy, a statement one cannot gainsay without personal ex- perience. It is likely enough that, for equal quantities of work executed in the shop and on the wall, respectively, a greater expense would be incurred for the latter; but I hold that much less work would be necessary were the wall attacked directly, under the personal supervision of the artist. Superfluous labor would be at once apparent, and __ therefore eliminated. Be this as it may, the process adopted for the modern parts of the S. Giovanni mosaics, as well as for all the Vatican mural work in this material, are excellent, and inferi- or only to the direct system. The work is executed in compartments in the ate- VOL. XIII.1O her, and thence transferred to the wall. These compartments are not prepared after the Marano, or Venetian, method a method they deem too indirect, and even perishable, and which consists in gluing the tesseraface downward to a paper design. The Roman mosaicist, by inserting his tessera~ into sand face upward, and afterward gluing paper over the whole, sees what he is about, and can work more effectively. As before observed, everything below the windows in the apse of S. Giovanni is modern, the dedicatory band, ara- besque zone, and panelled dado of Cos- mati work. In all these both the style and technique of the thirteenth cen- tury have been scrupulously observed. I have already characterized the floriated zone as splendid. This is a very tem- perate expression, for in verity it is the most beautiful as well as opulent mosaic border of modern times that I, at least, have seen. In answer to my very practical ques- tion, what was the value of such work per square metre, Count Vespignani said that he thought it would cost in round numbers from 80 to 100 hires,- or, trans- lated into equally round American fig- ures, from $1.50 to $2 per square foot. Due recognition, however, must be taken of the fact that the Vatican controls one of the best equipped, if not the very best, mosaic factories in the world. Nothing can exceed the elaboration of the Cosmati incrustations on the dado and the episcopal throne. The back of the latter, which no one can see without passing through the narrow passage be- tween it and the delicately carved door of the episcopal waiting-room, is as pro- fusely decorated with fine mosaics as the front. Indeed, there is an exces- sive elaboration of detail, if expense is to be considered. But expense has not been considered, the work costing even here, where labor is cheap and the facili- ties great, about four million lire, this sum including the architectural works necessitated by the lengthening of the choir. It is probable that a similar un- dertaking in America would cost at the very least two milhion dollars. Three million would probably come nearer to the mark. The elaboration of detail in no wise compromises the breadth of the 90 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. ensemble, seeing that the canons of good decoration, as practised by the Cosmati, have been faithfully followed, namely, subordination of detail to mass, a just equilibrium between the plain and ornamented spaces, the firm fram- ing of the latter by bands of the former, and by the facile apprehension of the main or dominant decorative motives when distance has suppressed the de- tails. It may be objected with reason that the lower part of the apse, or Cos- mati work, seems hard and new. Yet this newness is unavoidable, unless one has recourse to the very doubtful expe- dient, certainly reprehensible when one builds for posterity, as in the present case, of feigning age. At all events, we should be deeply grateful to our ar- tistic progenitors for not crushing all the life out of their precious materials, in which we know they gloried. Had they done so, we should never have been witnesses to the splendor of their works. January 11, 1891.Clear, ringing tra- montana weather. Dazzling lights and intense skies above, below the cold dark shadows and damp pavements of nar- row streets. F. and I dropped into the narrow, chilling interior of S. Pras- sede. The mosaics here are of a de- graded epoch, art having pretty nearly touched bottom. Those of the tribune are almost identical with the apsidal mosaics of S. Cecilia, and the Navi- cella. All were executed during the pontificate of Paschal 1 (817824 A.Th), who figures conspicuously in each with the square nimbus, signifying that he was then living. The figures in the mosaics of this epoch have been de- scribed as utter caricatures, and de- servedly. From a certain point of view, the academic, or even realistic, they are ridiculous. From another, the decorat- ive, they are very successful. The com- position of these mosaics is uniformly good, the color deep, splendid, impres- sive, and the ensemble both solemn and monumental. On the vault of S. Pras- sede, Christ in the centre, and saints on either hand, stand rigidly against a dark-blue ground. Their garments in the main are light, one all gold. The forms of the flesh as well as those of the draperies and accessories are rudely in- dicated by dark lines. White is effec- tively, if somewhat naYvely, used for the high-lights of the features, besides being knowingly distributed throughout the picture. Below these figures, on a blue ground, there is a broad belt of gold (with an intervening fillet or two), on which are represented the customary emblematical twelve lambs, six on either side, advancing toward the thirteenth in the centre, bearing the cross. The motive of the whole is very simple. Blue above, on which are projected lighter figures, gold below, relieved by the whitish lambs. In these early Christian mosaics, the blue of the sky is not graded to imitate nature, nor is it a dead, even tone. The mosaicist broke it with cognate colors, not enough to de- stroy the unity of the blue, but sufli- ciently to break its monotony and give it life. These broad expanses of color may be likened to the wash of a skilful aquarellist, who constantly breaks it ei- ther by the introduction of other tones, or by increasing or diminishing its in- tensity, in order to give it artistic quality. The little chapel in S. Prassede, called orto del paradiso, is literally carpet- ed with mosaics of the same epoch as those of the apse. It is a marvel of dusky richness, and well deserves its ap- pellation garden of paradise. With all their barbarisms of expression, and linear solecisms, these products of a degraded era are decoratively superior to the far - famed, but too - small - in- scale and raw - toned mosaics of the Chigi Chapel from Raphaels designs, to the richer ones after Baldassare Fe- ruzzi in S. Croce in Gerusalemme, to the excellent, if too pictorial, composition in the Abbadia delle Tre Fontane by F. Zucchio, or to those of our own day by Burne-Jones in the late Mr. Streets American church on the Via Nazionale. It is not my intention to weigh Mr. Burne-Joness talent as a designer, nor to tax him with the faults of execution; yet I deem it a duty to observe that a greater waste of time, money, and energy than has been lavished in the grading of the sky which covers the vault (not to mention other places), and from which every iota of shimmering life has been scrupulously eliminated, it is difficult to conceive. And this in EXPERIENCE. 91 Rome, with its stores of eloquent pre- on the spot by a clever workman, which cedents! In the same apsis there is a technically is worth the whole composi- little band near the pavement, executed tion above. EXPERI ENCE. By Edith Wharton. I. LIKE Crusoe with the bootless gold we stand Upon the desert verge of death, and say: What shall avail the woes of yesterday To buy to-morrows wisdom, in the laud Whose currency is strange unto our hand? In lifes small market they have served to pay Some late-found rapture, could we but delay Till Time hath matched our means to our demand. But otherwise Fate wills it, for, behold, Our gathered strength of individual pain, When Times long alchemy hath made it gold, IDies with ushoarded all these years in vain, Since those that might be heir to it the mould Renew, and coin themselves new griefs again. II. 0, Death, we come full-handed to thy gate, Rich with strange burden of the mingled years, Gains and renunciations, mirth and tears, And loves oblivion, and remembering hate Nor know we what compulsion laid such freight Upon our soulsand shall our hopes and fears Buy nothing of thee, Death? Behold our wares, And sell us the one joy for which we wait. Had we lived longer, life had such for sale, With the last coin of sorrow purchased cheap, But now we stand before thy shadowy pale, And all our longings lie within thy keep Death, can it be the years shall naught avail? Not so, Death answered, they shall purchase sleep.

Edith Wharton Wharton, Edith Experience 91-92

EXPERIENCE. 91 Rome, with its stores of eloquent pre- on the spot by a clever workman, which cedents! In the same apsis there is a technically is worth the whole composi- little band near the pavement, executed tion above. EXPERI ENCE. By Edith Wharton. I. LIKE Crusoe with the bootless gold we stand Upon the desert verge of death, and say: What shall avail the woes of yesterday To buy to-morrows wisdom, in the laud Whose currency is strange unto our hand? In lifes small market they have served to pay Some late-found rapture, could we but delay Till Time hath matched our means to our demand. But otherwise Fate wills it, for, behold, Our gathered strength of individual pain, When Times long alchemy hath made it gold, IDies with ushoarded all these years in vain, Since those that might be heir to it the mould Renew, and coin themselves new griefs again. II. 0, Death, we come full-handed to thy gate, Rich with strange burden of the mingled years, Gains and renunciations, mirth and tears, And loves oblivion, and remembering hate Nor know we what compulsion laid such freight Upon our soulsand shall our hopes and fears Buy nothing of thee, Death? Behold our wares, And sell us the one joy for which we wait. Had we lived longer, life had such for sale, With the last coin of sorrow purchased cheap, But now we stand before thy shadowy pale, And all our longings lie within thy keep Death, can it be the years shall naught avail? Not so, Death answered, they shall purchase sleep. THE WANDERINGS OF COCHITI. By Charles F. Lummis. that unique racial chess-playing of the Pueblos, whereof the board was half the size of Europe and the chessmen were stone cities, there is one foremost exam- plethe Qu6res pueblo of Cochit. Other towns may very possibly have moved more (and we know of several movings of each one); but of it we have the clearest and full- est itinerarya record of eight distinct consecutive moves, beginning many centuries before history, and ending with the Spanish reconquest in 1694. In that time the Cochitefios success- ively occupied the most commanding squares. along a fifty-mile line of one of the most weirdly, savagely pict- uresque checker - boards in all North America, and one of the least guessed by Caucasians. When we shall have become a little less a nation of men- tal mistletoes, American tourists and American writers and artists will find, in the wonderful wilderness between the Puy6 and the present Cochiti, fascina- tions for eye and pen and brush not inferior to those of the superannuated Mecca abroad. If we could but have had Hawthorne or Ruskin among those noble potreros and dizzy gorges! How either would have interpreted the gray romance of those grim, far days of the cave-house and the town-moving! For, with all the nobility of the landscape which is entirely characteristic, and in its kind not surpassed anywhereits strongest appeal is to the human in- terest. How the first Americans lived and loved and toiled and watched and fought and endured here! The Cochiti upland is a vast and sin- gular plateau in the centre of northern New Mexico, some fifty miles west of Santa F6. Its average altitude is over seven thousand feet; and along the west it upheaves into the fine Valles range of eleven thousand. Between these peaks and the Rio Grande, a dis- tance of twenty miles, lies the plateau propera vast bench, approximately level to the eye, furred with forests, peculiarly digitated by great cafions. It is a characteristically Southwestern formation; and yet it is distinct from anything else in the Southwest. It is our only country of potreros. It is difficult to diagram; but perhaps the best idea of its ground-plan is to be had by laying the two hands side by side upon a table, with every finger spread to its widest. The Rio Grande flows about north and south through the line of the knuckles, in a gorge over two thousand feet deep. The spread fingers represent the cafions; the wedge- shaped spaces between them are the tall potreros. These vast tongues of volcanic rocksome of trap, some of lava, some of dazzling pumicea doz- en or more miles long, eight to ten in width nearest the mountains, taper to a point at the river, and there break off in columnar cliffs from one thou- sand to twenty - five hundred feet in height. From the river, the western side of its dark gorge seems guarded by a long, bright line of gigantic p11- lars. As always, the Spanish nomen- clature was aptly descriptive. Among the noblest of these cliff-pillars are the beetling Chap6ro, over whose dire prec- ipices the Cochitefios used to drive their game in the great communal round- hunts; the Potrero del Alamo, a ter- rific wedge of creamy rock, whose cliffs are nearly two thousand feet tall; and the wildly beautiful Potrero de las Va- cas. It is a region of remarkable scen- ic surprises. Every approach is of enormous roughness; of alternate de- scent into savage chasms and toiling up precipitous eumbres, whose crest flings a sudden and ineffable vista against the eye. At ones feet, and far be- low, is the Plan del Riothe yawning gulf of the Rio Grandeguarded by its western phalanx of potreros. To the east and north are the blackened

Charles F. Lummis Lummis, Charles F. The Wanderings Of Cochiti 92-103

THE WANDERINGS OF COCHITI. By Charles F. Lummis. that unique racial chess-playing of the Pueblos, whereof the board was half the size of Europe and the chessmen were stone cities, there is one foremost exam- plethe Qu6res pueblo of Cochit. Other towns may very possibly have moved more (and we know of several movings of each one); but of it we have the clearest and full- est itinerarya record of eight distinct consecutive moves, beginning many centuries before history, and ending with the Spanish reconquest in 1694. In that time the Cochitefios success- ively occupied the most commanding squares. along a fifty-mile line of one of the most weirdly, savagely pict- uresque checker - boards in all North America, and one of the least guessed by Caucasians. When we shall have become a little less a nation of men- tal mistletoes, American tourists and American writers and artists will find, in the wonderful wilderness between the Puy6 and the present Cochiti, fascina- tions for eye and pen and brush not inferior to those of the superannuated Mecca abroad. If we could but have had Hawthorne or Ruskin among those noble potreros and dizzy gorges! How either would have interpreted the gray romance of those grim, far days of the cave-house and the town-moving! For, with all the nobility of the landscape which is entirely characteristic, and in its kind not surpassed anywhereits strongest appeal is to the human in- terest. How the first Americans lived and loved and toiled and watched and fought and endured here! The Cochiti upland is a vast and sin- gular plateau in the centre of northern New Mexico, some fifty miles west of Santa F6. Its average altitude is over seven thousand feet; and along the west it upheaves into the fine Valles range of eleven thousand. Between these peaks and the Rio Grande, a dis- tance of twenty miles, lies the plateau propera vast bench, approximately level to the eye, furred with forests, peculiarly digitated by great cafions. It is a characteristically Southwestern formation; and yet it is distinct from anything else in the Southwest. It is our only country of potreros. It is difficult to diagram; but perhaps the best idea of its ground-plan is to be had by laying the two hands side by side upon a table, with every finger spread to its widest. The Rio Grande flows about north and south through the line of the knuckles, in a gorge over two thousand feet deep. The spread fingers represent the cafions; the wedge- shaped spaces between them are the tall potreros. These vast tongues of volcanic rocksome of trap, some of lava, some of dazzling pumicea doz- en or more miles long, eight to ten in width nearest the mountains, taper to a point at the river, and there break off in columnar cliffs from one thou- sand to twenty - five hundred feet in height. From the river, the western side of its dark gorge seems guarded by a long, bright line of gigantic p11- lars. As always, the Spanish nomen- clature was aptly descriptive. Among the noblest of these cliff-pillars are the beetling Chap6ro, over whose dire prec- ipices the Cochitefios used to drive their game in the great communal round- hunts; the Potrero del Alamo, a ter- rific wedge of creamy rock, whose cliffs are nearly two thousand feet tall; and the wildly beautiful Potrero de las Va- cas. It is a region of remarkable scen- ic surprises. Every approach is of enormous roughness; of alternate de- scent into savage chasms and toiling up precipitous eumbres, whose crest flings a sudden and ineffable vista against the eye. At ones feet, and far be- low, is the Plan del Riothe yawning gulf of the Rio Grandeguarded by its western phalanx of potreros. To the east and north are the blackened THE WANDERINGS OF COCHI TI. 93 leagues of the Santa F6 plateau, with its small volcanic cones, over which peep the snow-peaks ~of the coccyx of the Continentthe ultimate vertebra~ of the Rockies. To the southeast the jagged peaks of the Ortiz range prick the sky, and the horizon hangs on the round shoulders of the giant Sandia. South are the dim wraiths of the La- drones, and the silver beads of the river amid its lower fields and cotton- woods. The west is lost behind the dark ranks of the Yalles giants, cap- tained by the lonely pyramid of Abi- quiu. It is a wonderful picture, and withal an awesome one. Here was the Coliseum of volcanic gladiators. Trap, basalt, lava, pumice, scoria~ all is igneous. And this arson of a land- scape has a startling effect. Superb as is the scenery, with its shadowy abysses and sunlit crags, there is awe in those black-burnt wastes, those spec- tral rocks, the sombre evergreen of those forests. From the side cafions clear brooklets sing down to the hoarse and muddy river. The heights purr with dense juniper and pifion and royal pine; the cafions whisper with cottonwoods and willows. It is alone as death. In nearly four thousand square miles there is not a human being. Where once were the little corn-patches and the tall gray houses and the dimpled naked babes of thousands of the Aca- dians of the Southwest, the deer, the puma, the bear, and the turkey lord it again. Even the Indians seldom visit it, and not a dozen white men have seen its wonders. Yet it contains the largest village of artificial caves in the world, the only great stone idols in the United States, and many another valueincluding the scene of one of the most remarkable stormings in mil- itary history. When the Hero Twins had led forth man from the inner wombs of earth to light through Shi-pa-pil, the Black Lake of Tears; and the Winter-Wizards had frozen the infinite mud so that there could be going; and the First Men had fallen out and fallen apart, a wander- ing band of the Qu6res halted in this digitate wilderness. Here was water, here was timber. Above all, here was safety. And here they sat down. It was their own wilderness, and away from its incomparable area they have never since cared to rove. It is iden- tified with themwith their hopes and fears, their loves and wars, and wander- ings. Their first town was in the noble caiion of the Ty(i-on-yi, now also known as the Rito de los Frijoles, in the north- ern part of this plateau. Here the Qu6- res drew a pre-historic diagram which would have saved a vast amount of foolish theorizing, if science had ear- lier poked its nose out of doors in pur- suit of fact. The fable of the so-called Cliff-build- ers and Cave-dwellers as a distinct race or races, has been absolutely exploded in science. The fact is, that the cliff- dwellers and the cave-dwellers of the Southwest were Pueblo Indians, pure and simple. Even a careless eye can find the proof in every corner of the Southwest. It was a question not of race, but of physical geography. The Pueblo cut his garment according to his cloth, and whether he burrowed his house, or built it of mud-bricks or stone-bricks or cleft stone, atop a cliff or in caves or shelves of its face, de- pended simply upon his town-site. The one inflexible rule was security, and to gain that he took the shortest cut offered by his surroundings. When he found himselfas he sometimes did in his volcanic rangein a region of tufa cliffs, he simply whittled out his residence. In the commoner hard- rock cafions, he built stone houses in whatever safest place. In the valleys, he made and laid adobes. He some- times even dovetailed all these varieties of architecture in one and the same set- tlement. The Ty(i-on-yi, the first known home of Cochiti, is one of the unique beau- ties of the Southwest. As a cafion, it is but five or six miles long, and at the widest a quarter of a mile across. Its extreme depth does not exceed two thousand feet. There are scores of greater caiions in this neglected land; but there is only one Tyft-on-yi. At the Bocas, where it enters the gorge of the Rio Grande, it is deepest, narrow- est, grimmest. A few hundred yards 94 THE WANDERINGS OF CO CHI TI. above these savage jaws was the town- site. A ribbon of irrigably level land a few rods wide, threaded by a spar- kling rivulet, hemmed with glistening cliffs of white pumice~stone fifteen hun- dred feet tall, murmurous with stately pines and shivering aspens, shut on the west by the long slope of the Jara, on the east by the pinching of its own giant wallsthat is the Tyfi-on-yi. That, but more. For along the sheer and noble northern cliff crumble the bones of a humau pasta past of hero- ism and suffering and romance. In the foot of that stone snow-bank new shad- ows play hide and seek in strange old hollows, that were not gnawed by wind and rain, but by as patient man. It is an enchanted valley. The spell of the Southwest is upon it. The suns white benediction, the hush of Natures heart, the invisible haunting of a Oncethat utmost of all solitudes, the silence that was lifethey wrap it in an atmosphere almost unique. It is an impression of a lifetime. The great cave-villages of the Pu-y6 and the Shft-fin-n6, in their white castle-buttes thirty miles up the river, are not to be compared with it, though they are its nearest parallel in the world. It is not only a much lar- ger village than either of them, but with a beauty and charm altogether peerless. It was a large town for the pre-his- toric United Statesa town of fifteen hundred to two thousand souls. The latter figure was never exceeded by any aboriginal city of the Southwest. The line of artificial cave - rooms is a couple of miles long, and in tiers of one, two, and three stories. With their knives of chipped volcanic glass for sole tools, the Cochitefios builded their matchless village. First, they hewed in the face of the cliff their inner rooms. These were generally rectangular, about six by eight, with arched roofs; but sometimes large, and sometimes circular. Some were sole houses and had tiny outer doorways in the rock, and as tiny ones from room to room withina plan which has given rise, in ruins oftener seen by the theorizer, to the fable of cliff-dwelling pigmies. The builders, in fact, were of present Pueblo stature, and made these wee doorways simply for security. The man of the house could afford time to enter edge- wise on hands and knees; an enemy could not. Some rooms combine cave and masonry, having an artificial outer walL And some, again, were merely cave-storehouses and retreats back of a stone-brick house. Outside, against the foot of the cliff, is the chaos of fallen masonry. The builders adopted a plan peculiar to this plateau. With their same flakes of obsidian they sawed the tufa into large and rather regular bricks, and of these exclusively laid their masonry in an excellent mortar of adobe. A restoration of the Tyfi-on-yi would show a long line of three-story terraced houses of these tufa-blocks against the foot of that weird cliff; the rafters inserted into still visible mor- tises in its face; without doors or win- dows in the ground floor, and abristle with the spar-like ladders by which the upper stories were reached, and back through their rooms, the caves. None of the outer houses are now standing the best of their walls are but four or five feet highbut the dim procession of centuries that has toppled them to ruin has dealt kindlier with the caves. The caked smoke of the hearth still clings half fossil on the low-arched roofs and around the tiny window smoke-holes. The very plastering of the walls for the home had already reached such painstaking that even the smooth rock must be hidden by a film of cement is generally intact. The little niches, where trinkets were laid, are there; and in one house is even the stone frame of the pre-historic hand- mill In several places are cave-rooms with their fronts and partitions of tufa masonry still entire ; and one lovely lit- tle nook, well up the caflon, has still a perfect house unlike any other pre-his- tone building in Americawalled cave, wood-framed door and windows, and alL In this climate wood is almost eternaL Timbers that have been fully exposed since 1670 in the Gran Quivira, have not even lost their ornamental carvings; and beams of vastly greater age are still sound. Here and there down the slope, toward the brook, are the remains of the circular subterranean estufas wherein the male village dwelt ; and in a strangely THE WANDERINGS OF COCHITL 95 scalloped swell of the cliff is still the house of the Caciquea very fair hemi- sphere of a room, cut from the rock, with a floor diameter of some fifteen feet. Not far away, beside the rivulet, are the ruins of a huge communal houseone of the so-called round ruins. Exploration always shows that these alleged circles are merely irregu- lar polygons. There never was a round pueblo; though the estufas were very generally round and there were other small single buildings of the same shape. The usual stone artifects are rarely to be found here, for roving Navajos have assiduously stripped the place of every- thing of aboriginal use. Only now and then a rude obsidian knife, an arrow- point, or a battered stone axe rewards the relic-seekerbeyond the innumer- able fragments of ancient pottery. So exceptionally complete are the links in a story which may very well go far back of William the Conqueror, that we even have legendary hints of the subdivisions of this immemorial village; and in a cave-room of the cluster which has suffered most from the erosion of the cliff I once stumbled upon gentle Jos6 Hilario Montoya, the now Govern- or of the new Cochiti, wrapped in his blanket and in reverie. He had stolen away from us, to dream an hour in the specific house that was of his own first grandfathers. We have no means of knowing just how long the strange white town of the Rito has been deserted, but it has been many, many centuries; for its hunt- ed people built successive towns, and farmed and fought and had a history in each of six later homes before the writ- ten history of America began. Though eternally harassed by the Navajos, the Ty(i-on-yi held its own, we are told, until destroyed by its own brethren. The conditions of life there (and in all prehistoric pueblos) and the interwar- ring of the various tribes, are drawn with photographic accuracy of detail in that little-read but archa~ologically precious novel, The Delight-Makers. The survivors of the final catastrophe abandoned their ruined town in the Rito, and moving a days march to the south, established themselves upon the table - top of the great Potrero de las Vacas. They were now seven or eight miles west of the chasm of the IRio Grande, and on the summit of the tongue-plateau between two of its prin- cipal side-cafions. They were a mile from water the sparkling brooklet which flows past the Cueva Pintada and therefore from their farms. But feeling this inconvenience little so long as it gave safety, they reared among the contorted junipers a new townessen- tially unlike the quaint combination- pueblo of the Rito, but like to a more common pattern. It was the typical rectangular stone box of continuous houses all facing in. Here on the grim mesa, amid a wilderness of appalling solitude, they worried out the tufa blocks, and builded their fortress - city, and fended off the prowling Navajo, and fought to water and home again, and slept with an arrow on the string. How many generations of bronze ba- bies frolicked in this lap of danger; and rose to arrowy youth that loved between sieges; and to gray-heads that watched and counselled; and to still clay that cuddled to the long sleep in rooms thenceforth sealed forever, there is no reckoningnor when was the red foray, whereof their legends tell, of an unknown tribe which finished the town of the Mesa of the Cows. But when the decimated Qu6res left that noble site, they left, beside their fallen home, a monument of surpassing interest. The Nahuatl culture, which filled Mexico with huge and hideous statues chiselled from the hardest rock, was never par- alleled within the United States; for our aborigines had no metal tools whatever until after the Conquest. New Mexican work in stone (aside from the making of implements and beads) was confined to tiny fetiches which were rather worn than carved to shape, and to a few larger but very crude fetiches of softer rock. The only examples of life-size carving, or of any alto relievo, ever found in the enormous range of the Pueblos, are the four astonishing figures which were, and are, the homotypes of the chase-gods of wandering Cochiti. A few hundred yards up the dim trail which leads from the ruined town of the Potrero de las Vacas toward the near peaks, one comes suddenly upon a 96 THE WANDERINGS OF COCHI TI. strange aboriginal Stonehenge. Among the tattered piiions and sprawling ce- dars is a lonely enclosure fenced with great slabs of tufa set up edgewise. This enclosure, which is about thirty feet in diameter, has somewhat of the shape of a tadpole; for at the southeast end its oval tapers into an alley, five feet wide and twenty long, similarly walled. In the midst of this unique roofless temple of the Southwestern Druids are the weathered images of two cou- gars, carved in high relief from the bedrock of the mesa. The figures are life-size; and even the erosion of so many centuries has not gnawed them out of recognition. The heads are nearly indistinguishable, and the fore- shoulders have suffered; but the rest of the sculpture, to the very tips of the outstretched tails, is perfectly clear. The very attitude of the American lion is preserved the flat, stealthy, com- pact crouch that precedes the mortal leap. Artistically, of cow~se, the stat- ues are crude; but zoologically, they bear the usual Indian truthfulness. As to their transcendant archa~ologic value and great antiquity, there can be no question. The circumstantial evidence is conclusive that they were carved by the Cochitefios during the life of the town of the Potrero de las Yacas. The cougar, puma, or mountain- lion mo - keit - cha, in the Qu6res tongueis to the Pueblo the head of animate creation. In this curious my- thology, each of the six like groups of divinities, the Trues, which dwell re- spectively at the six cardinal points, in- cludes a group of deified dumb animals. They are Trues also, and are as care- fully ranked as the higher spirits, or even more definitely. The beasts of prey, of course, stand highest; and of them, and of all animals, the puma is Ka-b6y-de, commander - in - chief. Un- der him there are minor officials; the buffalo is captain of the ruminants; the eagle, of birds; the crotalus, of reptiles. There are even several other animal gods of the hunt the bear, the wolf, the coyote but he is easily supreme. The hunter carries always a tiny stone image of this most potent patron, and invokes it with strange incantations at every turn of the chase. But it was re served for the Cochiteilos to invent and realize a life-size fetichtherefore, one nearer the actual divinity symbolized, and more powerfuL And from that far, forgotten day to this incongruous one, the stone lions of Cochiti have never lost their potency. Worshipped continuously for longer ages than Sax- on history can call its own, they are worshipped still. No important hunt would even now be undertaken by the trustful folk of Cochiti without first re- pairing to the stone pumas, to anoint their stolid heads with face-paint and the sacred meal, and to breathe their breath of power. But now the town of the lions had fallen, and a second migration was im- perative. In this new move to check- mate the tireless aggressor, the Cochi- teiios took a sort of knights leap. They dropped fifteen hundred feet from the mesas top to the caiion, and thence at a right angle three miles down the brook, namely, to the Cueva Pin- tada. The site of this, their third known town, which they called Ts6-ki- a-tAn-yi, was far ahead in safety and in picturesqueness of the second. In both these qualities it somewhat recalls the peerless IRito. The cafion is wider and not so deep, but of similar formation, and similarly wooded and watered. As always, the wanderers chose its noblest point. There the northern cliff of white pumice is five hundred feet high, and in its face is a great natural cave like a basin set on edge, fifty feet above the ground. Along the foot of this fine cliff they hewed out their cave-rooms and built their tufa masonry, and in the arch of the great natural cave itself they hollowed other chambers, attain- able only by dizzy toe-holes in the sheer rock. The painted cave seems to have had some of the uses of a shrine, and along the crescent of its inner wall may still be traced prehistoric pictographs (along with more modern ones) done in the red ochre which abounds farther up the cafion. There are figures of the Ki~-sha-re, the delight-makers, and of the sacred snake whose cultonce uni- versal among the Pueblos has still such astounding survival at Moqui; and of the round, bright house of the Sun- Father and of the morning and even- DRAWN BY IRVING R WILES. Dance of the A~oth~ty6~OOt Present Pueblo of Cochiti. C j 98 THE WANDERINGS OF COCHI TI. ing stars, and many other precious fifth stone town they built in the Cafia symbols. da de Cochiti, twelve miles northwest At last the turn of Ts6-ki-a-t~n-yi from the present pueblo, and named it came too, and there was a day when Curt-pa. There was, and is, a lovely hey who had burrowed in its gray thread of a valley, just widening from Jos~ Hilaria Montoya, Governor Pueblo of Cochit(. cliffs must bid it farewell. The cause of this migration is not certain. It may have been moral or military; omen of divine displeasure, or merely an over- dose of Navajofor the whole region was ceaselessly harried by this most powerful race of desert pirates. At all events, the beset Qu~res had finally to abandon their third town and seek a fourth. This time they moved south a short march and built IWi-tya, whose ruins are now known as San Miguel. Here again they dwelt and suffered and made history; and from here again they were at last compelled, by supernatural or hostile pressure, to move on. Their the dark jaws of the cafion which splits the Potrero Viejo from its giant broth- er to the north. Halfway back on the trail to the Cueva, atop the almost inaccessible Potrero de los Idolos, Bandelierwho was also the discoverer of the IRito, the Cueva Piutada, and the Potrero de las Vacas with its wonderful images found two other stone cougars. They are life - size, but of different design from those of the northern potrero less weathered, and evidently of later, though still prehistoric, origin. They, also, were carved in high relief from the bedrock with obsidian knives; they, THE WANDERINGS OF COCHITI 99 likewise, faced south and were sur- rounded by a fence of tufa slabs. But they have not been as undisturbed. When I was there, I had been preceded by that unknown genius against whose invasion no shrine is sacredthe vandal whom it were libel to call a brute, and flattery to dub a fooL Finding these gray old images crouching on and of the monumental rocka rock larger than any three buildings in America his meteoric intellect at once conceived that there must be treasure under them Montezumas treasure, of course. And forthwith he drilled beside them, and applied giant powder, and blew up twenty feet; and then gophered a tunnel below. It is to be regretted that his bones were not left in his mine. The explo- sion shattered one of the lions to frag- ~ ments; but the other, providen The Stone Pemee of the Potrero de leo Vaces. tially, was lifted up with a slab of its base, and lies unin- was lost sight of; as was the further jured at one side of the hole. Though fact that they are the property of citi life-size, it is not so long as its brethren above the Cueva Pintada, since the tail is curled up along the spine. Nor does it seem to have been quite so well done that is, it is a trifle more convention- alized. But it is equally unmistakable, not merely to the arch~ologist, but even to anyone who has ever seen the greatest cat of the Western Hemisphere. There has been a proposition by someone to cut these lions free from the mother- rock and transport them to Washing- ton. Of course, the fact that their ar- eha~ologic value would be gone if they were thus shorn of their surroundings, The Ty~-oo-yiCeoiqueo. 100 THE WANDERINGS OF COCHITf. zens of the llJnited States. The Cochi- Cochiti Aboveand their most impreg- teiTios would resist the removal with nable. Nowhere save by the three ver their last drop of blood; and in such a tiginous trails is it possible to scale cause they shall not be without allies, that a~rial fortress; and we may pre- Plaster models would give all that sci- sume that here at last they were abl ence needs, or has legal or moral right to defy their savage neighbors. With to take. time, however, the difficulties of farm- Driven in time from the Cajiada, as ing and watering at such long range they had been driven from four previous seem to have induced them to remove towns, the Qu6res climbed the seven- to the banks of the Rio Grande, just hundred-foot cliffs of the Potrero Yiejo, where it emerges from its gruesome which overhangs the Caflada. Here was gorge to the widening vales of Peiia their sixth town H~ - nut Cochiti, or Blanca. Here they raised their seventh The Tyd-on-yiWaIled Cave-Rooms. THE WANDERINGS OF COCHIT/. 101 pueblo, this time largely of adobe; and here they were when the history of America began. There is nothing to indicate that the Cochiti which has been known now for three hundred and fifty years, has been longer occnpied than was any one of the six towns which preceded it; though of course the pre- sumption is that it has. Here the Spanish world-openers found the town, and here the Cochiteios voluntarily became vassals of Spain and were bap- tized into the Church of the new God. Here, too, nearly a century and a half later, they helped to brew that dead- liest insurrection which ever broke on United States soil; and on that red August 10, 1680, their warriors were of the swarthy avalanche that befell the nudreaming Spaniards. They had a hand in the slaying of the three priests of their parish, who were stationed at Santo Domingo; and were among the leading spirits of all those bloody years of the Pueblo Rebellion. The only fight in which they are known to have figured largely, however, was at the ]Ileconqnest. When Diego de Yargas, the Becon qc istador, came, they aban- doned Cochiti and went back to their long-ruined citadel on the Potrero Vi- ejo. This seventh town - moving did not save them; for in the spring of 1694 Yargas and his army of one hundred and fifty men stormed that aboriginal Gibraltar. In the desperate but short assault only twenty-one In- dians were slain. Indeed, the decima- tion of the Cochiteiios was due not at all to the Spaniards, but to their one- sided wars with the Navajos and with other Pueblos; to epidemics, and to racial centrifugefor the legendary hints are strong that not only Cochiti, but all the Qu6res Pueblos originated in the Tyft-on-yi. If this be true, the six present Qu~res Pueblos to the south and west of Cochiti, with their pre-his- tone predecessorsfor each had its town-movingswere doubtless founded The Tyr~-on-yiSeoond and Third Story Caves and Mortisen for Rafters of the Outer Hossas. 102 THE WANDEkINGS OF COCHI TI. by early rovers from the iRito, until all Potrero Viejo, and moving for the were gone from the first nest save the eighth time, returned to their present pueblo, where they have ever since remained. It is seldom that any of them visit the old homes. Only whea there is to be a cer- emonial hunt do they trudge away to their an- cient Chase-Fetiches to drink the mighty breath of Mokeitcha. The trails are so fearfully rough that one can go all the way to the iRito much sooner afoot than on even the tireless Indian pony; and they are lonely now, and grown very dim. The ankle-deep wee crystals of the potrero-tops outsparkle the Valley of the Roes, unscufiled by passing feet. The wild turkey drinks unscared from the IRito de los Frijoles, and blinks at its sun-bewildered walls. The tawny puma purrs in the white light be- side his gray stone proto- types on the Potrero de las Vacas or the Potrero de los Idolos. And Cochiti, at rest at last, dreams on its sunward gravel-bank along the swirling Rio Grande, and tills its happy fields, and goes to its Christian mass, and dances unto the Trues, and forgets that ever there was war and wandering. later wanderers whom we have been following After the IReconquest the Cochitei~ios abandoned their second town on the The Cueva Pintada. LOS CARAQUENOS. By F. j Stimson. AGANISM was the avowal of life; Chris- tianity the sacrifice of it. So the Church of Rome, as nearest in time to Pagan- ism, has recognized, through all its in- quisitions, h u m a n hearts ; the Sects have sought to stifle them; the Puritans have posed to ig- nore them. Thus cruelty may be the crime of priests; hypocrisy has been the vice of preachers. But in far-off Venezuela, so late as the time of this story, the Middle Ages lingered and the Roman Church still ruled. There are two things in the little city of Canicas that go back to the time when the Spanish empire made a simulacrum of the Roman, round the world: One is the great round-arched Spanish bridge, spanning the deep arroyo on the moun- tain slope above the present townuse- less now, for the earthquake-clefts are deeper on either side than this gorge of the ancient river of the city, and have drained its stream awayand the other the Casa del Reya great stone fort- ress in the centre of the present town, with walls eight feet thick, its windows like tunnels cut through to the iron un- glazed casementfor this was the only house that was left standing on the evening of the great earthquake; and so the modern city clusters timidly about it, its houses a modest one- or double - story, and, on the clay slope where the older city was, the cactus grows, and the zenith sun burns the clay banks red, and the old gold-dust road, over the Cordillera to the sea, now but a mule - path of scattered cobble - stones, winds lonely and narrow across the splendid bridge, among the great fissures that the earthquake left. And both bridge and house still bear the sculptured blazonry, the lions and the castles, and the pious inscription to the greater glory of the Virgin. And there is a story about this Casa Rey the story of Dolores, Marquesa del Torre y Luna, almost the last of the old Spanish nobility of Canicas, called la doiia sola de la Casa del Reyas we should say, the lonely lady of the house of the Kingfor she lived there, mar- ried and widow, five - and - sixty years, and left no child to inherit the thick- walled city house, four square about its garden, and the provinces of coffee- trees, and, what she prized more and we prize less, the noble blood of Torre and of Luna, now run dry. Canicas lies in a plain, like the Vega of Granada, only green with palms as well as poplars; but through its rich meadows a turbid mountain torrent runs, and south, and west, and east are mountains; and north the mighty Silla lifts ahuost to the snows, half breaking the ceaseless east wind of the sea; trade-wind, it has been called in his- tory; slave-wind were better. And by the little city is the pahn-clad Calvarco, the little hill gay with orchids and shaded by tree-ferns, in whose pleasant paths the city people still take their pleasure (for the name of Calvary but means the view, not any sadness), and took their pleasure, fifty years since, when this story begins. And one even- ing, in the early years of the century, there walked alone, or with but a nurse for her dueiia, a girl whose beauty still smiles down through sad tradition and through evil story, to lighten the dark streets of the old Spanish town, whose

F. J. Stimson Stimson, F. J. Los Caraquenos 103-120

LOS CARAQUENOS. By F. j Stimson. AGANISM was the avowal of life; Chris- tianity the sacrifice of it. So the Church of Rome, as nearest in time to Pagan- ism, has recognized, through all its in- quisitions, h u m a n hearts ; the Sects have sought to stifle them; the Puritans have posed to ig- nore them. Thus cruelty may be the crime of priests; hypocrisy has been the vice of preachers. But in far-off Venezuela, so late as the time of this story, the Middle Ages lingered and the Roman Church still ruled. There are two things in the little city of Canicas that go back to the time when the Spanish empire made a simulacrum of the Roman, round the world: One is the great round-arched Spanish bridge, spanning the deep arroyo on the moun- tain slope above the present townuse- less now, for the earthquake-clefts are deeper on either side than this gorge of the ancient river of the city, and have drained its stream awayand the other the Casa del Reya great stone fort- ress in the centre of the present town, with walls eight feet thick, its windows like tunnels cut through to the iron un- glazed casementfor this was the only house that was left standing on the evening of the great earthquake; and so the modern city clusters timidly about it, its houses a modest one- or double - story, and, on the clay slope where the older city was, the cactus grows, and the zenith sun burns the clay banks red, and the old gold-dust road, over the Cordillera to the sea, now but a mule - path of scattered cobble - stones, winds lonely and narrow across the splendid bridge, among the great fissures that the earthquake left. And both bridge and house still bear the sculptured blazonry, the lions and the castles, and the pious inscription to the greater glory of the Virgin. And there is a story about this Casa Rey the story of Dolores, Marquesa del Torre y Luna, almost the last of the old Spanish nobility of Canicas, called la doiia sola de la Casa del Reyas we should say, the lonely lady of the house of the Kingfor she lived there, mar- ried and widow, five - and - sixty years, and left no child to inherit the thick- walled city house, four square about its garden, and the provinces of coffee- trees, and, what she prized more and we prize less, the noble blood of Torre and of Luna, now run dry. Canicas lies in a plain, like the Vega of Granada, only green with palms as well as poplars; but through its rich meadows a turbid mountain torrent runs, and south, and west, and east are mountains; and north the mighty Silla lifts ahuost to the snows, half breaking the ceaseless east wind of the sea; trade-wind, it has been called in his- tory; slave-wind were better. And by the little city is the pahn-clad Calvarco, the little hill gay with orchids and shaded by tree-ferns, in whose pleasant paths the city people still take their pleasure (for the name of Calvary but means the view, not any sadness), and took their pleasure, fifty years since, when this story begins. And one even- ing, in the early years of the century, there walked alone, or with but a nurse for her dueiia, a girl whose beauty still smiles down through sad tradition and through evil story, to lighten the dark streets of the old Spanish town, whose DRAWN BC W. L. METCALF He bowed cerernoeious~y and touched her hand to his lips. Pago ilL LOS CARAQUENOS. 105 stones for fifty years her feet had ceased A to press. And the memory of the old Casa Rey, the castle, all is hers; and the people of the town, the Caraqueiios, still see her lovely face at the window; first at one, and then at the other, but mostly at the grated window in the round tower of the corner, that projects and commands the two streets; for there her sweet, pale face used to show itself, between the bars, and watch for the cavalry her noble husband led, re- turning from the wars. For then were wars of liberation, when freedom was fought for, not possessions and estates; and the Marquis Sebastian Ruy del Torre led in all. And days and days she would watch for him returning, af- ter battles won, sitting with her golden needle-work at the corner window, her night-black hair against the iron bar (for there are no glass window-panes in Caracas), her strange blue eyes still watching down the street. So she sat there, and broidered chasuble or alt~r- cloth for the holy church of Santa Maria de las Mercedes, where she prayed each dawn and evening, yet cast her eyes down either street between each stitch, to watch the coming of him she loved on earth. And the people of Caracas used to gather her glances to their hearts, like blue flowers, for of herself they ever saw no more. And her husband, from their wed- ding-day, never saw her more. For fif- ty years she sat at this window, working chasuble and stole, and always, when the distant trumpet sounded, or the first gold - and - scarlet pennon fluttered far down the street, she would drop her work and rise. And then she would wave her hand, and her husband would wave his hand, at the head of his col- umn far away. And then she would go from the window; and be seen there no more while he stayed at Caracas. But those that were beneath the window used to say (for the husband was too far off then to see) that before she left the window, she would cast a long look down the street to that distance where he rode, and those that saw this glance say that for sweetness no eye of mortal saw its equal, and the story is, it made little children smile, and turned old bad men good, and even women loved her face. VOL. XIII.12 Then she vanished from the tower, and they saw her no more. During all the time that might be the Marquiss stay, no more she came to the window, no more to the door. State dinners were given there in the Kings house; banquets, aye, and balls, where all that was Castilian in Caracas came; but the custom was well known, and no one marvelled that the ch~telaine came not to meet them; the lovely Lady Dolo- res, whom no one ever spoke to or saw. Some dueiia, some relation, some young niece or noble lady, cousin of either the del Torre, was there and did the honors. And of the Marquesa no one ever spoke, for it was understood that, though not in a convent, she was no longer in the world even to her husband, it was said, at first with bated breath, then openly. For the servants told, and the fami- ly, and it was no secret, how days and weeks before her lord returned the lady would busy herself with preparations. And their state suite of rooms, and their nuptial-chamber (into which, alas! she else had never come!) were pre- pared by her, and made biight and joy- ous with rich flowers, and sweet to his heart by the knowledge of her presence, and the touch of her dear hand. Then, when all was done, and one white rose from her bosom in a single vase (and in a score of years this white rose never failed), she darkened the rooms and left them for his coming, and went back to her seat in the stone-floored tower rooms, and sat there with her gold and silver broidery, and so watched for him. And while he stayed in his palace, she lived in those cold, bare rooms; for they alone had not been changed when they were married, but had been kept to serve as a prison, and my lady Do- lores loved them best; but she came not to the window, lest their eyes might. meet. II. So fifty years she lived there; and that is why the old Spaniard of CarAcas still points out the house, and young men and maidens like to make their trysting-places of its gardens, which are public and where the band plays even- 106 LOS CARAQUENOS. ingsif that can be called trysting to our northern notions, which is but a stolen mutual glance in passing. But hearts are warm in Catholic Spain, and they dare not more; right hard they throb and burn for just so much as thisaye, and break for the lack of it. I say, fifty yearsfifty years she lived there, but thirty she lived alone, for at the end of twenty years he died; and the manner of her living and his dying is what I have to tell. But after that still thirty years she lived on alone. Now she no longer worked at the window, and she came there but rarely. It seemed she came there for compassion, that the people, whom she felt so loving, might see her smile. For her smile was sweet as ever, only now it bore the peace of heaven, not the yearning love of earth. Yet never went she out her doors. And when she diedit is only some years sincethey buried her upon Good Friday, and she sleeps in her own church, beneath the great gold shrine she loved and wrought for, of Mary, Mother of the Pities. And all the people of the city saw her funeral; and there is, in the church, a picture of the Virgin, that is really her, painted by a dying artist that had seen her face at the window many years before. And did they not, the Caraquefios, wonder and ask the cause of this? What was it?They do not know But did they not ask the story of the lonely lady, so well known to them ? They asked, many years since; but soon gave over; partly that the secret was impenetrable, partly for love of her. For they had, the poorest peasant of them, that quick sympathy to stanch hearts wounds that all the conventions of the strenuous North must lack. God gives in all things compensation; and even sins, that are not mean or selfish, have their half~atoning virtues. Their silence was soothing to her sorrow; they never knew. But the priest 2 The Church of Rome is cruel, but it keeps its secrets. And only it and Heaven know if their lives were one long agony of misguidance, as many lives must be on earthperhaps some- time the priest-confessor may help in such affairs; if so, God speed the Jes- uits. But one thing is sure: in all their lives, after their marriage, they never met. She died old, in gentle silence; he still young, upon a bloody field; and now their eyes at last met in Heaven, her soul he knows not from her body, nor his love from God. And we may, harmless, venture to tell what the people of Car~tcas saywith reverent memory, and loving glances at the old stone house; the hearts that in- habited it are cold; but its Spanish arms above the door still last, clear-cut as on the day the pride of this worlds life first bade the owner place them there. 111 IN the Calvarco that evening the Doiia Dolores walked alone, with only old Jacinta, the black nurse; black she was called, but her hair alone was blackblue-black; her face was of that fiery brown that marks the Venezue- len Indian; she was not fat, as most ntirses, but stood erect, with fierce lurid eyes, her hair in two tight braids, and was following and watching her gentle charge. Jacinta had things to do in our story; her race has nothing of the merry sloth, the gross animality of the negro; what things Jacinta found to do, were done. She was scarce a doz- en years older than her mistress, and her form was still as lithe, her step as firm and quick as that of that boy of hers, now twelve, in the military school, training under the soutancd Jesuits for the service of the Church or Bolivar. And in the Calvarco also that evening were two mennephew and uncle, both cousins of Doloresand not, of course, walking with her or speaking to her, save by reverent bows; and, on the nephews part at least, by looks of fire. Yet the uncle might, perhaps, have walked with her, even in Car!icas; for he, whom men called the General, de- spite his prouder titles, was not her cousin only, but her guardian. Dolores and her maid have traversed the spiral path to the summit of the little hill; there is a little pool and fountain that the Moors, generations back, had taught these peoples ances- tors to build; and from a bench among the orchids and the jasmine, and the k LOS CARAQUENOS. 107 charming amaryllis lily, standing nobly by her like a band of spearmen, sees Dolores the lovely valley, purple in the first shadows of the short tropic day, and, on the southern mountain, the white walls of the Archbishops new con- vent; to the north, and higher, the lit- tle mountain fort guarding the road to the coast, and, as she looks, it dips its colors to the sunset, which are the yellow and redthe blood and gold of Spain, and the booming of its little cannon echoes down the valley and the Angelus replies. Then she turns, and touches tenderly (not plucks) a marvel- lous flower that lonely blooms beside her. It is the Eucharis Amazonica, the lily of the Amazon, but known to her only as the Flor del Espiritu santo the flower of the Holy Ghost. One moment, it seems that she will be dis- turbed. The younger man has left the older on his walkfor they are not al- ways together, and gossip has made him suitor for his cousins handand he stands a moment watching her, behind a group of tree-ferns. No lovelier a girl had surely even his eyes ever rested on, as she sat there stilly, though her won- derful eyes were lost to him, following the sunset. And she was the greatest heiress in all the Spanish Main. He might have stepped forward, into the open, to her, and no one but Jacin- ta would have known. Perhaps he was about to do so; but suddenly there ap- peared, on the hilltop beside them, a tall figure dressed in a purple gown, with hood and trimmings of bright scarlet, looking like a fuchsia flower; on his head was a little black velvet covering, shaped half like a crown. It was the young Jesuit, the Archbishop of the Guianas. Dolores rose and kissed his hand, bending the knee respectfully; he sat down beside her. IV. Tux Condesa de Luna, the orphan daughter of dead parents who repre- sented both branches of a famous old Gothic family, already known about the capital for her beauty, was known far and wide as the richest heiress in all Venezuela and Guiana; her prairies stretched from the ocean to the Apure, her herds so countless that they roamed wild upon pampas which were hers, hunted by peons who were hers. The old stone castle with the Spanish arms was hers, and another like it stood empty for her in far Madrid. Her guardian, the Marquis del Torre, was a poor man beside her; and his nephew, Don Ramon, poorer still. Dolores was brought up as follows: At five she rose, and went, with Jacinta, to early mass; nearly always to a dif- ferent church, as is the seemly custom in Caracas, lest young men should take advantage of it and take position behind the chairs of their adored ones in church, where they could not be repelled; for, of course, no young gentleman, however madly in love, would insult his lady by accosting her in the open street. After mass, at six, being the time of sunrise and by comparison safe, Jacinta would take her charge for a walk, usually on the Calvareo, then deserted. At seven they would be home, and then in the great court-yard, under the palms and rose-red orchids, Dolores would take her lessonsFrench, English, music all from priests. At eleven, bath; at twelve, breakfast; then reading, per- haps a siesta in a hammock made of birds plumage. So she passed her days, all in the half-light of the great court- yard; only toward sunset again would she see the open sky, driving with one of her two governesses in the state car- riage down the broad valley to where the wheel road stopped, and back again; or more rarely, as on this night, vent- uring on another walk. And all the youth of Caracas would gaze after her carriage; the young men driving out too, by themselves, in carriages, who had passed their days more in gambling or cock-fighting than with books and mu- sic; never, indeed, at mass. For here the lords of creation vent their author- ity in ordaining their wives and sis- ters to the Church and goodness, them- selves to evil. But the most hardened duelist among them could no more than look at Dolores; only her reckless cousin Ramon would venture to ride athwart her carriage, and presume up- on his cousinship to bow. 108 LOS CARAQUENOS. Yet intercourse is possible always betwixt young people who seek each other out; and all Caracas gave Ramon to her for her lover. And to - night even, as he stood and glowered at the Archbishop from behind the tree-ferns, he had another chance. For there is, and was, one more strange custom in this strange city: at the sunset hour the young ladies of Caracas, all in their gayest dresses, sit in the great open windows and look upon the street a curious sight it is to see the bright eyes and white throats thrust, like birds from a cage, through the iron bars of the sombre stone windows. (For no wind or cold ever needs a window of glass in that perpetual perfect weather. The high sun never makes a shutter needful in the narrow streets.) And there they sit, unoccupied; and the young men of the city, dressed also in their best, walk by as slowly, and look as lingeringly, as they dare; and per- haps, if the dark shadow of mamma or the duejia does not come out too quickly from the inner room, a few quick words are spoken, and a flower left or given. And what says the old proverb of the Caraqueiios? Better two words in secret than a thousand openly. Sebastian Buy, Marquis del Torre, too, was bred as a young nobleman of oldest lineage should be, or should have been, in that early eighteenth century that still lingered in the Andes. But this took him to Madrid and to Paris in the years VII. and VIII; and the cigh- tecuth century, as one knows, ended in those wee small numbers. Torre came back to plunge his country in a revolution which lasted intermittently, like one of its own volcanoes, for more than twenty years~ The young Pari- sian 6tadiant began his first 6meute in Caracas itself, with a barricade, after the orthodox fashion of the years I. and II. This being quickly suppressedpartly that there were no pavements, and part- ly that each house was an impregnable fortressbut mostly that the city was of the governing class and stood with Spain Torre had had to leave the capital for the pampas, where, for over twelve years, he maintained discursive warfare with a changeable command of Indians and peons, which, however, on the whole, increased in number, offi- cered by a few young gentlemen, under himself. His mnarquisate he forgot, and sought to make others forget it. He was, throughout Venezuela, The Gen- eral He had never been back within the walls of Caracas; and, at nearly for- ty, he learned of his only aunts death following his uncles, and of the little girl they left, and of his guardianship. A little girl she appeared to his im- agination on the pampas; when he got to Caracas, she was a young woman. The Generals locks were already griz- zled and his face weather-beaten with ten years open life on the plains; his face was marked, beside the eye, with the scar of a sabre. He had one inter- view with Dolores, saw her nurse, her instructors, her father confessor; heard stories about his nephew Don Ramon, which troubled him, went back to camp. There intervened a brief cam- paign in the mountains of the Isla Mar- garita; Torre went there to take com- mand. This is the famed old island of pearls; they lie there in the reefs amid the bones of men and ships; Torre found no pearls, but he defeated the royal troops in the first engagement resembling an open battle he had ven- tured to fight. This matter settled, he lay awake at night, and thought about his new ward. Further tidings reached him from Caracas, of his nephew. It was said young Ramon boasted he would marry her. Then the King, as is the royal way after defeat in bat- tle, made further concessions to the Liberals, as the revolutionists were called; and in the coaxing amity of the time, Torre was permitted, nay, invit- ed, to return to the capitaL He did so, and was immediately tendered a ban- quet by the royal Governor, and a ball at which his ward was present. The royal Governor and his lady sat beneath a pavilion, webbed of the scarlet and gold of Spain. The Countess Dolores came and curtsied deeply to them; then she rose the taller for it, and as she turned haughtily away they saw that she was almost robed in pearls; three strands about her neck and six about her waist; and the ribbon in her mantilla was pale green, white, and red. LOS CARAQUENOS. 109 El Gobernador only smiled at this, the liberal tricolor, and made a pretty speech about it; but the vice - regal lady made some ill-natured reference to the pearls, as spoils from Margarita. Don Ramon was standing by and heard it. The General saw it not. After the formal dance the General went up to compliment his ward. This was the first time he had seen her; for even he could not call, save in the pres- ence of the family; and she had no other family than himself. He could not call on her untilunlesshe married her. He said, I am glad my lady Countess is kinder to our colors than my nephew. He watched her as he said this; she started, and at the end of the sentence, blushed. He saw her blush. Then he bowed, as if to retire. The pearls, she said, hastily, are all I have; see! And the Marquis, bowing, saw that the neck-strands were not a necklace, but, after passing thrice around her neck, descended to be lost in the laces of her dress. The Marquis ended his bow, and went back to camp. Next week there came an Indian soldier to Dolores with a box of island pearls; they were large as grape- shot, and went thrice about her waist. But the General no longer contradict- ed her engagement to his nephew. V. THE General had never known wom- en; he had only known what men (and women, too) say of women. At Paris, and Madrid, he had seen his friends with dancers, actresses; he did not con- found other women with these, but he had known none other. Of girls, in par- ticular, he was ignorant. A man of Lat- in race never sees a girl; in Ameri- caNorth Americait is different, and one sometimes wonders if they justify it. Some weeks after the General got back to his camp (which was high up amid the huge mountain that fends the Gulf of Paria from the sea), he was as- tounded by the appearance of no less a person than his nephew Ramon. He had broken with the royal cause, he said, and came to seek service beneath his uncle. He did not say what statement he had left behind him in Caracasno explanation was necessary in the then Venezuela for joining any warbut how he had justified his delaying his coming nuptials with Dolores. For he loved her, this young fellow; yet he saidal- lowed it to be saidthat in the process de se ranger, in the process of arrange- ment for his bride, that she might find her place unoccupied, certain other ar- rangements had been necessary which took time. He did not tell this story to his uncle, who took him and sought to make a sol- dier of him. Not this story; but he told him that he loved Dolores; and his uncle was he not twenty years younger 2believed him. Twenty years, or fifteen; tis little difference when you pass the decade. But the General found him hard ma- terial to work up. He was ready enough at a private brawl; ready enough, if the humor struck him, to go at the enemy; but not to lead his men there. And his men were readier to gamble with him than to follow him; though brave enough, in a way. Yet the gentleman Marquis blinded his faultsaye, and paid his debtsfor when he lost at pharaon a certain pearl he wore, the uncle bought it back for him, with a caution to risk his money, not his honor; at which the young cap- tain grit his teeth, and would have chal- lengedany but a creditor. And when a certain girl, a Spanish woman, followed him to camp, Del Torre knew of it, and helped Ramon to bid her go; and if the General thought the worse of him, he did not think Dolores loved him less; for was not Sebastian himself brought up on that cruel half-truth that some women still do their sex the harm to make a whole one? that women love a rake reformed. Then came a battle, and both were wounded, and more conces- sions from his Catholic Majesty; and in their wake the wounded gentlemen went back to Carftcas. The Generals hair was grayer, and in that stay he saw Dolores only once, and that was in churchat mass. (High mass, Te Deum, for the Catholic Ma- jestys concessions.) Don Hamon stood 110 LOS CARA~2UENOS. behind her chair; and Del Torre saw them from a pillar opposite, and again the girl - countess blushed. And after mass the new Archbishop met him in the street, and talkedof him, and of his ward, and of Don Bamon. He is a graceless reprobate, said this peon-priest. The Marquis sighed. A soldier for a brave man there is always hope. The Archbishop eyed him. She loves him? She loves him. He is poor! She is rich. You should marry her, said the Archbishop, and shrugged his shoul- ders. A week after he met them all again; and this was that evening in the gar- den. vi Now this arch-priest had been a peon, and a soldier in Del Torres army; and then he had left it, and had seen the viceroy and been traitor to the rebels, and so became a priest; and then, heav- en and the vice-queen knew how, bish- op; and but that his archiepiscopal credentials were now fresh from Rome, Del Torre, still a Catholic, had called him traitor! Yet he could not like the man, though he stood between him and God; and he knew that disliking must be mutual; and he marvelled, simple soldier I that the intoxicating message came from him. But he put this cup of heaven from his lips. For Del Torre, from his fierce August of war, had learned to love this April maiden with all his heart and with all his life and his strong soul. Were not his hairs gray, and his face so worn and weather-beaten? And his hearthe had none fit for this lady of the light. Enough that it was his pearls that clasped her slender waist. The Archbishop, too, had seen his gray hairs; yet he thought that it was best? He had said so. Perhaps he wanted her possessions for the Church. His nephew, Don Ramon, cursed the Archbishop for sitting there that night, and saying to herWhat? Novitiate and convent, perhaps, or his own sins. For the lady Dolores was devout as only girls can be who have warm hearts and noble souls, and are brought up in cloisters. Del Torre stood on the other side of the Calvary hill, where the sunset lay, and looked at it, dimlyfor his heart was breaking. The Archbishop kept close his converse with Dolores; per- haps he saw her fiery younger lover lurking in the branches. She roseshe and Jacinta and the priest walked home with them. He talked to her of nephew Ramon and his crimesnot his sins with women, for the priest, too, was a crafty man, and did her sex no honorbut of his gambling, his brawl- ing, his unsaintliness. He said Ramon was a coward; and when Doloress pale cheek reddened, he marked it again; and when she broke at this, he told her a tramped-up story of his last battle under his grave uncle. For Dolores, noble maiden, had not yet confessed her love to herself how then to her con- fessor? The Archbishop walked slowly home with her, Jacinta just behind, and left her under that old stone scutcheon on the door. Del Torre and Don Ramon lingered behind; and when they had passed her window, she was sitting there, looking weary. The old General passed by, sweeping off his hat, his eyes on the ground. He had been talking to the youth of all the duties of his life and love; but Ramon was inattentive, watching for her. As they passed her window he lingered, daring a word to Dolores through the iron bars. He asked her for a rose she wore. She looked at him a moment, then gave it to him, with a message. The Marquis saw her give the rose; he did not hear the message. Don Ramon did; and his face turned the color of a winter leaf. As he walked on he crushed the rose, then threw it in the gutter. That night he intoxicated himself in some tavern brawL He had a compan- ion with him, not of his own sex; and when another officer reproached him with it, for his cousin, he swore that he would marry her, and that she had been Then they fought a duel, and both were wounded. LOS CARAQUENOS. 111 VII THE General heard of it the next morning, and it was even the Arch- bishop brought him the news. The priest besought Del Torre to marry his ward, but he was obdurate; the crafty priest wrestled with the soldiers will all through that day, and neither con- quered. But the Generals face looked worn; he argued, only sadly, of the hot blood of youth, of the hope in her love for the nephew, and of his bravery. Then late in the day came the young officer, wounded, the bandage on his breast half stanching the hearts blood he had shed for her, and besought the general not to give her to Don iRamon. Del Torre stood as if at bay. You love her too? he cried. Ay, and would save her, said the young man, faintly. You must protect her from this libertine, then said the priest. For he wished her to marry the one she loved not. She loves him! You must save her I will live with her, and guard her as my own You may not, said the priest. I am her guardian You may notyou must marry her. I am old and she is young The holy Church demands it! I love her notI the lie stuck in his lips. Late in the afternoon Del Torre went to see Dolores. She was at vesper ser- vice, and he waited until she came back, pale. He began to speak. I have heard all, she interrupted; Jacinta told me. And again he saw her blush. Del Torre groaned; he turned aside. Then he strode back to her, his sabre clanking as he walked. God forgive me if I err. Dolores, you may not marry this man you you must Seiiorita Condesa, will you marry me? Dolores looked up; she bad been red, she was now pale. So blushes lie. Santissima Maria, she said, below her breath. The Churchthe Archbishopde- mands it, Del Torre hurried on, not looking at her, for he heard her exela mation. I love youwell enoughto wed you. The soldiers voice broke, too feeble now to cry a charge. He never saw her look at him. God par- don him for looking down. You love mewell enough to wed me She had turned red again, and her voice was low. He looked, and saw it. I will keep you, and watch over you, Dolores, with my life. TheChurch demands itI am but a soldierwill you marry me? Her dark head was bowed, and the purple of her eyes he saw not. Yes, she said; but, oh, so gravely, so coldly! He bowed ceremoniously, and touched her hand to his lips; then he turned and left the stone-walled tropic garden. And as his sabre clanked in the passage- way, she threw herself on the hammock in a flood of tears. And that is how they were affianced. VIII THE love of a man for a girl is per- haps different from any other passion our souls on earth are tempered with. Daphnis and Chloe are pretty, natural, charming to paint and write vers de so- ci& ~ about; but so simple as to be shallow, so natural as to be replaceable. To Daphnis we know that any other Chloe will be Chloe too. And they are really selfish; they seek the consumma- tion of their wishes: he his, she hers. It may be the same human energy; but in the fierce, almost blasphemous, self- abuegation of the mans love, it seems as different a manifestation as the earth- rending power of freezing water from the swelling of a bud at spring. The man can renounce his love; but he de- sires her well-being with a will to which murder is an incident and the will di- vine but an obstacle to be overcome. The Archbishop had told Del Torre that his nephew had been married al- readysecretly, but marriedmarried to the woman who came to seek him out at the camp. Against this wall Del Torres will had been beating before his own bethrothal to Dolores was an- nounced. With a fierce suspicion he 112 received his friends congratulations at his club and camp. Among his officers no other look or accent mingled with an unaffected joy. But in the city, he fanciedlie was ever ready to fancy among the young men, a shade of irony in their congratulations on his happi- ness. Was he not so old! Don Ramon heard of it from Ja- cinta. Jacinta was with the younger man. She looked upon Del Torres gray hairs with fierce eyes. Ilamon s liquid voice and peachy lip had fasci- nated this supple creature of the forest. Don Ramon heard; and his own an- swer was characteristic: The old fool! Jacinta nodded impatiently. She asked him for a message back. He took pen and paper and wrote: SE~OEJTA CONDESA: Thou lovest me. On the morning thou shalt wed Don Sebastian I kill him. RAMON DEL TOERE. He read it over; then he stopped and thought. He was not all tiger; some- thing of the serpent lay within the handsome youth. I will send it this evening, he said to Jacinta. And in the evening this is what he wrote: SENORITA CONDESA: The Archbishop is my enemy and makes my uncle marry you. Have you confessed to him? Surely, you have loved me? On the day he marries you he shall kill your quis and asked to be permitted to pro- yoke Don iRamon. The General refused it to all, with one wave of his hand. I marry my ward for family reasons; my nephew must be permitted to make what criticism he chooses. Don Ramon then announced his uncle a coward, and promised to prevent the marriage by force. Del Torre took no notice. Jacinta had taken the letter to Dolores, but iRamon got no reply. After his last threat, however, he se- cured a call from a Jesuit priest, who was sent by the Archbishop and hinted of the Inquisition. Then the young man was silent for two days, and in de- vouring his rage he produced this let- ter to Dolores: DOLORES: Hast thou confessed? And why no answer to me? For death (para la muerte), RAMON. To this Jacinta brought back a line: I shall confess upon my wedding- day. My answer to my husband, with the message that your Honour (V., only, in Spanish) did not give. DoLoREs, CONDESA DE LUNA. For Ramon had never given the mes- sage that went with the rose. All this was in Holy Week. Palm Sunday passed; the Wednesday came; Holy Thursday was the day fixed for the weddingby the Archbishops spec- ial wilL Now, it must be remembered that in RAMON. all this time Del Torre had spoken with Dolores face to face three times, and three times only. Each time he had seen her he had mentioned his neph- ews name, and each time she had changed color. He would have mar- ried her to Don Ramon could he have done so; even now he had dared but for IRamons own conduct. But all this time Del Torre was in an agony of doubt, through which even Ramon s insults could not penetrate. He would have sent Dolores to a convent, but the Arch- bishop forbade it; the priest feared not Don Ramon against Don Sebastian; perhaps, however, he feared him at the convent doors. But all this time This letter he sent. This was Thurs- day, March 19, 1813. The marriage was set for the 26th. Ramon went to the club, the caf 6 which served as club to the aristocracy of Caracas, and an- nounced publicly that his uncle was forcing his ward to marry him against his will. The General, when this story was brought to him, winced, but only replied: My nephew knows I cannot fight him; I must leave my honor to the kind opinion of my friends. This speech was repeated to the kindness of my friends; and that night a dozen young gentlemen called upon the Mar- LOS CARAQUENOS. LOS CARAQjUENOS. 113 Del Torre had seen Dolores twice a day, at mass, where he went and gazed upon her, dim through incense. ON Wednesday morning the Marquis del Torre had a last interview with his bride. She was to go to her last maid- enly confession on that day; and he called early in the morning, in his uni- form as General of the Liberal army. When he came upon her she was all in white and girt about with pearls. Pearls were in her dark hair, pearls in the folds of her white dress, pearls in her neck, no other color about her save the magic amethystine in her eyes. Her face was pale. Del Torre bowed over her hand, then stood beside her. After the greeting, he said: Sefiorita Dolores, I am still your guardian I would only marry you to make you happy. Do you think I can? His lips were paler than hers, and his voice sounded cold. She only answered: Quite sure, seilor. And the rose I saw you give my nephewis it dead? Again the rash of color to her face; but, after a start, she answered, It is dead. She stammered slightly, trying to say more; to relieve her embarrass- ment he rose and left her. Hasta mafialia! Maiia?ia por la mafiafia, she an- swered, forcing brightness in her voice. The Marquis went out into the sun- light; he felt his heart as cold as hers. But again Dolores burst into tears; then, quickly drying them, she wrote a letter and sealed it. Then she called Jacinta. The Indian nurse came quickly, and as she stood looking at Dolores a dogs love was in her eyes. This letter the Marquis must have it in the morning, said the Countess. He shall have itin the morning, answered Jacinta. Then Dolores went to her confessor. And Jacinta could not read the letter; so she took it to Don Bamon first, and asked him what it was. VOL. XIIL13 x. THE soldiers in Canicas march to mass, and the service is performed at beat of drum. At the muffled tap of a march the regiment files in to fill the nave, and kneels, ringing their bayonets upon the stones; the people fill the sides, and stand behind the columns on the aisles. The General was there, as usual, but he could not see Dolores; she was kneeling at a shrine upon one side, a shrine of Mary, Mother of Pity. All the pictures and gold images were heavily draped in crape, for it was Holy Week. The brazen trampets of the military band sounded through the Kyrie Eleison; the church was dark, for every woman was in black until Good Friday, and the crape hangings shrouded close the walls. Del Torre stood erect in his green uniform, but, save for his figure, the nave was a mass of red and gold and glittering steel He looked for her; he looked back to the doors which were thrown back in- ward; from the dark, shrouded church he looked through into the empty square, blazing with the zenith sun of the equinox. Again a muffled drum- beat, and the regiment knelt, with a rattle of their bayonets, upon the stones; it was the elevation of the host, and he, too, knelt and crossed himself. When mass was over, the soldiers filed out first; as Del Torre followed, he met the wounded captain again, with bloodless cheeks. You are too pale to be out, sir, said the General, almost lovingly, his hand resting light- ly on the others shoulder. Don Ramon is outside, he answer- ed. I have no fearthe youth is mad, said Del Torre. It is the custom in Spanish America, now forgotten in old Spain, to lead the holy images of the Church about the streets, with a slow processional, before Good Friday. As Del Torre spoke, they found themselves behind one of these. In this Church of Santa Teresia is a famed old image of Christ bearing the Cross, brought two centuries before from Spain. It is especially venerated by the merchants of Caracas; large sums are subscribed by them each 114 LOS CARAQUENOS. Easter time to dress it up, thousands of dollars and doubloons. Behind this im- age now they found themselves. Eight chanting priests in mourning, black and lilac, bore it on either side, but the image was gay with beaten gold, borne in a canopy of costly lace, a hundred tall wax candles upon either side. The priests move very slowly, scarce a step a minute, making stations at each shrine, so that to bear these images from one church to another may take half a day. Del Torre and the wounded officer could not, of course, pass it; so that it was half an hour when they reached the open air, and the square nearly emp- tied of the worshippers; Del Torre heard the distant band of the army down the mountain slope. As they came out into the heat, he felt a slight shudder, like a quiver of the earth, and thought it was the shock of seeing his nephew. Don Bamon del Torre spoke loudly, disregarding the presence of the bystanders, pressing rudely by the sacred shrine. There stands the old man that will wed my cousin. Mention not her name, said Gen- eral del Torre. I would kill him first, but that his old blood dare not spill itself for her. Mention not her name, said Del Torre. My cousin Dolores de Luna, that has been my mistress That night a Jesuit priest, leaving the Kings House, where he had confessed Dolores, ran hastily to the Archbishops. While he was there, another frightened messenger brought the news that Don Sebastian and his nephew had been fighting on Calvareo. But Jacinta, cry- ing, brought the news to the Countess earlier, how Don Sebastian and Don iRamon at last had met, and how the nephew lay full of wounds upon the Calvary, literally cut in pieces, killed at his own uncles hands. XL DOLORES spent the night before the wedding kneeling in the little chapel of her dwelling. So we read that Eastern Catholics lay all that night in the form of a cross. She was praying for her husband that had been to beperhaps praying that he might be still, praying for light to see if there were sin in it. Perhaps she had remorses of her own. She had known the dead man he had killed as a boy, bold, reckless, wild; I suppose she had looked at him once or twice. A Southern maidens glances return to torture her when they have led to blood; prudent maids of other climes are chary of them for tradition of some such reason. Dolores never wept, but knelt there, dry - eyed, praying. In intervals she thought, Would he be well enough to come? as she knew that he was grave- ly wounded; but somehow she felt sure he would; and that if this marriage- bond were sin, he would venture it for her sake. A womans conscience rules her heart, even in Spain; but a man, even Roman Catholic, will risk his own perdition to save her sorrow, that no sin be hers. She must save him, she must be the judge. And sunrise found her pale but decided. Then she called Jacinta to her side, and asked her if she had carried to her husband (so she called him) her note. Jacinta looked at her fiercely; but at the word Husband, started. Then ~he said she had torn it up. At the Countesss look she quailed, and lied again. She had it still, she said. Dolores bade her give it to him as he came from early mass. Then Jacinta cried and told the truth. She admitted that she had given it to Don Ramon. Dolores heard this with the blood about her heart, but sate there silent, while the Indian woman grovelled at her feet. It was her note, then, that caused the dueL Then mine, too, is the sin, she thought, not his alone; and this thought gave her joy. But where was he? was he strong enough to come? She took her writing-case and wrote an exact copy of her other note; and this was what she had said, and Ramon had read, and then had fought his uncle: SENOR: The rose you asked of yes- terday I gave Don Ramon; but the LOS CARAQUENOS. 115 message that went with it was given him for you. MARIA JOSEPHA DOLORES, CONDESA DR As she finished writing, the General was announced. His face was blood- less, but his wounds had been carefully dressed, so that the bandage could not be seen. He knelt over her hand, though the kneeling set them bleeding once again. But Dolores, timid only in her love, still saw but remorse and duty in his eyes. With him he brought his own priest, a priest from the Liberal army. Pobra, he said, we must be married earlyearly and privately. She sought his eyes timidly and tried to say it ; to say what words her note said in her hand. But she could not. She could only say, I knowI have heard, and she clenched the letter closer in her hand. She could not give it to him. Del Torres face could not turn whiter. But he said: Forgive me only your forgiveness I can ask. At noon, then? At noon. She saw him leave the house; then, then she turned and cried to Jacinta: Run, run, and give him this letterat the CathedraL And again, upon her wedding-morn- ing, Dolores went to pray. She was in- terrupted by a visit from the Arch- bishop. Some presentiment made her rise in apprehension; and as she stood erect, she saw, through the priest, the man. And she saw he had her secret. This marriage must not be, said he. Holy Father, I have confessed yes- terday. This marriage must not be. You loved Don Ramon. Doloress lip curled. I confessed, yesterday. I see you have been told. Yesterday twas a dutyto-day it is a sin. Thou lovest Ramon. Then Dolores rose to her full height and her blue eyes flamed like ice. Se- bastian, the Liberador, him I love, in this life and the next; God knows it, and now may you, and soon, please God, shall he! All forewarned that he was, the priest started at her vehemence. Fool that he had been! He has murdered his nephewand thou art the cause. The Countess was silent. All Catho- lic that she was, she had resolved to ap- peal from his judgment to Gods. Thou wilt not obey? said the priest. Her lips half formed the word no. Then on thee and on him, on thy house I pronounce the curse of God. Thy family shall have cause to remem- ber this day, this Holy Thursday, until it and both thy names shall have van- ished from the earth. Scarcely had the Archbishop left the house when Del Torre came. She saw that he had not been to the church. But she was married to him without an- other word. If he has not my note, she thought, he shall have it soon. But before that night Jacinta, with the note in her hand, was buried with ten thousand others behind the closed cathedral doors. xli ON Holy Thursday, March 26, 1813, while the services of the Hours of Ago- ny were being celebrated in the great cathedral, in the presence of ten thou- sand people, the mountains trembled and the earth opened. The multitude pressed for the doors, but they opened inward, and the thronging masses pressed them fast. At the second shock the walls opened and the roof fell in. The Archbishop and many priests were buried at the altar. Thir- ty thousand people are said to have perished. Many were swallowed in the chasm that opened on the mountain- side, like rents in a bulging sail bursted in a gale. No stone house in Cavicas more than one-story high was standing on that night except the old Spanish castle where, in the tower - room, Do- lores sat watching for her husband. Through all that night Del Torre worked amid the ruins. At dawn he was brought home insensible, fainting from his labors, bleeding at his opened wounds. Dolores met him at the door, and led the bearers to the room that should have been their bridal - room. There he was laid, and lay delirious 116 LOS CARAQUENOS. many weeks with fever. Dolores never left his side. The Archbishop was known to have been killed. Jacinta, the bride knew must have perished too. The priest that had married them stayed with her; but Dolores, though brave enough to sin, was not false to her faith. The overwrought heart of the poor girl and great noblewoman connected all that had happened with what she deemed her sins firstly, that she had caused her cousins death, her husbands crime, but chiefly that she had braved the Church, and the curse its head, now dead, had launched upon her and upon Car~- cas. That their house alone was stand- ing seemed only to mark them guilty. Dolores was a noble heart, and did not falter in her course. She had fol- lowed love, she had married him she loved; his wife she was, his wife she would remain. But she sought no soothing palliation from the friendly priest. She went to no confession; in all her life she never would confess her- self, seek absolution, again. Excom- municated she would live, that the curse might rest on her and not on him. But ah, how ardently she watched for Sebastians consciousness to come! for his eyes to rest on hers again! She felt sure the coldness in them now was gone. Delirious, he raved of her and of his love; he that never called her but by titles in his life, now cried Dolo- res, Dolores, and she held his hand and waited. She bade the doctors tell her when his recovery was likely to come. And then, when one evening his hands moved, and he closed his eyes and slept, she sat there trembling, not daring to be beside him, but her face turned away. That yearning cry Dolores, Dolores, had been stilled for hours; but the night passed and still he was asleep. Then, when it was broad sun- light, she heard a sudden movement by the nurse, and the priest began to pray in Latin, and her heart stood still. He sat up; she retreated in the shadow, to- ward the door. His voice spoke; but oh! how low, how weaknot as it had been in his dreaming; alas! this was now his right mind. He saw not her; his eyes looked sanely out the window, through the crowded city. It was a sin to marry her, he said. She was carried fainting to her room within the tower, and there again she waited. Has he asked for me? she ventured to ask, at night. He had asked for my lady, and they had told him she was ilL And the next day again; and they had told him she was in her suite about the tower. She dared not seek him now. And flowers came to her from him, but no further speech. Thrice he sent his homage to her. He could not walk yet, but he sent his homage to her. She asked to know when he could walk; and they told her they would let her know. So, one afternoon, they told her he might walk the next day; and all that night she passed in prayer. The next day, she waited for his step upon the stone floor. It came not; to her tears and prayers, it came not. Jacintas dead hand still held close the note. She prayedwas it wrong to pray when so unshrived 2to Maria Vergen de las Mercedes, but still it came not. Her haughty Spanish breeding forbade her showing sorrow to her servants, and they were cold and deferential to her. Jacinta? She was deadDolores knew, but thought that she had given him her letter. She had sinned, yes, but he was her husband. The next day she asked the servant. The Sefior General was gone. Gone? without seeing her even? He had had to go to the wars; he had not ventured to disturb my lady; he left a letter. A letter? she tore it open, read it. It sent his respectful worship to the Marquesa; it apologized for his ill- ness; it prayed forgiveness from her for having married her; it was done to save her name. It said no word of love; and Sebastian Ruy del Torre was a gentleman: his love appeared not in his letter. If she loved him not, he would not wound her by showing his. It said no word of guilt. He would nei- ther wound her by requiring love nor by suggesting blame; but to Doloress morbid fancy it had a sense of blame. It closed by speaking of his duty at the wars; of his countrys freedom; per- haps, a hint of hers. Dolores clasped the white paper to her breast, and, to 1 LOS CARAQUENOS. 117 immortal eyes its color was of blood. She read it once again; and Del Torre, had he been there, could have seen her heart die in her eyes. XIEL WE must remember that Maria Josepha Dolores, Condesa del Torre y Luna, was a lonely young girl, educat- ed but from books, devoutly believing in a faith we like to think superstitious. Remember, please, also, that she loved, and braved her Church for love, and had not, so she thought, won his. She deemed her soul was damned; she knew her heart was broken. Not that there were no days when she did not dare hope; no days in which she tried to frame a theory by which it still might seem he cared for her; but she believed he was borne down by their great guilt, and she resolved his soul, at least, would not be lost for hers. My lady Marquesa would have her apartments in all the house, the letter said. My lady had but to command. A small room in the tower was enough for him he could but rarely be home from the wars. He trusted, if his presence was painful, she would not see him, etc., etc. And, after many months, when the General came backhis wife met him not. The rooms of state were carefully prepared for him, and all his suite; Ilowers, banquets were ready; all his retinue and hers, in their joint blazonry, were in attendance. Only, strangely enough, just that little tower room was the one my lady Marchioness preferred. Would he kindly yield it to her? Of course, and the General sent her a rope of pearls. They almost broke her resolution; but she met him not. The General only sighed; this was all as he had known. The evil nephew, done to death by his own hand, still had her heart. He sighed and his hair grew whiter. One rending memory came over him, of the last time he had seen her eyes. He could not know, as he rode home- ward up the street, after his first state visits, straining his eyes up to that tower window frowning so blankly, how late her own had left itthose eyes of pur- ple-gray that every beggar in Caracas soon knew well, save only he. Before the next return his glory blazed abroad, and Bolivar came back with him. Boli- var, the Liberator. All thoughtful prep- aration, all courtly care, all a Spanish grandees splendor was spread forth to receive him in the Casa Rey; but the ch~telaine was never seen. It was not necessary to explain her absence ; such things get quickly known; it was, of course, thought she had loved the cous in. And the strange, Old-world Gothic pride made her bearing, the honor of the house, Del Torres silence, only too easily intelligible to them. So the Mar- quis del Torre never saw his bride on his returning home. But, had he known it, he never opened a door that she had not van- ished through it. He never touched a flower she had not placed for him. He never looked in a mirror her gray eyes had not just left. He never touched a wine - glass to his lips that her lips had not kissed it. The very missal that he read from had been warmed within her bosom. O ghosts and mediums, and vulgar spirits of air! and stupid tables, mirrors that are flattered with tales of second sight! Why did you not hold a look of hers one moment longer? why did not the roses keep a second longer her lips breath for him? Poor tremor of vision in the air, that could not draw the image of her eyes to his as he rode up the street scarce a hundred mortal bodies breadths away! But they never did ; he never saw her, she saw him only as he rode away upon his horse ; and so for many? nay, not many (such poor slight power has heaven)not for many years. And as his horse bore him away, she came to the tower window and watched him go and there she sat weeks, months, until the pennons flashed or the trumpets note announced to her, waiting, that he was come again. For he always came in such guise, announced with ceremony. And he did not dream her eyes had been at the tower window ever since. For their eyes never met. But the people knew, and so they called her Our Lady of the Tower. And nuestra Dolia del Torre, is sh~ 118 LOS CARAQUENOS. called there still. And thus they lived there alone within that great house, each for pity of the other in courage, each for awe of love in silence ; each so loving, so brave, so silent, that the other never knew. XIV. NIJESTRA DORA DEL TORRE by that title, I fancy, she is known in heaven. For in that city all the good that was worked was hers; after the earthquake, then through siege and civil war, her heart directed her handmaid- ens, ladies loving her did her soft work. Her own life was but a gentle message. For she never but for the convent left her tower - room. Thither, however, poor old men, children, troubled girls, would come to see her. All this time Bolivar was battling with the might of Spain, and Del Torre (Del Torre y Luna now he always called himself, liking, at least, to link his name with hers; but she had dropped her own name and called herself Del Tor- re alone Maria Dolores del Torre) was Bolivars captain. Years the war lasted. Once our General was captured in the city; he came to CarAcas at a time of war, when it was legal for the Governor to capture him; he had heard some rumor that his wife was ill. He would have been shot but that he es- caped from gaol, and this so easily that the prison-doors seemed to turn of them- selves. No youth, or woman, or child in all CarAcas, but would have turned a traitor for our lady. Del Torres face looked oldDolores knew it not. She never saw himex- cept, perhaps, a distant figure on a horse. When he was out, she roamed the house; when he came back she shut herself within her apartments. He never returned, from the shortest ab- sences, a walk or a mass, without mak- ing formal announcement. He won- dered only at the flowers; the perfec- tion of his banquets, the splendor of his household, were for his guests and as it should be. At first Del Torre had hoped to see at least a handkerchief fly from her window, a greeting or a wave of the hand, on his return. But ~t was always black and blank when he saw it. At first, this cost him tears: a greeting seemed so littleonly cour- tesy! But afterward he only sighed; no man should repine that events fulfil his expectations rather than his hopes. Their money grew apace. With part of hers Dolores built a church at Los Teques, a property that had been her mothers, not far from the city. Half her time she spent there; and it stands there still, and is called after the Ver- gen de las MercedesOur Lady of Pity to whom alone Dolores dared to pray. But the Church took her treasure and it kept her secret. Ones heart beats quick to think what might have happened had she ventured to confessionthe priest who married them still was with her, in the house- hold, an honest priest, who loved Del Torre, too. But Rome, which knows how to be gentle as a mother, can also be as cruel as the grave. So Dolores went on in building churches, and Don Sebastian offered his brave heart wher- ever he saw a bullet fly for liberty. The best work of the world is done by broken hearts. One time that he came home, he found a medallion by his plate. It was set with pearls, in tricolor enameL He opened it, and it was a miniature of her. Then once a rush of human blood bore all his barriers of honor, duty, resolves of conduct, far away. He hastened through the house to the tower, where she lived. Her maid openednot Ja- cinta, but Jacintas daughter, now a woman. My Lady Marquesa had gone to the convent at Los Teques for some weeks prayer. Xv. AFTER this, Del Torres body grew broken, with his heart. It was the last campaign of libera- tion. The final battle was fought not far from Los Teques, where the convent was; and the wall of the church of the Vergen de las Mercedes was scarred with balls. The fight was over, the country was free. And the General at last was killed. Bolivar himself went with Del Torres body to CarAcas; our Generals corps d arm~e were his pall - bearers. The LOS CARAQUENOS. 119 news, of course, had been sent to the city; the Governor had fled; the Gen- erals tn-color now, the red-white-green of Colombia, was floating over the Cap- itol. All the town was gay with ban- ners, merry with song. It had forgot- ten the earthquake, and was now re- built, though lower down. The Casa Hey now stood at the head of the prin- cipal street, which sloped from it down the mountain side. And as the regi- ment escorting his body debouched into this avenue, and turned upward (as its dead leader had so often done before), and the town came in view, there was a great hush upon the peo- ple. For lo! Now, at last, the window of the tower was wide open and the house bore all no black, but was fes- tooned with laughing tn-color. And the window of the tower was open, and there within stood our Lady Dolores, in her white wedding laces, waving her hand. She met them at the great door. Bolivar, and the officers who had been with our General, started. For, as she stood there in her slender satin gown, her eyes upon them, she was like a young girl. And her girlish waist was bound about with pearls. The fact was, she was seven-and twenty. They placed his bier first in the great room; but she would have it in hers, so in the tower-room they placed it, with burning candles standing sentry now where she had stood; and by its side were liliesthe flower of the Holy Ghostand then they left her. Then first, since her wedding-day, she looked upon him, face to face, his eyes now dead to see. Their eyes so met. And outside, from the city now again joyous, came the carillon of freedom bells. XVI. THIS is the life story of Don Sebas- tian Buy Jose Maria, Marques del Torre y Luna; and of Maria Josepha Dolores del Torre, Condesa de Luna, his wife; and of the old stone castle that alone the earthquake left standing in the pleasant city of Caracas. The Holy Catholic Church had alone their secret; and she kept it; and now she has, laid up on earth, their treas- ure too. No longer such grim motives vex their country; if she battles with herself, it is for money or acres of wide coffee land. Such cruel tales cannot be found there now. But, perhaps, with- al, some touch of noble life is vanished, with that flag of blood and gold. Good cannot grow bravely without evil in this world. You may see the Casa Hey still stand- ing in the sombre street, and the empty tower window there. The Marquesa del Torre y Luna died, quite old, a score of years ago. Her blue eyes are no longer there. Perhaps they are in heaven, and now at last, know not their love from God. The people of Caracas think so. Her eyes Even than on this earth tenderer While hopes and aims long lost with her, Stand ronnd her image side by side, Like tombs of pilgrims that have died Abont the Holy Sepulchre. THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. September 8, 1855. By William Howard Russell, LLD. AM about to describe what I remember of the closing scenes of that Siege of Se- bastopol on which the atten- tion of the civilized world was fixed for nearly twelve long months. A generation has passed away since the Crimean War began, and there are few men now living who could give an exact account of the causes of that war. The objects each of the Allied Powers had in view were not identical by any means, but ostensibly the armies of the brand new Emperor of the French and of the ancient monarchy of England were em- ployed for the purpose of arresting the march of Russians upon Constantinople, delivering the Danubian Provinces from Russian occupation, and ultimately, as the best way of securing the dominions of the Sultan, destroying the magnifi- cent arsenal of his inveterate foe which protected the Black Sea fleet that had already destroyed the Turkish Navy at Sinope, and which constituted a perpet- ual menace to Stamboul. Early in September, 1854,27,000 Eng- lish, under Lord Raglan; 26,000 French, under Marshal Arnaud, who also had attached to him a Turkish division 7,000 strong, sailed from Yarna. They landed in the Crimea on September 14th, fought and won the Battle of the Alma on Sep- tember 20th, invested the south side of Sebastopol on the 26th, and on October 17th opened fire on the place. They were attacked in the rear on October 25th, at Balaclava, and on November 5th were assailed at Inkerman by 60,000 Russians whom they defeated after a long and bloody struggle. The Siege went on through a terrible winter, through the spring and the early summer of 1855. Sebastopol sustained a bombardment from the two most powerful fleets in the world, and the French and English batteries, without result five general bombardments and batterings from the works, each time augmented in the num- ber and power of mortars and guns; constant cannonading from the allied trenches and from the sea; and made frequent and sanguinary sorties and re- pulsed desperate assaults; but toward the end of July, 1855, it became evident that unless help came from without her days were numbered. Despite the ge- nius and resources of the great engineer Todleben, whose name will be forever as- sociated with the Siege, the assailants surely if slowly gained ground and in- dented the line of the defences. Every week sap and trench were pushed nearer and nearer to the place. From Septem- ber, 1854, to August, 1855, the Russian loss amounted to 134,000 mentheir stores were exhaustedtheir best ord- nance dismounted or rendered useless, The Russians lost their advanced re- doubts, the Mamelon, the White Works, and the Quarries on June 7th, inflicted a severe defeat on both the French and the English, and repulsed a general ass9lllt HISTORIC MOMENTS: 0

Wm. Howard Russell Russell, Wm. Howard Historic Moments. IX. The Fall Of Sebastopol 120-129

THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. September 8, 1855. By William Howard Russell, LLD. AM about to describe what I remember of the closing scenes of that Siege of Se- bastopol on which the atten- tion of the civilized world was fixed for nearly twelve long months. A generation has passed away since the Crimean War began, and there are few men now living who could give an exact account of the causes of that war. The objects each of the Allied Powers had in view were not identical by any means, but ostensibly the armies of the brand new Emperor of the French and of the ancient monarchy of England were em- ployed for the purpose of arresting the march of Russians upon Constantinople, delivering the Danubian Provinces from Russian occupation, and ultimately, as the best way of securing the dominions of the Sultan, destroying the magnifi- cent arsenal of his inveterate foe which protected the Black Sea fleet that had already destroyed the Turkish Navy at Sinope, and which constituted a perpet- ual menace to Stamboul. Early in September, 1854,27,000 Eng- lish, under Lord Raglan; 26,000 French, under Marshal Arnaud, who also had attached to him a Turkish division 7,000 strong, sailed from Yarna. They landed in the Crimea on September 14th, fought and won the Battle of the Alma on Sep- tember 20th, invested the south side of Sebastopol on the 26th, and on October 17th opened fire on the place. They were attacked in the rear on October 25th, at Balaclava, and on November 5th were assailed at Inkerman by 60,000 Russians whom they defeated after a long and bloody struggle. The Siege went on through a terrible winter, through the spring and the early summer of 1855. Sebastopol sustained a bombardment from the two most powerful fleets in the world, and the French and English batteries, without result five general bombardments and batterings from the works, each time augmented in the num- ber and power of mortars and guns; constant cannonading from the allied trenches and from the sea; and made frequent and sanguinary sorties and re- pulsed desperate assaults; but toward the end of July, 1855, it became evident that unless help came from without her days were numbered. Despite the ge- nius and resources of the great engineer Todleben, whose name will be forever as- sociated with the Siege, the assailants surely if slowly gained ground and in- dented the line of the defences. Every week sap and trench were pushed nearer and nearer to the place. From Septem- ber, 1854, to August, 1855, the Russian loss amounted to 134,000 mentheir stores were exhaustedtheir best ord- nance dismounted or rendered useless, The Russians lost their advanced re- doubts, the Mamelon, the White Works, and the Quarries on June 7th, inflicted a severe defeat on both the French and the English, and repulsed a general ass9lllt HISTORIC MOMENTS: 0 THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 121 on Sebastopol with a loss of 5,000 men to the Allies,* June 18th (the anniversary of Waterloo), but all the same the defence was agonizing! So a final attempt was made to raise the Siege. On August 16th the Russian army outside the place50,000 infantry, 10,- 000 cavalry, and 236 gunsmade an ill- and badly conceived attack on the French and Sardinian forces, covering the line of the Tchernaya, and was utterly defeated, losing 3 generals, 66 officers, and 2,300 men killed, 160 officers and 4,000 men wounded, 31 of- ficers and 1,700 men missing, while the French lost 1,500 and the Sardinians only 200 men in the action. When Prince Gortschakoff returned to the city from the battle-field of the Tchernaya, he found 1idespread death and ruin around himhospitals over- flowing, gorged ambulances in every street. He made preparations to aban- don the south sidehe threw a great bridge across the roadstead, he barri- caded the streets and laid mines under the forts which defended the roadstead, the harbor, and dockshe sent his sick and wounded to the other shore. But he could not bring himself to give the word to retreat. He lingered till it was too late. By way of answer to the attack on the Tchernaya, the Allies opened a heavy fire on Sebastopol after the battle, which put from 800 to 900 men of the garri- son hors de combat every 24 hours. Still Gortschakoff held on. But on Septem- ber 5th, the prelude to the grand assault commencedcannonade by day, bom- bardment by night. For 72 hours the fire never ceased. In that time the Eng- lish threw 12,721 bomb-shells and 89,540 shot into Sebastopol. Everything went down before that infernal tempest save the courage of the garrison. Ramparts, houses, stone-walls, were pounded into rubble, guns were dismounted, gabion- ades and parapets were levelled, batter- ies were laid open from the front to the rear. But in the midst of the storm of iron and fire the Russians, stolid and indomitable, massed in the fetid holes excavated in the reverse face of the Eyres Brigade carried the Russian positions below the west flank of the Redan, and occupied them till it was withdrawn next morning by orderthe only success of the day. works miscalled casemates, awaited the columns of assault and with splen- did resolution prepared to defend all that was left of Sebastopol. I have thought this brief summary of the situation necessary to enable you to understand the Historic Mo- ment of the fall. We have now come to the evening of September 7, 1855. My quarters were in rear of the hillock called Cathcarts Hill; the zinc hut of which I became the happy possessor toward the close of the Siege was within range of the plunging shot fired from Sebastopol to annoy our camps and the groups of officers assembling on Cathcarts HilL I was very glad indeed when the intensity of the bombardments shut up the whist- ling Dicks, as they were called, and their screaming congeners, and gave us res- pite from their annoyance and occa- sional mischief. It only took a few min- utes to walk to Cathcarts Hill, which commanded the terrain covered by our camps between the sea on the left and the Valley of the Tchernaya on the right. Off.the harbor to the southeast lay the fleets, a short distance inland began the French trenches, opposite the Curtain, the Central Bastion, and the Flag-Staff Bastion, which were contin- ued to the ravine in which they dipped to join the English Left Attackwhich was directed against the Barrack Bat- teries and the Redan. The Woronzow Ravine, in which the road to the city ran, separated our two attacks. The English trenches were continued to the right (I am looking at Sebastopol from Cathcarts Hill) to the Valley of Death, where they connected with the left of the French Right Attack. After the Battle of Inkernian the French moved round to our right and took up the ground which had been oc- cupied by the Guards and the Second Division, so that the British had to re- sign the position in front of the Malak- hoff which our Engineer, Sir John Bur- goyne, declared to be the key of the position as it proved to be. The flanks of the English were now covered by their allies, but I am not sure that they were grateful for the protection thus afforded them. 122 THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. I spent some hours at Catlicarts Hill watching the effect of the fire from the allied batteries which for five miles be- tween the French left to the west, and their right at Inkerman were plying the Russian works on September 7th. It was a raw, blustery day; toward evening it became worse. An exceed- ingly strong wind, bitterly cold for the time of year, blew in our faces right from the city, driving before it dense clouds of blinding dust with a sickly smell of burning. This fierce wind lasted all the night and next day. Our batteries had completely defaced the parapets of the Redan and had smashed the walls and barracks behind, sending stones and timbers flying in the air. The Russians endured the fearful va- carme of shot and shell in silence. The French Marshal and General La Marmora had attended a Council of War at which our Generals of Division, the Miles Engineer and Artillery chiefs were present at our head - quarters at noon, and orders were sent, after the Council broke up, to the Medical Offi- cers to prepare the ambulances and hos- pitals for next day. I rode over to our head-quarters camp about 4 oclockthe farm-house where Lord Raglan diednow a scene of unusual animation. Aides-de-camp galloping, saddled horses parading up and down before the staff officers huts, orderlies coming and going, everyone busy and important, no one able or willing to impart information about the assault, which I knew from many scraps picked up here and there on my way was intended for to - morrow. As I was returning to Cathcarts Hill I met General (then Colonel) Rose, after- ward Lord Strathnairn, our Commis- sioner with the French, on his way to General Simpson with communications from Pelissier. He told me Pelissier was determined to stand no nonsense! He was going to launch 30,000 men with ample reserves to do his share of the business. And when will the assault be delivered may I ask ?at daybreak? Rose looked at me for a moment, and said, If I knew I dared not tell any one! Exactly! But not at daybreak I think / Adieu! and rode off on his errand. When I reached Cathcarts Hill again the sun was declining in a blood - red haze of smoke and dust. In the road- stead the hull of a man-of-war was blaz- ing fiercely, steamers were busy towing vessels near it to the north side. A stream of men and vehicles was pouring over the floating bridge, in the same direction. The great dock-yard shears was on fire. Among the officers on the Hill were Windham and Crealock. As I drew near I was greeted with the usual question, Well, what news have you? It was supposed that I, who was told nothing, must know everything! Often- times when we were turned out at night by heavy firing in the trenches and everyone was asking, and no one was answering, what it was all about, I heard some one say, we will know about it when the Times arrives! I was for- ever divided between the business of riding about camps, visiting quarters, gathering news, seeing what was to be seen, and putting what I saw and heard down upon paper. On the present oc- casion I was unusually fortunate, for my friends actually knew something. They were on duty to-morrow. What I learned from them made me feel very dubious about our success. It is all a d d patchwork business, said Wind- ham, all wrong, no sense in it! Why not let the Guards and old Cohn Camp- bells Highlanders, who have done noth- ing all the winter, spring, and summer, go in at the Redan. There are lots of regiments longing to make up for their ill-fortune in being late for Alma and Inkermaneight or nine fine regiments burning for a chance! Its a selection of the unfittest. It surely was not the survival of many of them, poor fellows! General Simpson was about to send against the Redan detachments of regi- ments many of which had taken part and had lost heavily in the unsuccessful assault of June 18th. At sunset the cannonading gradually slackened, but the lull was speedily broken by outbursts along the line from all the mortars. As if recovering their spirits in the gloom, the Russians began to throw bouquets of shells, vertical grape, fire-balls, and carcasses into the nearest trenches. THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 123 When I left Cathearts Hill there was a fiery glow through the clouds of smoke over the city, an ominous glare as from some great furnace flights of shells were scoring the darkness with curving lines of fire. The thundering noise of the mortars sounded like the muffled roll of giant musketry. I tried to sleep, but I could only doze fitfully. Every gun fired in the battery below me shook the zinc walls of my hut, and the sleeping flies on the ceiling fell down in swarms on my stretcher- bed and crawled over my face. As the wind wafted the sounds of our Reveille and of the French Diane over the camps on the morning of Sep- tember 8th, I roused up to my break- fast of biscuit and milkless coffee. The cannonade had reopened soon after sun- rise all along the front with extraor- dinary vehemence. It seemed to gather force and fury every moment. Theres going to be hard work to-day, sir, I hear, quoth my servant. The boys ex- pect to be in Sebastopol for dinner, they say! Its little of that some of them will be wanting, Im thinking. As I had not the least idea when the assault would take place, I sallied out for Oath- carts ffill, but the smoke and dust blown back on our camp obscured the scene so that I could scarcely make the Russian works, familiar as they were. There was no unusual gathering of troops in our trenches, but in the rear of the French trenches every yard of ground screened from the enemy was packed with men. I had a pass for the trenches and I walked to the Second Parallel. But there was even less to be seen there than there was from the higher ground in the rear. The cannonade still went on, and there was an incessant rattle and crackle of musketry.* It was evi- dent there was to be no assault in the early morning, so in an hour or so I returned by the covered way, mounted my horse, which was in readiness at the rear of Cathcarts Hill, and rode to our head-quarters, which I drew blank. General Simpson, accompanied by his staff, had already gone to the front. The General, an elderly Scotchman of * To prevent the Russians repairing the works and mounting guns, the trench guards were ordered to keep up an incessant fire on the embrasures, and expended about 150,000 rounds every night and morning. long service, had gained some reputa- tion in India, but had never handled a considerable body of troops in his life. Honest, amiable, modest, and brave, he was entirely destitute of force of char- acter and of commanding ability. He never grasped the consequences of Brit- ish failure and of French success that day! Simpson followed the evil pre- cedent of June 18th. It was, as Wind- ham said, a patchwork business. There was a covering - party of differ- ent regiments of the Second Division. There was a scaling - pa4y of different regiments. There was one column of four different regiments, and two weak brigades in reserve. This for one face of the iRedan. A similar disposition was made for the assault on the other facefragments of regiments without cohesionthe men of one corps not caring for the officers of the other the influencof personal association mini- mized the best troops in reserve in- stead of at the front. The only reason I ever heard given for our arrangement was that the General thought it right to give a share in the honors of the day to as many regiments as possible, espe- cially to those that had failed. The French General set to work in a very different style. For the assault on the Central Bastion and Flagstaff Bas- tion he told off two divisions with two divisions in support, and a reserve of 10,000 men. For the attack on the Malakhoff he assigned a division under MacMahon with a reserve of a brigade under de Wimpfen (the same who suc- ceeded to the command of the French army when MacMahon was wounded at Sedan), and of two battalions of Zon- ayes of the Guard. Another division with a reserve of a brigade and of a battalion of Chasseurs was to storm the Little IRedan. Another division with a reserve of four regiments was to attack the CurtainGuards, Chasseurs, Volti- geurs, Zonaves, at least 30,000 men, the flower of the French army. I cannot at this distance of time carry the details of figures and names in my head. Some parts of the picture of September 8th on my mind are blurred and indistinct. But I have the records of what I saw made at the time. I find the entry Saturday, Sep. 8th, 11 A.M., 124 THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. to a letter written the forenoon of the day of the assault. In those days the idea of telegraphing a despatch was not born. I had a hint that the assault would be delivered at noon. I had time to write the postscript dated 8th Sep., 11 A.M., and hasten back to Cathcarts Hill before the time arrived. The ar- mies had by this time a large train of camp-followers. Jew dealers and Chris- tians had opened provision-shops and drinking - booths. Oppenheim, Crock- ford, Mother Seacole, etc., did a roaring trade. There were many T. Gs., as they were called Travelling Gentle- men who had come out to see the fun and their friends. Whenever any- thing was up or was going on ~ in front, there was a rush from the rear, very inconvenient and troublesomefor the crowds of sight-seers on the rising grounds aroused the attention,nd drew the fire, of the enemy. To obviate this the Generals ordered a line of sentries to be posted early in the morning in rear of the plateau to stop all comers without papers. Another line of cav- alry was posted before the camps and in rear of the trenches to prevent per- sons passing outside the lines. I was told afterward that the Russians saw the line of pickets and at once inferred that the assault was imminent. At 10.30 A.M. the detachments of the regiments of the Light Division and Second Divi- sion destined to attack the iRedan as soon as the French were in the Malak- hoff, were moved quietly into the ad- vanced parallels. The Highlanders un- der Campbell, and the Guards, were in reserve; so was one brigade of the Fourth Division and the whole of the Third Division. The French had found out that the enemy, in order to diminish loss of life from our fire, relieved their garrisons a little before 12 oclock in the day, and that there was an interval between that hour and the arrival of the reliefs during which the batteries were almost denuded of defenders; that was found to be the case. The fatal blot was hit! In ten minutes more it would be twelve. Curiously enough, I found myself beside the Duke of New- castle, the War Minister who had been driven from office with the Government of which he was a member, because of the excitement and indignation created by the accounts of the sufferings of the army during the winter and by the mis- management of the war. You turned out the ministry, Mr. Russell, he said to me when I met him a day or two be- fore (Lord Stratford de Redcliffe used the same words). And he spoke of the impossibility of extracting informa- tion from Lord Raglan. Im told he was always writing. He wrote very lit- tle to me, at all events. Our conversa- tion was brief, our attention was fixed on the trenches. Pelissier was in the Mamelon on our right front. General Simpson, General Airey, and Sir H. Jones, our senior engineer, took post in the Second Parallel of the Left At- tack. I looked at my watchit wanted a few minutes of noon. Just at that mo- ment an officer exclaimed, By Jove, there go the French at the Malakhoff! There was not more than fifty or sixty feet between the parapet of the Malak- hoff and the nearest French trench. We saw the Zouaves, like autumn leaves drifting before the wind, already swarm- ing across the ditch and crowding over the parapet ere the Russians fired a gun. Once in, the clatter of musketry and smoke showed that the enemy had re- covered from their surprise. Desperate fighting ensued, but the whole hill was covered with Frenchmen making for the salient and flanks, and a veritable battle raged within. That famous work, the capture of which gave to France that day the supreme glory of the taking of Sebastopol and to Pelissier the title of Duke, was originally a round stone tower of the kind called Martello, the ca- price of a private citizen before the war. It was built on a conical hill which commanded a masterful sweep of the ground. It looked into the Redan on its proper rightthe Karabelnaia, the dockyards, the anchorage and road- stead, the suburbs of the city, the pla- teau intersected by ravines on which the Allies had pitched their tents, the slopes on which they had opened their trenches. Todleben pounced upon that tower at once and converted it into a veritable fortress some 350 yards long and 150 yards broad, with enormous A THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 125 parapets pierced with shelter caves and massive traverses running across. There was one mistake: it was closed at the gorge! We strained our eyes but the smoke was dense. See! shouted another officer in great excitement, There is a flag flying at the salient! Two flags by Jove! the Tricolor and the Union Jack! Its our turn now! That was the signal agreed on for the British to assault the Great iRedan. Every glass was now directed toward our Fifth parallel into which indeed we could see without field-glasses. Our hearts bounded as we beheld the chequered line of scarlet infantry leap over the parapet and advance at a run up the sloping ground toward the Bedan. But the instant the columns appeared in the open, the flanks of the Redan burst into fire and smoke. The attack on the Malakhoff had aroused the Russians all along the line. Their guns belched out grape and canister from unsuspect- ed embrasures suddenly thrown open, and rolling volleys of musketry cov- ered the parapets with smoke. In less time than it takes to read these lines, most of the leading files of the stormers were killed or wounded. The leading officers fell to a man! Ladder parties, Sappers and Miners, Riflemen, covering parties, went down before tremendous mitraille from the flanking works of the Redan and the auxiliary batteries. The columns advanced indeed. But they left the ground behind them cov- ered with the dead and dying, over whose bodies the supports pressed on- ward. The supports following the first columns from the trenches suffered ter- ribly. They had to march over their fallen comrades, and we could see the wounded and the Hospital litter-bearers going in crowds to the rear. The sup- ports could not fire toward the front. Many halted with the men on the outer parapet and ditch. But still the red and green wave rolled upward. We saw, so to speak, the foam of it mount up the salient, and flow in through the embrasures on the left flank of the Re- dan with infinite delight, secure that the work was our own. Alas! It was not to be! Over the parapet of the Redan as over that of the Malakhoff, the smoke rising in dense clouds told of a long struggle within. Many, very many men were lying in the opensome hundreds were fighting inside. But outside and on the edge of the ditch of the Redan we could see many lying down and firing without advancing. With all-absorbing anxiety we scanned the advanced parallels expecting every moment to see the fine regiments we knew to be there issue forth and save the fortunes of the day now in the bal- ance. It seemed to be hours since the attack began. Our men remained crowded in the salient. The Russians behind the trav- erses reinforced every minute by hun- dreds and by the fugitives from the Malakhoff, poured in a converging fire. Then burst out a storm of angry excla- mations and wild apostrophes, Where are the reserves? There are some of our people actually coming back! They are dropping into the ditch and run- ning out of the salient! Oh! where are the reserves? We shall lose the Redan! My God! what a miser- able business! And though the front of Sebastopol was now belching out smoke from every firelock right and left and every gun, and the combat inside the Malakhoff raged more fierce- ly than ever, we had only eyes for that dreadful sightthe retreat of our own soldiers! Several officers were sent by Windham, who was now senior, to ask for help. They never returned! They were all wounded or slain! At last Wiudham went himself. That pro- ceeding has been severely censured ; but those who knew him and I am one do not believe the ignoble motive assigned for it. Windham walked straight down the slope of the Redan to the nearest parallel, and standing erect on the parallel implored Sir E. Codington, who was in command of the whole force, for men in formation, to charge at once, officers in front, and the Redan is ours. Codington offered the Royals then in the front parallel. But while they were parleying the end came. As they were speaking they saw and to our horror so did wethe red coats pouring out of the embrasures and over the salient into the ditch! The Russians followed them, firing into the 126 THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. ditch and pelting the fugitives with grape-shot and cannon balls from the parapets. The Russians thronged the top of the Redan, cheering and waving their caps! But a sudden end was put to their rejoicing. As soon as our men were out of the Redan all the British batteries burst into an angry cannon- ade; the Redan was silent at once. But that was little consolation. We lost in an hour and a half out of the small force engaged 153 officers, 2,447 men killed, wounded, and missing. But we lost far morethe honor of sharing with the French the crowning glory of the fall of the place! True, that in every other assault on the works they too had been driven back with cruel slaughter. Before the Central Bastion on the left, the brigades of Trochu and Couston were repulsed by Semiakine. On the right (proper left of the Malak- hoff) St. Pol, Bourbaki, and IViarolles led their brigades against the Curtain and the Little Redan under the direc- tion of Bosquet, but after some meas- ure of success were driven out with great loss. St. Pol, Marolles, and three other generals were killed. Bosquet, Bourbaki, and Mellinet were wounded. All along the line the assault was re- pulsed, save at the one crucial point, the lVlalakhoff. There the French, though they were assailed again and again for four long hours, made good their prize. Out of the 199 officers and 4,500 men who attacked the Malakhoff, 29 officers and 292 men were killed, and 89 offi- cers and 1,729 men were woundedin all 3,038. The Russian loss was 12,913. The loss of the French was 7,567 men a total for the days work, including the loss of the British, of 22,751 officers and men killed and wounded. And Oh! the pity of it! For us to know that once more we had covered the slopes and the glacis of the Redan with our bravest and our best in vain As the musketry ceased everywhere except inside the Malakhoff I left Cath- carts Hill and made my way to the Left Attack through dense trains of men some wounded, some carrying litters to the rear. A French orderly officer, radiant with the triumph of the day, was inquiring for General Simpson. He was charged to inform the English general that Marshal Pelissier was se- cure in possession of the Malakhoff and to ask what his English colleague in- tended to do. General Simpson was not then able to renew the attack but he intended to send the Guards, High- landers, and Third and Fourth Divi- sions at the Redan the following morning at five oclock. I saw him re- turning to head - quarters about five oclock accompanied by his generals and staffs, a very care-worn, despondent group. Once more I went up to Cath- carts Hill the batteries on both sides were nearly silent. Bentinck, who com- manded the Guards, and other officers, glasses in hand, were intently looking toward the north side where heavy col- umns of infantry, visible by the waning light, battalion after battalion, were marching over the bridge across the roadstead. Suddenly a brisk fire of musketry opened along the Russian front toward the allied trenches. There are plenty of them left, it seems, forus to deal with to-morrow at all events! said Crealock. Ill turn in, and I advise you to be stirring at daybreak! We cant afford to let a day go without an- other try for the Redan. I returned, calling in at the hospitals and ambu- lances, gathering sad stories as I went of losses of friends through camps full of wounded men. I ate a camp dinner, read over my notes, wrote a few lines, and laid down in my boots, quite worn out by the ex- citement of that dismal day of 16 hours, and I was soon asleep. At 11 oclock the hut was shaken as by an earth- quake, a great roar like a salvo of ar- tillery followed. It is only a mag- azine, said I to myself, and so to sleep again. But at midnight there was a shock more violent than before. That was followed by another! and another! I made for Cathcarts Hill. Fires were burning inside Sebastopol, casting large circular patches of orange on the clouds of smoke and dust still borne on the wind toward the camps. But the mus- ketry had ceasedall was silent in the trenches. About this time a soldier of the Highland Brigade, thinking that the silence was rather strange, crept up the glacis of the Redan and mounting the parapet found the work deserted. The THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. 127 IRedan was indeed left in charge of the dying and the dead. But it was believed that the work was mined, and the officers waited for orders. I went back to my un- easy couch, about two oclock, but I was speedily aroused by an awful explosion. I hastened to my look-out post again. The flames were spreading all over the city. It was an ocean of fire. At 4 A.M. the camps, from sea to valley, were aroused by an awful shockthe destruc- tion of some great magazine behind the IRedan. In quick succession one, two, three, four explosions followed. At 4.45 A.M. the magazines of the Flagstaff Bas- tion and Garden Batteries exploded. The very earth trembled at each outburst, but at 5.30 A.M., when the whole of the huge stone fortresses, the Quarantine and Alexander, were hurled into the air al- most simultaneously with appalling roars, and the sky was all reddened by the incessant flashes of the bursting shells, the boldest held their breath and gazed in awe-struck wonder. It was broad day. The Russian fleet was gone, the last of their men-of-war was at the bottomonly the steamers were active, towing boats and moving from place to place on mysterious errands. Thirty- five magazines in all were blown up, and through all the night of the 8th and the morning of September 9th the Russians were marching out of the south side. We could see the bridge covered with them still. At 6.45 A.M., the last body of infantry crossed the bridge and mounted the opposite bank. Yes, the south side was left to the possession of the Allies at last! Sebastopol, the city, the docks, and the arsenal, was ours. In half an hour more the end of the bridge itself was floated away by some invisible agency from the south side, and in less than an hour the several portions of it were col- lected at the further side of the road- stead. Meantime the fires, fed by small explosions, spread till the town seemed like one great furnace vomiting out col- umns of velvety black smoke to heaven. Soon after seven oclock, columns of smoke began to ascend from Fort Paul. In a minute or two more flames were seen breaking out in Fort Nicholas. The first exploded with a stupendous roar later in the day; the mines under the latter did not take fire. The retreat of Gortschakoff was ef- fected with masterly skilL An hour be- fore sunset on the 8th, he directed the last great effort to oust the French from the Malakhoff, and then when it failed he gave orders for the evacuation, for which measures had been some time previously arranged with consummate ability. Cov- ering his rearby the flames of the burning city and by the awful explosions which paralyzed every offensive movement, he led his army in narrow columns across a deep arm of the sea, in the face of the fleets of the two greatest navies in the world. He paraded them in our sight, he blew up his forts, and sank his ships without trouble and hindrance from a victorious enemy, and carried off all his most useful stores and small arms, his standards and field artillery. I visited the ruins of the city early next day. The memory of the horrors I witnessed saddened many an hour of my life long afterward, and it remains with me now in dreadful distinctness, after the lapse of 37 years, during which it has been my lot to witness many scenes of carnage and to stand on many memo- rable battle-fields. Many things have happened since that war was brought to an end: the war between France and Austria in Italy in 1859; your own great war, 186165; the war between Prussia and Austria in 1866 (because of the quarrel over the spoils of Denmark in 1864); the war be- tween France and Prussia in 187071; the downfall of the Second Empire, the rise of the Third Republic, the resusci- tation of the German Empire and the ad- mission of the hereditary hegemony of the Hoheuzollerns; the war between Russia and Turkey in 1879, the forma- tion of Kingdoms and Principalities out of the Turkish Provinces on the Danube not to speak of Russian conquests in Asia, of wars with China and Japan, of adventurous expeditions and entangling enterprises in Africa, north, south, east and west. Moldavia and Wallachia, Servia, Bul- garia, Bosnia, Kars are lost to turkey forever! The flanks of the Sultans Asiatic possessions lie open to his watch- ful, vigilant enemy; the clauses of the Treaty of Berlin, which limited the na- val and military power of Russia in the 128 THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. Black Sea, have been torn up and the frag- ments flung in the faces of France and England by Prince Gortschakoff. What then can be said of the results of the Cri- mean War? Emphatically thisthat it secured the peace of eastern Europe for a quarter of a century, and arrested the invasion of the Cossack for a generation. The Allies, it is true, paid a terrible price for the temporary possession of the south side of SebastopolEngland lost 22,000 men, made a substantial addi- tion to her national debt; France lost, it is said, nearly four times as many soldiers as her ally. The Sardinian Contingent, which Cavour boldly despatched to the Crimea as a rung in the ladder up which Italians were to mount to national ex- istence, suffered a little; the Turks fell by tens of thousands in battle-fields in Asia and in Europe, at Kars, Oltenitza, Rassowa, Rustehuk, Silistria, Eupatoria, Balaclava. The destruction of life by cholera and sickness of all kinds was pro- digious. Unnumbered camp-followers, Croats, Bulgarians, Tartars, Bashiba- zouks perished, even Austria added her quota to the sum total of deaths, for her corps of observation on the frontier were decimated by malaria. But Russia bled at every pore the fatal drain of treas ure and of blood was felt at the farthest extremity of her vast dominions. In a remote angle of her huge empire she resisted the utmost efforts of the two great Western Powers and the forces of Turkey and Sardinia. From March to August, 1855, upward of 80,000 Rus- sians fell in and around Sebastopol. From September, 1854, to February, 1855, Russia lost 240,000 men in the field. Her total loss throughout the war is incalculableit has been esti- mated at 500,000 men. Her transport was used up, her supplies exhausted, her fields laid waste, man, horse, and carriage all swallowed up in the war! And yet for all that the eye of the stranger rests to-day on the young Queen of the Euxine, enthroned in greater strength than before her fall, on the sea which is all her own and close to the beautiful votive chapel, in wter- nam rei mernoriarn, The Necropolis of the Hundred Thousand will recall for years to come the fortitude of the poor soldiers of the Czar who gave their lives in defence of the Crimean stronghold, which would have never been attacked but for the lust of power of the Autocrat hastening to seize his share of the Sick Mans heritage. Tr~x present plight of the novel called historical is rather interesting. No literary mode has enjoyed a higher prosperity than it. Yet all along its prosperity has lain largely in a misapprehension. Latterly it has come somewhat into disfavor; and the disfavor seems to lie for the most part in a misapprehension too. There needs no deep boring into history to discover that the historical novel makes very free with the facts. Jn addition to the slips through deficient information and false interpretation, to which the historical novelist is liable in common with the his- torian, and which the most painstaking can- not wholly avoid, some deliberate twistings of the truth are imposed upon him by ne- cessities peculiar to his craft. However much better in other respects the former times may have been than these, for the provision of well-rounded stories from real life they were probably as bad as any. No doubt in vigorous or violent incident their real life was richer than ours is; but, for a complete, dramatic story, it is found, the incidents and characters of the past have to be grouped and fitted in by artifice, just as the incidents and characters of the present do. Consequently, the most excellent his- torical novel, received simply as an histori- cal chronicle, is bound to be more or less misleading. But, though it might be never so accu- rate in its historical detail and coloring, the historical novel has still a disadvantage as an historical chronicle, in that, to maintain its character as a novel, it must deal mainly with personal and domestic affairs. The foremost benefit to be derived from the VOL. XIII.14 study of pure history is insight into mat- ters social and political. In other words, the book of history has one service to ren- der; the book of story, whether it treat of the present or of the past, quite another. For all this, the high respectability of the historical novel is due in no small part to a fancy that it is a sufficient substitute for the historical chronicle. While few people read for anything but momentary diversion, few are the readers who can take their ration of fiction without a pang of conscience. And, apparently, the most gluttonous are the most scrupulous. People whose reading is chiefly of other sorts, and to whom the common run of tales is nothing but a bore, are apt to read fiction, when they do read it, with as un- broken a sense of virtue as if they toiled through the mystifying labyrinth of a Critique of Pure Reason. But those who can read little else seem often to have taken the distinction between light reading and serious peculiarly and indissolubly to heart, and to be constantly under an op- pressive consciousness of it. To such what more flattering unction than the historical novel? A good three-fourths of all of its admirers, one dare guess, are persons who have discovered in it an easy means of set- tling accounts with conscience. While sac- rificing few or none of the delights of a tale, they are, they fancy, extracting from it all the riches of mining into the toughest history. And this is the misapprehension wherein the prosperity of the historical novel has so largely lain. But, from being extravagantly esteemed as a history that had the grace to be also a THE POINT OF VIEW.

The Historical Novel The Point Of View 129-134

Tr~x present plight of the novel called historical is rather interesting. No literary mode has enjoyed a higher prosperity than it. Yet all along its prosperity has lain largely in a misapprehension. Latterly it has come somewhat into disfavor; and the disfavor seems to lie for the most part in a misapprehension too. There needs no deep boring into history to discover that the historical novel makes very free with the facts. Jn addition to the slips through deficient information and false interpretation, to which the historical novelist is liable in common with the his- torian, and which the most painstaking can- not wholly avoid, some deliberate twistings of the truth are imposed upon him by ne- cessities peculiar to his craft. However much better in other respects the former times may have been than these, for the provision of well-rounded stories from real life they were probably as bad as any. No doubt in vigorous or violent incident their real life was richer than ours is; but, for a complete, dramatic story, it is found, the incidents and characters of the past have to be grouped and fitted in by artifice, just as the incidents and characters of the present do. Consequently, the most excellent his- torical novel, received simply as an histori- cal chronicle, is bound to be more or less misleading. But, though it might be never so accu- rate in its historical detail and coloring, the historical novel has still a disadvantage as an historical chronicle, in that, to maintain its character as a novel, it must deal mainly with personal and domestic affairs. The foremost benefit to be derived from the VOL. XIII.14 study of pure history is insight into mat- ters social and political. In other words, the book of history has one service to ren- der; the book of story, whether it treat of the present or of the past, quite another. For all this, the high respectability of the historical novel is due in no small part to a fancy that it is a sufficient substitute for the historical chronicle. While few people read for anything but momentary diversion, few are the readers who can take their ration of fiction without a pang of conscience. And, apparently, the most gluttonous are the most scrupulous. People whose reading is chiefly of other sorts, and to whom the common run of tales is nothing but a bore, are apt to read fiction, when they do read it, with as un- broken a sense of virtue as if they toiled through the mystifying labyrinth of a Critique of Pure Reason. But those who can read little else seem often to have taken the distinction between light reading and serious peculiarly and indissolubly to heart, and to be constantly under an op- pressive consciousness of it. To such what more flattering unction than the historical novel? A good three-fourths of all of its admirers, one dare guess, are persons who have discovered in it an easy means of set- tling accounts with conscience. While sac- rificing few or none of the delights of a tale, they are, they fancy, extracting from it all the riches of mining into the toughest history. And this is the misapprehension wherein the prosperity of the historical novel has so largely lain. But, from being extravagantly esteemed as a history that had the grace to be also a THE POINT OF VIEW. 130 THE POINT OF VIEW. good tale, the historical novel now begins to be condemned as a tale on the ground of its insufficiency as a history. Those un- avoidable historical inaccuracies already al- luded to are cited as proof of its conflict with the canon of taste which says that the highest art is the exactest reproduction of nature and truth. And here again, one vent- ures to believe, the historical novel is the subject of a misapprehension. Neither the notion that the historical novel is a history, nor the notion that it ought to be one, could have arisen but from a lurking delusion that a work of art is only a cart (rather more richly painted than most carts, possibly, but still a cart) to convey lumps of dusty information and dump them into the bins of the brain, whence they may be drawn at need to boil pots and warm toes. It is difficult to see how, if one were well persuaded that the value of a novel, as of any other work of pure imagination, lay not in its instructions but in its inspiration, any peculiar price should be set on its merely historical prop- erties, or a complete discredit be visited up- on it for its merely historical errors. As for the latter disposition, it should seem to be a pretty dear purchase of accuracy, if all that part of creative talent which works with ease and warmth only on a theme far off in time and place were forced to employ it- self on uncongenial tasks. Yet this must follow if, to save accuracy, an end were made of all historical romance. MAN is the only laughing animalat least I have been given to understand by naturalists that the monkey laughs but from the teeth outward, the hyenas laugh is an expression of impatience or rage, and that other members of the brute world do not laugh at alland seems often at singu- lar pains not to let this valuable faculty of his lie torpid. I am rather interested in laughing; most people are interested in things they have a gift for, and my friends tell me that my sense of humor, if not quite a mental deformity, is none the less abnormal and exceptionally developed. I read with equal voracity and pleasure the (alleged) funny columns in the newspapers, I am fond of humorous anecdote (that is, of other peoples anecdotes, not merely of my own), I delight in parody, no matter how exalted the thing parodied may be. I am not sure that this is a virtue; indeed I fancy some of my acquaintances are quite right when they tell me that my fondness for parody often passes rational bounds, and indicates an incomplete sense of hu- morous proportion. I simply give the above-mentioned facts as vouchers that I can be made to laugh with tolerable ease, and that, in the matter of subjects for fun, I am not at all fastidious. What annoys me is, not that many people I have met look with sublime contempt upon the things I can laugh at, declaring them to be far-fetched, flimsy, or silly, but that I find my faculty of laughter singu- larly, and to me unexplainably, limited in one direction. I would so like to be able to laugh at anything any one else laughs at! But I cannot. There is one whole class of jokes to which my sense of humor is absolutely impervious; if I laugh, or seem to laugh at them, it is purely from vanity and false shame, so as not to let people think that I am the only one in the party who does not see the fun. These are what I would call, for lack of a better term, jokes by popular acclamation, cer- tain current witticisms or would-be-humor- ous sallies at which it seems agreed that every one shall laugh consumedly, even in the face of endless repetition and a total lack of comprehension. Do not think that, when I say total lack of comprehension, I am not speaking by the book; time and time again have I taken especial pains to ask the most exuberant laughers at the kind of joke I mean, what they were laughing at and where the fun came in? The answer has been in every case that they did not know; they did not know whence the joke came, what it was about, what the point of it was, whether it even had a point at all, but that they could not help laughing at that joke, that everybody laughed at it! It was the joke of the season. What I mean by jokes by popular ac- clamation are those singular catch-words, or catch-phrases, that are accepted as a sort of temporary appendix to the slang vocab- ulary of the day, and are quoted with side- splitting glee in connection with the most various and irreconcilable topics of conver- sation, d propos de tout et de rien. The meaning, relevancy, humorous gist, often THE POINT OF VIEW. 131 even the origin of these phrases is admit- tedly problematical. No doubt some of them come from the minor drama, are catch-words in popular farces, or bur- lesques. Indeed I succeeded in tracing the first one I ever met with to this source. It was not here in America, but in Ger- many. During the winter of 185859 all Berlin rang with Wat ik mich davor koofe? (Berlin dialect for Was ich mir dafur kaufe? What good does that do me?). I managed to trace this phrase to a then popular one-act vaudeville running at a very minor theatre, entitled: Berlin WW es hustet und niest (Berlin as it Coughs and Sneezes ). Everybody would quote this phrase in connection with every possi- ble remark one might make in conversation on every possible subject; and everybody laughed as if it had been the quintessence of humor. Yet all admitted freely that they had not the slightest idea why they were laughing! In 186970 I happened to be in Berlin again; and, wishing to show that an absence of eleven years had not faded quite all the local color of my Ger- man, I seized the first opportunity to come out boldly with a Wat ik mich davor koofe? Not a soul laughed; I am not sure the people did not think me rather rude. The phrase was out of date, and had lost all its savor. Its place had been usurped by an- other, viz. : Das war er fri~her nicht! (He didnt use to be so !). Now the entire population of Berlinmen, women, and childrenwould laugh themselves to within an inch of apoplexy at this; and every man of them admitted that, to save his life, he could not tell what he was laughing at! I forgot to ask any of the women or chil- dren. Some years ago a similar phrase drove all Paris wild with laughter: On di- rait du veau! ( It looks like veal). Let a man but say this, with any expression of face he pleased, he was sure of a sympa- thetic guffaw from all who heard him; but, if he asked where the joke was, whence it caine, or what allusion was meant, no one could tell him! Explain this who can. I need not bring up here the numerous -~ American phrases of this sort that have suc- cessively made the trade of amateur humor- ist easy for my compatriots during the last twenty years or so; any one can call half a dozen of them to mind without effort. I do not happen to know any English ones; but it seems to me that the English laugh- ing public must be peculiarly amenable to this kind of stimulus to merrimentI do not know quite why, but it does somehow seem probable. But, as I said to begin with, what troubles me is my inability to join my friends in their laughter, to share in the delights of the joke by popular acclamation. It hardly seems likely that an entire community should have taken the trouble to pass round the word secretly that this or that otherwise unmeaning phrase was to be found excruciatingly funny, and that every one must pretend to laugh at it and have left me out of the secret. But then, how explain the curious fact that these popular catch - phrases leave me wholly unmoved to laughter, me who laugh fit to burst even over the London Punch? Wmsu, in 1834, Honor6 de Balzac set- tled down at No. 13 Rue des Batailles for the purpose of secluding himself from the world of Paris, and especially from that part of the world to which he owed his remarkable and tremendous debts real and imaginary the paying off of which gave the world some of the best treasures in French literature, while it cost the debt- or his lifehe gave positive orders to ad- mit no one whose name was not on a small list which he made his servant learn by heart and repeat to him every night and morning. One day there came to the house a young man of slight figure and a strange- ly expressive face. He wore his hair long, and his coat a long black one, lacking three or four buttonswas threadbare and shiny. The door was shut in his face. Such visitors are common to all great au- thors. But the next day he came again, and he continued to come, until the ser- vant sorely troubled what to do, explained the matter to his master. Ha! said the author of one hun- dred and forty - five volumes, he comes every day, does he? Has been here for the past fortnight? Well, to-morrow when he comes, admit him. Such persistency should have its reward. The next day the young man came as usual. He was apparently not surprised at his reception, but took it as a matter of 132 THE POINT OF VIEW. course. His name, he said, was Felix Ar- vers; he was born in 1806, at Paris; he had received a careful education at the hands of his father, who was a lawyer; now he was without money or relatives; he believed that he had some genius in writing verses; and he drew from under the long black coat a pile of manuscript, which he pre- sented to his host. Ha! said Baizac, you have some of your work with you? Very good; come to-morrow and we will talk it over. I am busy now. On the morrow the young man found his manuscript, but no Balzac. Across the first page was written, in the minute hand of the great author: I have read some of this; there is absolutely nothing in it. Balzac, however, was not the only one to whom Felix Arvers paid a visit. There were many othersauthors, poets, dramat- ists, journalistsbut they all treated him the same way. He was no poet, and never could be one. In the meantime he wrote quantities of rhyme that nobody seemed to care to read, and that no one would publish. Perhaps, after his first failures, he found a friend or at least a patron, for the next year a small edition of poems, called Mes Heures Perdues, appeared in print. The principal pieces were a tragedy, La Mort de Fran~,ois I., and a light comedy, Plus de Peur que de Mal. The book was re- morselessly jumped upon by the critics, and its luckless author was so broken- hearted that, having meditated suicide and lacking the vanity to kill himself, he was thrown into a fever and taken to the hospi- tal of Saint Louis, where for a month and more he hung between life and death. He at length recovered. A story is told of his struggle for life in the hospital; how his courage was strength- ened and his fears allayed by the Sister who was his nurse; and how, at length, he found there was much in life after all, for her ten- der, loving care had made life very dear to him. And it is said that when he left the hospital his heart was in the keeping of the sweet Sister, who, without pausing or falter- ing, continued her errand of mercy. It was a pretty picture, the poet lying in the silent, white ward, watched over by a Madonna; but it faded quickly as Felix Arvers returned to the world, met with indifferent success, be- came known as a successful imitator of Scribe, and wrote rollicking verses for the Th~tre Fran~ais. Dying in 1851, he would have been forgotten in a week, if his fame had rested on what the world already pos- sessed of his work. But of all the lines of forgotten poetry from his pen, there was one little sonnet that no eye had ever seen save his own. It was found among his papers af- ter his death. They say it has made its au- thor immortal. And, at the time, M. Jules Janin, the critic, wrote these words: Dites- moi sil nest pas dommage que ces choses- se perdent et disparaissent comme des articles de journal? La langue est belle, la passion est vraie; il faut y croire; lauteur est mort au moment oi~t il allait prendre sa place au soleil. And so, after all, the picture in the hos- pital of Saint Louis, the poet near to death, the sweet face of the Sister, her devotion to him as a suffering creature of God, his si- lent love for her as a noble, tender woman, may be true. You can believe that it is when you read the sonnet: Mon ame a son secret, ma vie a son mystdre. Un amour ~ternel en tin moment convti; Le mal est sans espoir. aussi jai dfl le taire, lEt celle qui la fait nen a jamais rien Sn. H~las! jaurai passd pr~s delle inaper~u, Totijours ~ ses c6tds, et pourtant solitaire; lEt jaurai jnsquau bout fait mon temps stir Ia terre. Nosant rien demander et nayant rien re~u. Pour elle, quoique Dieti lait faite douce et tendre, Elle ira son chemin, distralte, et sans entendre Ce murmure damour dlevd sur ses pas. A laustdre devoir pieusement fld~le, Elle dira, lisant ces vers tout remplis delle: Queue est donc cette femme? et ne comprendra pas. Some years later, an American, whose name is as unknown to his contemporaries as that of Arvers was to his, gave the fol- lowing interpretation of the fourteen lines: My soul has its own secret, life its care, A hopeless love, that in one moment drew The breath of life. Silent its pain I hear, Which she who caused it, knows not, never knew. Alas! by her unmarked my passion grew As by her side I walkedmost lonely there. And long as life shall last I am aware I shall win nothing, for I dare not sue. While she, whom God has made so kind and sweet, Goes heedless on her way with steadfast feet, Unconscious of loves whisper murmured low. To duty faithful as a saint, some day, Reading these lines all filled with her, shell say: Who was this woman? and will never know. 41 DRAWN BY A. ~. FROST. A REGULAR TRAINER See Stories of a Western Town, page 209.

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 13, Issue 2 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York February, 1893 0013 2
Henry Van Dyke Van Dyke, Henry From Venice To The Gross-Venediger 135-153

SCRIBNERS MAGAZINE. FEBRUARY, 1893. No. 2. FROM VENICE TO THE GROSSVENEDIGER. By Henry van Dyke. I. a picture-gallery was a penance. We floated lazily from one place to another and decided that, after all, it was too warm to go in. The cries of the gondo- liers, at the canal corners, grew more and more monotonous and dreamy. There was danger of our falling fast asleep and having to pay for a days repos in a gondola by the hour. If it grew much warmer we might be compelled to stay until the following winter in order to recover energy enough to get away. All the signs of the times point- ed northward; and due north lay the Big Venetian, wrapped in his rob e of glaciers. HERE is no evident connection between the city of Venice, which does not con- tain even a small hill, and the huge snow - clad moun- tain in the Tyrol, which they call the Big Venetian. You cannot see the mountain from the city; nor is the city visible from the mountain-top. But that fact did not seem to me any barrier to an attempt to join them in my own experience by a little journey. On the contrary, a great deal of the pleasure of life lies in II. bringing together things which have no connection. That is the secret of hu- morat least so we are told by the philosophers who explain the jests that other men have madeand in regard to travel I am quite sure that it must be illogical in order to be entertaining. The more contrasts it contains, the bet- ter. But apart from the philosophy of the matter, which I must confess to pass- ing over very superficially at the time, there were other and more cogent rea- sons for wanting to go from Venice to the Big Venetian. It was the first of July, and the city on the sea was becom- 4 ing tepid. A slumbrous haze brooded over canals and palaces and churches. It was difficult to keep ones conscience awake to Baedeker and a sense of moral obligation; Ruskin was impossible, and copyright. 1892, by charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. THE first stage on the journey thither was by rail to Bellunoabout four or five hours. It is a sufficient commen- tary on railway travel that the most im- portant thing about it is to tell how many hours it takes to get from one place to another. We arrived in Bel- luno at night, and when we awoke the next morning we found ourselves in a picturesque little city of Venetian as- pect with a piazza and a campanile and a Palladian cathedral, but sur- rounded on all sides by lofty hills. We were at the end of the railway and at the beginning of the Dolomites. Although I have a constitutional aversion to scientific information given by unscientific persons, such as clergy- men and men of letters, I must go in that direction far enough to make it XOL. XIII. 136 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. clear that the word Dolomite does not composition; but even if this be true describe a kind of fossil, nor a sect of it need not prejudice any candid ob- heretics, but a formation of mountains server against them. For the simple and fortunate fact is that they are built of such stone that wind and weather, keen frost and melting snow and rushing water have worn and cut and carved them into a thousand shapes of wonder and beauty. It needs but little fancy to see in them walls an d towers, cathedrals and cam- paniles, fortresses and cities, tinged with many hues from palest gray to deep red, and shin- ing in an air so soft, so pure, so cool, so fragrant, u n d e r a sky so deep and blue and a sunshine Church of the Trinity, Cortina, and Peak of Sorapia in the Diatance. lying between the Alps and the Adri- atic. Draw a diamond on the map, with Brixen at the northwest corner, Lienz at the northeast, Belluno at the southeast, and Trent at the southwest, and you will have included the region of the iDolomites, a country so pictu- resque, so interesting, so full of sub- lime and beautiful scenery that it is equally a wonder and a blessing that it has not been long since completely overrun with tourists and ruined with railways. There are, indeed, no enor- mous glaciers or snow-fields; the water- falls are comparatively few and slender, and the rivers small; the highest peaks are but little more than ten thousand feet. But, on the other hand, the moun- tains are always near, and therefore al- ways imposing. Bold, steep, fantastic masses of naked rock, they rise sud- denly from the green and flowery val- leys in amazing and endless contrast; they mirror themselves in the tiny mountain lakes like pictures in a dream. I believe the guide-book says that they are formed of carbonate of lime and carbonate of magnesia in chemical so genial that it seems like the happy union of Switzerland and Italy. The great highway through this re- gion from south to north is the Am- pezzo road, which was constructed in 1830, along the valleys of the Piave, the Boite, and the IRienzthe ancient line of travel and commerce between Venice and Innsbruck. The road is superbly built, smooth, and level. Our carriage rolled along so easily that we forgot and forgave its venerable ap- pearance and its lack of accommoda- tion for trunks. We had been per- suaded to take four horses, as our luggage seemed too formidable for a single pair. But in effect our conces- sion to apparent necessity turned out to be a mere display of superfluous luxury, for the two white leaders did little more than show their feeble paces, leaving the gray wheelers to do the work. We had the elevating sense of travelling four-in-hand, howevera satisfaction to which I do not believe any human being is altogether insensi- ble. At Longarone we breakfasted for the -~) \~O second time, and entered the narrow gorge of the Piave. The road was cut out of the face of the rock. Below us the long lumber - rafts went shooting down the swift river. Above, on the right, were the jagged crests of Monte Furlon and Premaggiore, which seemed to us very wonderful, because we had not yet learned how jagged the Dolo- mites can be. At Perarolo, where the Boite joins the Piave, there is a lump of a mountain in the angle between the rivers, and around this we crawled in long curves until we had risen a thou- sand feet and arrived at the small Ho- tel Yenezia, where we were to dine. While dinner was preparing the Good Man and I walked up to Pieve di Cadore, the birthplace of Ti- tian. The house in which the great painter first saw the colors of the world is still standing, and they show the very room in which it is said that he began to paint. I am not one of those who would inquire too closely into such a legend as this. The cottage may have been rebuilt a dozen times since Titians day; not a scrap of the original stone or plaster may remain; but beyond a doubt the view that we saw from the window is the same that Titian saw. Now, for the first time, I could un- derstand and appreciate the landscape - backgrounds of his pictures. The compact m a s s e s of mountains, the bold, sharp forms, the hang- ing rocks of cold gray emerg- ing from green slopes, the intense blue aerial distances these all had seemed to me unreal and imaginary compositions of the studio. But now I knew that, wheth- er Titian painted out - of - doors, like our modern en- thusiasts, or not, he certain- ly painted what lie had seen, and painted it as it is. The graceful brown-eyed boy who showed us the house seemed also to belong to one of Titians pictures. As 137 we were going away, the Good Man, for lack of copper, rewarded him with a little silver piece, a half-lira, in value about ten cents. A celestial rapture of surprise spread over the childs face, and I know not what blessings he in- voked upon us. He called his com- panions to rejoice with him, and we left them clapping their hands and dancing. Driving after one has dined has al- ways a peculiar charm. The motion seems pleasanter, the landscape finer than in the morning hours. The road from Cadore ran on a high level, through sloping pastures, white vil- lages, and bits of larch forest. In its narrow bed, far below, the river Boite roared as gently as Bottoms lion. The afternoon sunlight touched the snow-capped pinnacle of Antelao and FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. Fresco from the Hotel Aquila Nera Cortina. (Painted by the innkeepers son.) 138 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER, the massive pink wall of Sorapis on Imperial Majesty Francis Joseph, we the right; on the left, across the val- rolled on our way, through the ham- ley, Monte Pelmos vast head and the lets of Acqua Bona and Zuel, into the wild crests of La iRochetta and Formin Anipezzan metropolis of Cortina, at rose dark against the glowing sky. sundown. The peasants lifted their hats as we The modest inn called The Star of passed and gave us a pleasant even- Gold stood facing the public square, ing greeting. And so, almost with- just below the church, and the land- out knowing it, we slipped out of Italy lady stood facing us in the doorway, into Austria, and drew up before a with an enthusiastic welcome alto- bare, square stone building with the gether a most friendly and entertain- double black eagle, like a strange fowl ing landlady, whose one desire in life split for broiling, staring at us from seemed to be that we should never re- the wall, and an inscription to the ef- gret having chosen her house instead feet that this was the Royal and Im- of The White Cross, or The Black penal Austrian Custom-house. Eagle. The officer saluted us so politely 0 ja! she had our telegram re- that we felt quite sorry that his duty ceived; and would we look at the required hii to disturb our luggage. rooms? Outlooking on the piazza The law obliged him to open one with a balcony from which we could ob- trunk; courtesy forbade him to open serve the Festa of to-morrow. She more. It was quickly done; and, hoped they would please us. Only come in; accommodate yourselves. It was all as she prom- ised; three little bed- rooms, and a little salon opening on a little bal- cony; queer old oil- paintings and framed embroideries and tiles hanging on the walls; spotless curtains a n d board floors so white that it would have been a shame to eat off them without spreading a cloth to keep them from being soiled. These are the rooms of the Baron Rothschild when he comes here al- ways in the summer with nine horses and nine servantsthe Bar- on Rothschild of Vi- enna. I assured her that we did not know the Baron, but that should make no difference. We would not ask her to reduce / the price on account of Peasants of Lienz. a little thing like that. She did not quite without having to make any contri- grasp this idea, but hoped that we bution to the income of His Royal and would not find the pension too dear at a dollar and fifty - seven and a - half cents a day each, with a little extra for the salon and the balcony. The Eng- lish people all please themselves here there comes many every sninmer English bishops and their families. I inqnired whether there were any bishops in the honse at that moment. No, just at presentshe was very sorrynone.~~ Well, then, I said, it is all right. We will take the rooms. Good Signora Barbaria, yon did not speak the American langnage, nor nn- derstand it; but you understood how to make a little inn cheerful and home- like; yours was a very simple and gen- ial art of keeping a hotel. As we sat in the balcony after supper, listening to the capital playing of the village orches- tra, and the Tyrolese songs with which they varied their music, we thought within ourselves that we were fortunate to have fallen upon the Star of Gold. 139 III. CORTINA lies in its valley like a white shell that has rolled down into a broad vase of malachite. It has about a hun- dred houses and seven hundred inhab- itants, a large church and two small ones, a fine stone campanile with cx- celleiit bells, and seven or eight little inns. But it is more important than its size would signify, for it is the cap- ital of the district whose lawful title is Jilagrtifica Comuinitd di Ampezzo-a name conferred long ago by the iRepub- lie of Venice. In the fifteenth century it was Venetian territory, but in 1516, under Maximilian I., it was joined to Austria, and it is now one of the rich- est and most prosperous communes of the Tyrol. It embraces about thirty- five hundred people, scattered in ham- lets and clusters of houses through the green basin with its four entrances, ly- ing between the peaks of Tofana, Cris PROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. Monte Nseolsu, as seen from the Alp Pocol. 140 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. tallo, Sorapis, and Nuvolan. - The well- cultivated grain-fields and meadows, the smooth alps filled with fine cattle, the well-built honses with their white stone basements and balconies of dark brown wood and broad overhanging roofs, all speak of industry and thrift. Bnt there is more than mere agricultural prosperity in this valley. There is a fine race of men and womenintelli- gent, vigorous, and with a strong sense of beanty. The onter walls of the an- nex of the hotel Aquila Nera are cov- ered with frescos of marked power and originality, painted by the son of the innkeeper. The art schools of Cor- tina are famous for their beautifnl work in gold and silver filigree, and wood- inlaying. There are nearly two hun- dred pupils in these schools, all peas- ants children, and they prodnce results, especially in irttarsia, which are admira- ble. The village orchestra, of which I spoke a moment ago, is trained and led by a peasants son, who has never had a thorough musical edncation. It mnst have at least twenty-five members, and as we heard them at the Festa they seemed to play with extraordinary ac- curacy and expression. This Festa gave ns a fine chance to see the people of the Ampezzo all to- gether. It was the annual jubilation of the district; and from all the outly- ing hamlets and remote side valleys, even from the neighboring vales of Agor- do and Aurouzo, across the mountains, and from Cadore, the peasants, men and women and children, had come in to the Sagro at Cortina. The piazzawhich is really nothing more than a broaden- ing of the road behind the churchwas quite thronged. There must have been between two and three thousand people. The ceremonies of the day began with general church - going. The peo- ple here are honestly and naturally religious. I have seen so many exam- Lake Misurina and the Drei Zinnen. FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGEI?. 141 pies of what can oniy be called sin- cere and unaffected piety that I can- not donbt it. The church, on Cortinas feast-day, was crowded to the doors with worshippers who gave every evi- dence of taking part not only with the voice but also with the heart in the worship. Then followed the public unveiling of a tablet, on the wall of the little Inn of the Anchor, to the mem- ory of Giammaria Chedini, the founder of the art-schools of Cortina. There was music by the band; and an oration by a native Demosthenes (who spoke in Italian so fluent that it ran through ones senses like water through a sluice, leaving nothing behind), and an orig- inal Canto, sung by the village choir, with a general chorus, in which they called upon the various mountains to re-echo the name of the beloved master tioned in the newspapers of the great world; but, after all, has not the man who wins such a triumph as this in the hearts of his own people, for whom he has made labor beautiful with the charm of art, deserved better of fame than many a renowned monarch or conquering warrior? We should be wiser if we gave less glory to the men who have beeu successful in forcing their fellow-men to die, and more glory to the men who have been successful in teaching their fellow-men how to live. But the Festa of Cortina did not remain all day on this high moral plane. In the afternoon came what our land- lady called allerlci Durnmheiten. There was a grand lottery for the bene- fit of the Volunteer Fire Department. The high officials sat up in a green John-Mary as a model of modesty and wooden booth in the middle of the true merit, and wound up with square, and called out the numbers and distributed the prizes. Then there was a greased pole with various arti- cles of an attractive character tied to a large hoop at the topsilk aprons and a green jacket, and bottles of wine, and half a smoked pig, and a coil of rope, and a purse. The gallant firemen Hurrah for John-Mary! Hurrah for his art! Hurrah for all teachers as skilful as he! Hurrah for us all who have now taken part In singing together in do . . re . nn. It was very primitive, and I do not sup- pose that the celebration was even men- The Five Towers of Averas. 142 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. voluntarily climbed up the pole as far as they could, one after another, and then involuntarily slid down again ex- hausted, each one wiping off a little more of the grease, until at last the lucky one came who profited by his forerunners labors, and struggled to the top to snatch the smoked pig. After that it was easy. Such is success in this unequal world; the man who wipes off the grease seldom gets the prize. Then followed varjous games with tubs of water and coins fastened to the bottom of a huge black frying- pan, to be plucked off with the lips, and pots of flour to be broken with sticks, so that the young lads of the village were ducked and blackened and pow- dered to an unlimited extent, amid the hilarious applause of the spectators. In the evening there was more music, and the peasants danced in the square, the women quietly and rather heavily, but the men with amazing agility, slap- ping the soles of their shoes with their hands, or turning cart-wheels in front of their partners. At dark the festivi- ties closed with a display of fireworks; there were rockets and bombs and pin- wheels; and the boys had tiny little red and blue lights which they held until their fingers were burned, just as boys do in America; and there was a general hush of wonder as a particu- larly brilliant rocket swished into the dark sky; and when it burst into a rain of serpents the crowd breathed out its delight in a long-drawn Ah- h-h-h!~ just as the crowd does every- where. We might easily have imagined ourselves at a Fourth of July celebra- tion in Vermont, if it had not been for the costumes. The men of the Ampezzo Valley have kept but little that is peculiar in their dress. Men are naturally more pro- gressive than women, and therefore less picturesque. The tide of fashion has swept them into conformity with Landro, and the Pension Saser. the world, the international monot- ony of coat and vest and trousers pretty much the same, and equally ugly, all over the world. Now and then you may see a short jacket with silver buttons, or a pair of knee- breeches, and almost all the youths wear a bunch of feathers or a tuft of chamois hair in their soft green hats. FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. 143 But the women of the Ampezzostrong, comely, with golden brown complex- ions, and often noble faces are not ashamed to dress as their grandmoth- ers did. They wear a little round black felt hat with rolled brim and two long ribbons hanging down at the back. Their hair is carefully braided and coiled, and stuck through and through with great silver pins. A black bodice, fastened with silver clasps, is covered in front with the ends of a brilliant silk kerchief, laid in many folds around the shoulders. The white shirt-sleeves are very full and fastened up above the elbow with colored ribbon. If the 4 weather is cool the women wear a short black jacket, with satin yoke and high puffed sleeves. But, whatever the weather may be, they make no change in the large, full, dark skirts, almost completely covered with immense silk aprons, by preference light blue. It is not a remarkably brilliant dress, com- pared with that which one may still see in some districts of Norway or Sweden, but upon the whole it becomes the wom- en of the Ampezzo wonderfully. And, for my part, I think that when a wom- an has found a dress that becomes her it is a waste of time to send to Paris for a fashion-plate. Iv. WHEN the excitement of the Festa had subsided we were free to abandon ourselves to the excursions in which the neighborhood of Cortina abounds, and to which the guide-book earnestly calls every right - minded traveller. A The Gross-Venediger from nner-gschliiss. 144 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. walk through the light-green shadows of the larch-woods to the tiny lake of Ghedina, where we could see all the four dozen trout swimming about in the clear water and catching flies; a drive to the Belvedere, where there are superficial refreshments above and pro- found grottos below; these were trifles, though we enjoyed them. But the great mountains encircling us on every side, standing out in clear view with that distinctness and completeness of vision which is one charm of the Dolomites, seemed to summon us to more arduous enterprises. Accordingly the Good Man and I selected the easiest one, engaged a guide, and prepared for the ascent. Monte Nuvolan is not a perilous moun- tain. I am quite sure that at my pres- ent time of life I should be unwilling to ascend a perilous mountain unless there were something extraordinarily desira- ble at the top, or remarkably disagree- able at the bottom. Mere risk has lost the attractions which it once had. As the father of a family I felt bound to abstain from going for pleasure into any place which a Christian lady might not visit with propriety. Our prepa- rations fo~ Nuvolan, therefore, did not consist of ropes, ice-irons, and axes, but simply of a lunch. Our way led us, in the early morning, through the clustering houses of La- cedel, up the broad, green slope that faces Cortina on the west, to the beau- tiful Alp Pocol. Nothing could ex- ceed the pleasure of such a walk in the cool of the day, while the dew still lies on the short, rich grass, and the myri- ads of flowers are at their brightest and sweetest. The infinite variety and abundance of the blossoms is a con- tinual wonder. They are sown more thickly than the stars in heaven, and the rainbow itself does not show so many tints. Here they are mingled like the threads of some strange em- broidery; and there again nature has massed her colors; so that one spot will be all pale blue with innumerable forget-me-nots, or dark blue with gen- tians; another will blush with the deli- cate pink of the Santa Lucia or the deeper red of the clover; and another will shine yellow as cloth of gold. Over all this opulence of bloom the larks were soaring and singing. I never heard so many as in the meadows about Cortina. There was always a sweet spray of music sprinkling down out of the sky, where the singers poised unseen. It was like walking through a shower of melody. From the Alp Pocol, which is simply a fair, lofty pasture, we had our first full view of Nuvolan, rising bare and strong, like a huge bastion, from the dark fir-woods. Through these our way led onward now for seven miles, with but a slight ascent. Then turning off to the left we began to climb sharply through the forest. There we found abundance of the lovely Alpine roses, which do not bloom on the lower ground. Through the wood the cuckoo was calling the bird which reverses the law of good children, and insists on being heard but not seen. When the wood was at an end we found ourselves at the foot of an alp which sloped steeply up to the Five Towers of Averau. The effect of these enormous masses of rock, standing out in lonely grandeur, like the ruins of some forsaken habitation of giants, is tremendous. Seen from far below in the valley their form is picturesque and striking; but as we sat beside the clear, cold spring which gushes out at the foot of the largest tower, the Titanic rocks seemed to hang in the air above us as if they would overawe us into a sense of their majesty. We felt it to the full; yet none the less, but rather the more, could we feel at the same time the delicate and ethereal beauty of the fringed gentianella and the pale Alpine lilies scattered on the short turf beside us. We had now been on foot about three hours and a half. The half hour that remained was the hardest. Up over loose, broken stones that rolled beneath our feet, up over great slopes of rough rock, up across little fields of snow where we paused to celebrate the Fourth of July with a brief snow- ball fight, up along a narrowing ridge with a precipice on either hand, and so at last to the summit, 8,600 feet above the sea. It is not a great height, but it is a noble situation. For Nuvolan is for- FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. 145 tunately placed in the very centre of the Dolomites, and so commands a finer view than many a higher moun- tam. Indeed, it is not from the high- est peaks, according to my experience, that one gets the grandest prospects, bnt rather from those of middle height, which are so isolated as to give a wide circle of vision and from which one can see both the valleys and the snmmits. Monte Rosa itself gives a less imposing view than the G& rner Grat. It is pos- sible, in this world, to climb too high for pleasure. Bnt what a panorama Nuvolan gave 4 us on that clear, radiant snmmer morninga perfect circle of splendid sight. On one side we looked down upon the Five Towers; on the other, a thonsand feet below, the Alps, dotted with the hnts of the herdsmen, sloped down into the deep-cnt vale of Agor- do. Opposite to ns was the enormons mass of Tofana, a pile of gray and pink and saffron rock. When we turned the other way we faced a group of moun- tains as ragged as the crests of a line of fir-trees, and behind them loomed Shelter-hut on the Gross-Venediger. the solemn head of Pelmo. Across the broad vale of the Boite, Antelao stood beside Sorapis, like a campanile be- side a cathedral, and Cristallo towered above the green pass of the Three Crosses. Throngh that opening we conld see the bristling peaks of the Sex- tenthaL Sweeping aronnd in a wider circle from that point we saw, beyond the Dflrrenstein, the snow-covered pile of the Gross - Glockner; the crimson bastions of the IRothwand appeared to the north, behind Tofana; then the white slopes that hang far away above the Zillerthal; and, nearer, the Geis- lerspitze, like five fingers thrnst into the air; behind that the distant Oetz- thaler Mountain and just a single white glimpse of the highest peak of the 146 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. Ortler by the Engadine; nearer still we saw the vast fortress of the Sella group and the red combs of the Rosen- garten; Monte Marmolada, the Queen of the Dolomites, stood before us re- vealed from base to peak in a bridal train of snow ; and southward we looked into the dark rugged face of La Civetta, rising sheer out of the vale of Agordo, where the Lake of Alleghe slept unseen. It was a sea of moun- tains, tossed around us into a myriad of motionless waves, and with a rain- bow of colors spread among their hol- lows and across their crests. The rocks of rose and orange and silver gray, the valleys of deepest green, the distant shadows of purple and melting blue, and the dazzling white of the scattered snow - fields seemed to shift and vary like the hues on the inside of a shell. And over all, from peak to peak, the light, frathery clouds went drifting la- zily and slowly, as if they could not leave a scene so fair. There is barely room on the top of Nuvolan for the stone shelter-hut which a grateful Saxon baron has built there as a sort of votive offering for the re- covery of his health among the moun- tains. As we sat within and ate our frugal lunch, we were glad that he had recovered his health, and glad that he had built the hut, and glad that we had come to it. In fact, we could almost sympathize in our cold, reserved Amen.- can way with the sentimental German inscription which we read on the wall: Von Nuvolaus hohen Wolkenstufen Lass micli, Natur, durch deine Himmel ru- fen An deiner Brust gesunde, wer da krank! So wird zum V& lkerdank mein Sachsendanlc. We refrained, however, from shout- ing anything through Natures heaven, but went lightly down in about three hours to supper in the Star of Gold. V. WHEN a stern necessity forces one to leave Cortina there are several ways of departure. We selected the main high- way for our trunks, but for ourselves the Pass of the Three Crosses; the Good Man and his wife in a mountain wagon and I on foot. It should be written as an axiom in the philoso- phy of travel that the easiest way is best for your luggage, and the hardest Summit of the Gross-Venediger. FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER 147 way is best for yourself. All along the rough road up to the Pass we had a glorious outlook backward over the Ampezzo Val d, and when we came to the top we looked deep down into the narrow Val Buona behind Sorapis. I do not know just when we passed the Austrian border, but when we came to Lake Misurina we found ourselves in Italy again. My friends went on down the valley to Landro, but I in my weak- ness, having eaten of the trout of the lake for dinner, could not resist the temptation of staying over night to catch one for breakfast. It was a pleasant failure. The lake was beautiful, lying on top of the mountain like a bit of the blue sky, surrounded by the peaks of Cristallo, Cadino, and the Drei Zinnen. It was a happiness to float on such celestial waters and cast the hopeful fly. The trout were there they were large ; I saw them; they also saw me; but, alas! I could not raise them. Misurina is, in fact, what the Scotch call a dour loch, one of those places which are outwardly beautiful, but inwardly so depraved that the trout will not rise. When we came ashore in the evening the boatman consoled me with the story of a French count who had spent two weeks there fishing, and only caught one fish. I had some thoughts of stay- ing over the other thirteen days to rival the count, but concluded to go on the next morning over Monte Pian and the Cats Ladder to Landro. The view from Monte Pian is far less extensive than that from Nuvolau; but it has the advantage of being very near the wild jumble of the Sexten Dolo- mites. The Three Shoemakers and a lot more of sharp and ragged fellows are close by on the east; on the west Cristallo shows its fine little glacier, and Rothwand its crimson cliffs; and southward Misurina gives to the view a glimpse of water without which, indeed, no view is complete. More- over the mountain has the merit of being, as its name implies, quite gen- tle. I met the Good Man and his wife at the top, they having walked up from Landro. And so we crossed the boundary line together again, seven thousand feet above the sea, from Italy into Austria. There was no custom- house. The way down by the Cats Ladder I travelled alone. The path was very steep and little worn, but even on the mountain side there was no danger of losing it, for it had been blazed here and there, on trees and stones, with a dash of blue paint. This is the work of the invaluable IDOAVwhich is, be- ing interpreted, the German-Austrian Alpine Club. The more one trav- els in the mountains the more one learns to venerate this beneficent so- ciety, for the shelter-huts and guide- posts it has erected, and the paths it has made and marked distinctly with various colors. The Germans have a genius for thoroughness. My little brown guide-book, for example, not only informs me through whose back yard I must go to get into a certain path, but it tells me that in such and such a spot I shall find quite a good deal (zicmlichviel) of Edelweiss, and in another a small echo; it advises me in one valley to take provisions and dispense with a guide, and in another to take a guide and dispense with pro- visions, adding varied information in regard to beer, which in my case was useless, for I could not touch it. To go astray under such auspices would be worse than inexcusable. Landro we found a very different place from Cortina. Instead of having a large church and a number of small hotels, it consists entirely of one large hotel and a very tiny church. It does not lie in a broad, open basin, but in a narrow valley, shut in closely by the mountains. The hotel, in spite of its size, is excellent, and a few steps up the valley is one of the finest views in the Dolomites. To the east opens a deep, wild gorge, at the head of which the pinnacles of the Drei Zinnen are seen; to the south the IDflrrensee fills the valley from edge to edge, and re- flects in its pale waters the huge bulk of Monte Cristallo. It is such a com- plete picture, so finished, so compact, so balanced, that one might think a painter had composed it, if he had been inspired. But no painter ever laid such colors on his canvas as those which are seen here when the cool 4 The Gross-Venediger. ENGRAVED BY C. I. BUTLER. FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. 149 evening shadows have settled upon the valley, all gray and green, while the mountains shine above in rosy Alpen- glow as if transfigured with inward fire. There is another lake, about three miles north of Landro, called the To- blacher See, and there I repaired the defeat of Misurina. The trout at the outlet, by the bridge, were very small, and while the old fisherman was en- deavoring to catch some of them in his new net, which would not work, I pushed my boat up to the head of the lake, where the stream came in. The green water was amazingly clear, but the current kept the fish with their heads up stream; so that one could come up behind them near enough for a long cast without being seen. As my fly lighted above them and came gently down with the ripple, I saw the first fish turn and rise and take it. A mo- tion of the wrist hooked him, and he played just as gamely as a trout in my favorite Long Island pond. How dif- ferent the color, though, as he came out of the water. This fellow was all silvery, with light pink spots on his sides. I took seven of his companions, in weight some four pounds, and then stopped because the evening light was failing. How pleasant it is to fish in such a place and at such an hour. The novelty of the scene, the grandeur of the landscape lend a strange charm to the sport. But the sport itself is so familiar that one feels at homethe mo- tion of the rod, the feathery swish of the line, the sight of the rising fishit all brings back a hundred happy mem- ories, and thoughts of good fishing comrades, some far away across the sea and perhaps even now sitting around the forest; camp-fire in Maine or Canada, and some with whom we shall keep company no more until we cross the greater ocean into that better country whither they have preceded us. VI. INsTEAD of going straight down the valley by the high road, a drive of an hour, to the railway in the Pusterthal, I walked up over the mountains to the east, across the Platzwiesen, and VOL. XIII.16 so down through the PragserthaL In one arm of the deep fir-clad vale are the Baths of Alt-Prags, famous as long ago as the fifteenth century for having cured the Countess of G6rz of a violent rheumatism. It is an antiquated es- tablishment, and the guests, who were walking about in the fields or drinking their coffee in the balcony, as I passed through, had a fifteenth century look about themvenerable but slightly ru- inous. But perhaps that was merely a rheumatic result. All the wagons in the place were engaged. It is strange what an aggravating effect this state of affairs has upon a pedestrian who is set upon riding. I did not recover my de- light in the scenery until I had walked about five miles farther, and sat down on the grass, beside a beautiful spring, to eat my lunch. What is there in a little physical rest that has such magic to restore the sense of pleasure? A few moments ago nothing pleased you the bloom was gone from the peach; but now it has come back againyou wonder and ad- mire. Thus cheerful and contented I trudged up the right arm of the valley to the Baths of Nen-Prags, less ven- erable, but apparently more popular than Alt-Prags, and on beyond them, through the woods, to the superb Pragser-Wildsee, a lake whose still wat- ers, now blue as sapphire under the clear sky, and now green as emerald under gray clouds, sleep encircled by mighty precipices. Could anything be a greater contrast with Venice? There the canals alive with gondolas and the open harbor bright with many - col- ored sails; here the hidden lake, silent and lifeless, save when, as Wordsworth wrote: A leaping fish Sends through the tarn a lonely cheer. Tired, and a little foot-sore, after nine hours walking, I came into the big rail- way hotel at Toblach that night. There I met my friends again, and parted from them and the. Dolomites the next day, with regret. For they were stepping westward; but in order to get to the Gross-Venediger I must make a detour to the east, through the Pusterthal, and come up through the valley of the Isel 150 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. to the great chain of mountains called the Hohe Tauern. At the junction of the Isel and the Drau lies the quaint little city of Li- enz, with its two castles the square, double-towered one in the town, now transformed into the offices of the mu- nicipality, and the huge medi~eval one on a hill outside, now used as a damp restaurant and dismal beer - cellar. I lingered at Lienz for a couple of days, in the ancient hostelry of the Post. The hallways were vaulted like a clois- ter, the walls were three feet thick, the kitchen was in the middle of the house on the second floor, so that I looked into it every time I came from my room, and ordered dinner direct from the cook. But, so far from being displeased with these peculiarities, I rather liked the flavor of them; and then, in addition, the landladys daugh- ter, who was managing the house, was a lady of most engaging manners, and there was trout and grayling fishing in a stream near by, and the neighboring church of D~Asach contained the beau- tiful picture of the Holy Family, which Franz Defregger painted for his native village. The peasant women of Lienz have one very striking feature in their dressa black felt hat with a broad, stiff brim and a high crown, smaller at the top than at the base. It looks a lit- tle like the traditional head-gear of the Pilgrim Fathers exaggerated. There is a solemnity about it which is fatal to female beauty. I went by the post-wagon, with two slow horses and ten passengers, fifteen miles up the Iselthal, to Windisch- Matrei, a village whose early history is lost in the mist of antiquity, and whose streets are pervaded with odors which must have originated at the same time with the village. One wishes that they also might have shared the fate of its early history. But it is not fair to expect too much of a small place, and Windisch-Matrei has certainly a beauti- ful situation and a good inn. There I took my guidea wiry and companion- able little man, whose occupation in the lower world was that of a maker and merchant of hatsand set out for the Pragerhtttte, a shelter on the side of the Gross-Yenediger. The path led under the walls of the old Castle of Weissenstein, and then in steep curves up the cliff which blocks the head of the valley and along a cut in the face of the rock, into the long, narrow Tauernthal, which divides the Glockner group from the Venediger. How entirely different it was from the region of the Dolomites! There the variety of color was endless and the change incessant; here it was all green grass and trees, and black rocks, with a glimpse of snow. There the highest mountains were in sight constantly; here they could only be seen from cer- tain points in the valley. There the streams played but a small part in the landscape; here they were prominent, the main river raging and foaming through the gorge below, while a score of waterfalls leaped from the cliffs above on either side and dashed down to join it. The peasants, nien, women, and children, were cutting the grass in the perpendicular fields; the woodmen were trimming and felling the trees in the fir-forests; the cattle-tenders were driving their cows along the stony path or herding them far up on the hillsides. It was a lonely scene and yet a busy one; and all along the road was written the history of the perils and hardships of the life which now seemed so peace- ful and picturesque under the summer sunlight. These heavy crosses, each covered with a narrow, pointed roof and deco- rated with a rude picture, standing be- side the path, or on the bridge, or near the millwhat do they mean? They mark the place where a human life has been lost, or where some poor peasant has been delivered from a great peril and has set up a memorial of his grati- tude. Stop, traveller, as you pass by, and look at the pictures. They have little more of art than a childs draw- ing on a slate; but they will teach you what it means to earn a living in these mountains. They tell of the danger that lurks on the steep slopes of grass where the mowers have to go down with ropes around their waists, and in the beds of the streams where the floods sweep through in the spring, and in the forests where the great trees fall and crush men like flies, and on the icy FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. 151 bridges where a slip is fatal, and on the high passes where the winter snow- storm blinds the eyes and benumbs the limbs of the traveller, and under the cliffs from which avalanches slide and rocks rolL They show you men and women falling from wagons and swept away by waters and overwhelmed in landslips. In the corner of the pict- ure you may see a peasant with the black cross above his headthat means death. Or perhaps it is deliverance that the tablet commemorates and then you will see the miller kneeling beside his mill with a flood rushing down upon it, or a peasant kneeling in his harvest-field under an inky-black cloud; or a landlord beside his inn in flames; or a mother praying beside her sick children; and above appears an angel, or a saint, or the Virgin with her Child. Read the inscriptions, too, in their quaint German. Some of them are as humorous as the epitaphs in New England graveyards. I remember one which ran like this: Here lies Elias Queer, Killed in his sixtieth year Scarce had he seen the light of day When a wagon-wheel crushed his life away. And there is another famous one which says: Here perished the honored and virtuous maiden, G. V. This tablet was erected by her only son. But for the most part a glance at these Jilarteri und Taferi, which are so frequent on all the mountain-roads of the Tyrol, will give you a strange sense of the real pathos of human life. If you are a Catholic you will not refuse their request to say a prayer for the departed; if you are a Protestant, at least it will not hurt you to say one for those who still live and suffer and toil among such dangers. After we had walked for four hours up the Taneruthal we came to the Matreier-Tauernhaus, an inn which is kept open all the year for the shelter of travellers over the high pass that crosses the mountain range at this point, from north to south. There we dined. It was a bare, rude place, but the dish of juicy trout was garnished with flowers, each fish holding a big pansy in its mouth, and as the maid set them down before me she wished me a good appetite, with the hearty old-fashioned Tyrolese courtesy which still survives in these remote valleys. It is pleasant to travel in a land where the manners are plain and good. If you meet a peasant on the road he says, God greet you! if you give a child a couple of kreuzers he folds his hands and says, God reward you! and the maid who lights you to bed says, Good- night, I hope you will sleep well! Two hours more of walking brought us through Ausser - gschl& ss and In- ner-gschkss, two groups of herdsmens huts, tenanted only in summer, at the head of the Taucruthal. Midway be- tween them lies a little chapel cut into the solid rock for shelter from the avalanches. This lofty vale is indeed rightly named; for it is shut off from the rest of the world. The portal is a cliff down which the stream rushes in foam and thunder. On either hand rises a mountain walL Within, the past- ure is fresh and green, sprinkled with Alpine roses, and the pale river flows swiftly down between the rows of dark wooden houses. At the head of the vale towers the Gross-Venediger, with its glaciers and snow-fields dazzling white against the deep blue heaven. The murmur of the stream and the tinkle of the cow- bells and the j~5del- hug of the herdsmen far up the slopes make the music for the scene. The path from Gsch]i5ss leads straight up to the foot of the dark pyramid of the Kesselkopf, and then in steep end- less zig-zags along the edge of the great glacier. I saw, at first, the pinnacles of ice far above me, breaking over the face of the rock; then, after an hours breathless climbing, I could look right into the blue crevasses; and at last, af- ter another hour over soft snow-fields and broken rocks, I was at the Prager- hut, perched on the shoulder of the mountain, looking down upon the huge river of ice. It was a magnificent view under the clear light of evening. Here in front of us the Venediger with all his brother-mountains clustered about 152 FROM VENICE TO THE GROSS-VENEDIGER. him; behind us, across the Tauern, the mighty chain of the Glockner against the eastern sky. This is the frozen world. Here the Winter, driven back into his strong- hold, makes his last stand against the Summer, in perpetual conflict, retreat- ing by day to the mountain-peak, but creeping back at night in frost and snow to regain a little of his lost terri- tory, until at last the Summer is wear- ied out, and the Winter sweeps down again to claim the whole valley for his own. VII. IN the Pragerhut I found mountain comfort: a bed in a bunk with plenty of blankets; eggs and milk and canned meats and coffee; and a cheerful peas- ant - wife with her brown - eyed daugh- ter to entertain travellers. It was a pleasant sight to see them, as they sat down to their supper with my guide; all three bow their heads and say their grace before meat, the guide repeat- ing the longer prayer and the mother and daughter coming in with the re- sponses. I went to bed with a warm and comfortable feeling about my heart. It was a fit ending for the day. In the morning, if the weather remained clear, the alarm-clock was to wake us at three for the ascent to the summit. But can it be three oclock already? The gibbous moon still hangs in the sky and casts a feeble light over the scene. Then up and away for the final climb. How rough the path is among the black rocks along the ridge! Now we strike out on the gently rising gla- cier, across the crust of snow, picking our way among the crevasses, with the rope tied about our waist for fear of a fall. How cold it is! But now the gray light of morning dawns, and now the beams of sunrise shoot up behind the Glockner, and now the sun itself glitters into sight. The snow grows softer as we toil up the steep, narrow comb between the Gross-Venediger and his neighbor the Klein-Yenediger. At last we have reached our journeys end. See, the whole of the Tyrol is spread out before us in wondrous splendor, as we stand on this snowy ridge; and at our feet the Schlatten glacier, like a long white snake, curls down into the valley. But there is still a little peak above us; an overhanging horn of snow which the wind has built against the mountain-top. I would like to stand there, just for a moment. The guide protests it would be dangerous, for if the snow should break it would be a fall of a thousand feet to the glacier on the northern side. But let us dare the few steps upward. How our feet sink! Is the snow slipping? Look at the glacier! What is happening? It is wrinkling and curling backward on us, serpent-like. Its head rises far above us. All its icy crests are clashing to- gether like the ringing of a thousand bells. We are falling. I fling out my arm to grasp the guideand awake to find myself clutching a pillow in the bunk. The alarm-clock is ringing fiercely for three oclock. A driving snow - storm is beating against the window. The ground is white. Peer through the clouds as I may, I cannot even catch a glimpse of the vanished Gross-Venediger. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. By tbe Marquis de Chambrun. IT was toward the end of February, 1865, that I first visited Washing- ton, and it was there that I made Mr. Sumners acquaintance. The last session of the 38th Congress was then at its close ; a few days later Mr. Lin- coin was to enter upon his second presi- dential term. The affairs of the Union presented at that moment a most in- teresting spectacle. The Federal armies were on their way, preparing the last military evolutions which were to bring about the downfall of the Confederacy. Under General Grant, the army of the Potomac was commencing its attack upon Richmond, while Sherman, after having crossed through Georgia, and threatened Sav- annah, had taken a northerly direction through the Carolinas. On the other hand, political events on the verge of fulfilment had also reached a climax of equal importance. Congress, with the required constitutional major- ities, had just voted the amendments in- tended to wipe out slavery forever from American institutions. And thus, while abolitionist measures following one an- other in rapid succession, were day by day assuming a more radical character, the legislative power had placed in the Presidents hands the necessary re- sources, in men and finances, to enable him to conduct the war to a successful termination. It was then, and in the midst of like events, that I saw Mr. Sumner for the first time. If he had good reason for being satisfied with the results derived from past events, still he was far from finding them sufficient, and he truly thought that the most arduous task im- posed by the abolition of slavery was as yet hardly begun, much less achieved. To his mind, it was not enough to crush * down armed resistance in the secession- ist States; it was, above all, necessary to endow these commonwealths with an entirely new form and existence. But this opinion, as Mr. Sumner then fre- quently expressed it, was shared neither by the majority in Congress, nor by the President of the United States. Mr. Lincoln, in fact, did desire to end hos- tilities, to force the recognition of the abolition of slavery in the vanquished States, and upon that sole condition, restore them to their former rights. Although disturbed by this opposi- tion to his views, and somewhat anx- ious regarding what the future held in store, Mr. Sumner, linked as he was to the Republican party by all possible ties, hoped by slow process to win over to his strong personal convictions that great political organization. He was then already preparing himself to fight for his favorite doctrines; and at the same time he had such implicit faith in the rectitude of his political ideas, that he did not even doubt but that he would win Mr. Lincoln himself over to them, and compel him to side with him But this plan demanded time, sus- tained efforts, skill in persuasion, and it was only in the most remote corner of the horizon that Mr. Sumner foresaw the end at which he aimed. Thus, al- though much was being said in the opposition press about the conse- quences which might result from differ- ence of opinion, which no doubt then existed between Mr. Sumner and the President, the newspapers, nevertheless, greatly magnified its extent. Events, however, were following each other so quickly that they fairly seemed to rush. I had ilot been in Washington over six days, when in rapid succession came the news of the decisive victories of the army of the Potomac, the fall of Richmond, and Shermans entry into North Carolina. Mr. Lincoln was then at City Point, on the James, where General Grant had for many months had his headquarters. Mrs. Lincoln, who was on the eve of starting off to join her husband, asked Mr. Sumner and a few friends to ac- company her on her journey. It was probably at Mr. Sumners request that

The Marquis De Chambrun De Chambrun, The Marquis Personal Recollections Of Charles Sumner 153-165

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. By tbe Marquis de Chambrun. IT was toward the end of February, 1865, that I first visited Washing- ton, and it was there that I made Mr. Sumners acquaintance. The last session of the 38th Congress was then at its close ; a few days later Mr. Lin- coin was to enter upon his second presi- dential term. The affairs of the Union presented at that moment a most in- teresting spectacle. The Federal armies were on their way, preparing the last military evolutions which were to bring about the downfall of the Confederacy. Under General Grant, the army of the Potomac was commencing its attack upon Richmond, while Sherman, after having crossed through Georgia, and threatened Sav- annah, had taken a northerly direction through the Carolinas. On the other hand, political events on the verge of fulfilment had also reached a climax of equal importance. Congress, with the required constitutional major- ities, had just voted the amendments in- tended to wipe out slavery forever from American institutions. And thus, while abolitionist measures following one an- other in rapid succession, were day by day assuming a more radical character, the legislative power had placed in the Presidents hands the necessary re- sources, in men and finances, to enable him to conduct the war to a successful termination. It was then, and in the midst of like events, that I saw Mr. Sumner for the first time. If he had good reason for being satisfied with the results derived from past events, still he was far from finding them sufficient, and he truly thought that the most arduous task im- posed by the abolition of slavery was as yet hardly begun, much less achieved. To his mind, it was not enough to crush * down armed resistance in the secession- ist States; it was, above all, necessary to endow these commonwealths with an entirely new form and existence. But this opinion, as Mr. Sumner then fre- quently expressed it, was shared neither by the majority in Congress, nor by the President of the United States. Mr. Lincoln, in fact, did desire to end hos- tilities, to force the recognition of the abolition of slavery in the vanquished States, and upon that sole condition, restore them to their former rights. Although disturbed by this opposi- tion to his views, and somewhat anx- ious regarding what the future held in store, Mr. Sumner, linked as he was to the Republican party by all possible ties, hoped by slow process to win over to his strong personal convictions that great political organization. He was then already preparing himself to fight for his favorite doctrines; and at the same time he had such implicit faith in the rectitude of his political ideas, that he did not even doubt but that he would win Mr. Lincoln himself over to them, and compel him to side with him But this plan demanded time, sus- tained efforts, skill in persuasion, and it was only in the most remote corner of the horizon that Mr. Sumner foresaw the end at which he aimed. Thus, al- though much was being said in the opposition press about the conse- quences which might result from differ- ence of opinion, which no doubt then existed between Mr. Sumner and the President, the newspapers, nevertheless, greatly magnified its extent. Events, however, were following each other so quickly that they fairly seemed to rush. I had ilot been in Washington over six days, when in rapid succession came the news of the decisive victories of the army of the Potomac, the fall of Richmond, and Shermans entry into North Carolina. Mr. Lincoln was then at City Point, on the James, where General Grant had for many months had his headquarters. Mrs. Lincoln, who was on the eve of starting off to join her husband, asked Mr. Sumner and a few friends to ac- company her on her journey. It was probably at Mr. Sumners request that 154 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. Mrs. Lincoln was kind enough to in- dude me among her guests. On April 4th we left Washington, and were able to visit Richmond the follow- ing day. What scenes, what surprises, do events prepare for men! After such long and laborious struggles against slavery, Mr. Sumner, for the first time in his life, found himself in that same Richmond, which the Confederacy had transformed into a citadel; where for a space of four years it had held its own against the Unions strongest ar- mies! And in what condition did he find that city? Everywhere crumbling walls, houses still smoking, all the traces of destruction and fire! I followed Mr. Sumner through these many streets, often so filled with ruins that our car- riage could hardly pass. The shutters were closed on every house. Only one white inhabitant did we encounter during our drive, and that a child of about fifteen who ran away when she saw us. On the contrary, how- ever, hordes of negroes, who, ignorant of what liberty meant, surrounded us on all sides and gazed at us with aston- ishment. Everywhere the strangest contrasts met our eyes. But especially in the Cap- itol, where the assemblies of the Confed- eracy had met, were the most striking ones to be found. A few negroes were roaming through the abandoned halls, while others were playing bowls in the corridors, with Federal officers calm- ly looking on. Everything presented a most confused and desolate appear- ance. In the second story of the building, however, in a room the access to which was forbidden, were accumulated the glorious memories of Virginias history. The imprint left upon the final events of the last century and those of the early years of the present, by Washington, Patrick Henry, Jefferson, and so many others, were still to be seen in this room, filled as it was with the archives of that epoch; and Mr. Sumner, reared, as he had been, in the pure traditions of these great men, acquainted with the most minute details of their history, was contrasting in his mind that past and the present, which revealed itself to him in so poignant a manner. But whatever were his sentiments or his forebodings in regard to what might one day spring from out these ruins, or blossom perhaps under the spur of a new generation, the advent of which he had beforehand hailed and prepared, I was none the less struck by the moder- ation he exhibited, nay, by the affec- tionate interest he took in the van- quished population. It was impossible to detect in him one bitter feeling, or a single revengeful thought. During his talk with Federal officers, I heard him inquire after several ex-United States Senators, whom events had placed on the adverse side. One of them, in particular, excited in him a strong in- terest. He was an eminent Virginian who had ranked among the leaders of the Federal Senate, holding there a prominent position, when in 1851, Mr. Sumner, almost unknown, had come to take his seat in that assembly, where he had been the first to raise the stand- ard of Abolitionism. It can be readily understood what bitter feelings were aroused in the mind of this leader of the party then in power, by the efforts of this young man, who so audaciously expounded, in presence of himself and his colleagues, a doctrine so odious and repulsive to him and to them. But how radically all things had changed! This man, so highly considered at one time, nay, but yesterday standing in the first ranks of the Confederacy, had now taken flight, and Mr. Sumner, who had become in turn one of the most influ- ential men of the United States, was now inquiring, with friendly interest, after this once powerful and now fallen personage. The day passed in conversation upon the recent events; but in the midst of the anxiety they awoke in his mind, Mr. Sumner could not forget his love for letters and history. I heard him sev- eral times ask after the archives of the Confederacy; and when he expressed the earnest wish that they be carefully collected and kept, it was less from a wish to satisfy his own curiosity for re- trospective revelations, than for the pur- pose of giving to history documents which properly belonged to it. Toward evening we returned to the boat on board of which we were to re PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OP CHARLES SUMN1~R. 155 main until the morrow. Mr. Sumner and a few of the guests seated them- selves at the bow, on the side facing Richmond. Slowly night came on, and as it grew darker, they could see the fire still burning in the outskirts of the town. Between these lurid masses and themselves stood the city, plunged in utter darkness. For a long while they listened; not a sound was audible in the distance. Nothing of the vague noise that ordinarily reveals the neighbor- hood of large agglomerations of houses and men could be heard. Richmond presented the aspect of a death-ridden town. What thoughts arose in Mr. Sumners mind at the sight of so weird a scene? Filled with confidence in the future, convinced of the sanctity of the cause of which he was one of the most illustrious champions, he doubted not that from this night of apparent death would date the dawn of a new life. On the day following we had left Richmond, and joined Mr. Lincoln at the headquarters. I was then at leis- ure to observe closely the existing rela- tions between these two men, so dif- ferent in origin and education, who rep- resented opinions and convictions so distinctly apart, and who notwithstand- ing had found themselves bound to one another by the ties of a similar political faith, and united by a sentiment of mu- tual esteem. Their natures so straight- forward, their unquestionable honesty, the true patriotism which guided both, seemed a sort of platform upon which they naturally met; they were therefore made to appreciate one another. But, on the other hand, it must be admitted that their two minds were scarcely intended to agree. Mr. Sum- ner took pleasure in mentioning that he had studied the Summa of St. Thomas. I do not know if it was from that source that he had derived his reasoning methods; it is true, however, that in many respects his mind had been accus- tomed to the argumentative process of the Scholastics. Mr. Sumner reasoned as reasons a professor of theology. From the days of his youth he had felt that he had a calling in life; that he would devote his existence to opposing injustice everywhere. Hence slavery being an absolute wrong, it must be his mission to obliterate it from the insti- tutions of his country. In the begin- ning, no doubt, he intended opposing the enemy solely with persuasive arms, and he perhaps flattered himself that he might bring back the culprits into the right way without strife; but when by degrees obstacles arose on the reform- ers path, when the fight became hotter, and, especially after the breaking out of the war, new horizons had opened to Abolitionism, Mr. Sumner had accus- tomed himself, in spite of his utter re- pugnance to such means, to consider fire and steel as indispensable. There might possibly be discovered in the his- tory of the religious middle ages, ex- amples which would explain by what process of reasoning this theoretic enemy of war had, in spite of such principles, reached such conclusions. But even at the moment when it could be said that he contributed so largely to the direction of the struggle, and when, better than anyone, he had been able to define its true character, there still remained in him no hatred of the enemy. To his mind the question was less the striking down of an opponent, than the bringing back of a sinner to the right path. Whence the sentiment which animated him. Slavery must not only be abolished, but in atone- ment the vanquished States must rec- ognize total equality of rights for the emancipated slaves. These results of the Northern victories, which the South then considered with a feeling of hor- ror, Mr. Sumner deemed inevitable. But, in his judgment, it sufficed that the culprit should accept them for his crimes to be expiated and forgiven. In this mauner is explained the strange contrast which stood for so many years before the eyes of the American people. Mr. Sumners per- sonality has long figured as a living embodiment of the most extreme polit- ical measures, and, notwithstanding, no one has ever been able to quote or re- call a single word uttered by him in a spirit of vengeance; furthermore, those who lived in close intimacy with him can attest that no one among them ever heard him utter a bitter word agaiEst the Southern men, or even allude to 156 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. the personal violences of which he had been the victim. In contrast to this character so marked, this nature so vigorous, to this scholar so formed by the most pro- found studies, stood Mr. Lincoln, the man of the people, of the humblest origin, moulded for State affairs by the practice of affairs themselves, hav- ing risen little by little through fatigue and toil, knowing from experience all the difficulties of life, whose disposition was sweet and sad moi~e than persistent and audacious. He too had devoted himself to the triumph of his ideas of justice and emancipation, but he was accustomed to measure obstacles and to appreciate them. Gifted, furthermore, with an uncommon resisting power, he felt himself sufficiently strong to oppose by the sole force of his obstinacy all ef- forts made with a view to alter his opin- ions. How could two such men agree? Had it not been owing to the mutual esteem that united them, incessant con- flicts would have arisen between them. It must also be said that Mr. Lincoln had a manner of attending to affairs that rendered things singularly easy. His patience was such that he could always listen to his interlocutor, with- out interruption, or without allowing his own sentiments to be even sus- pected. Once the statement concluded, if the President did not feel convinced, he would answer in a vague way, or again, he might finish up with a joke, thus putting an end to the discussion. In like manner, when Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Sumner met after we had left Richmond, and when the latter seized upon the first favorable opportunity to discuss the general state of affairs, the conversation took the following course: Mr. Sumner insisted upon the neces- sity of bringing about an unconditional surrender of all the rebel armies. This result, he argued, once obtained, the President of the United States, by means of an official act, might make known his intention to establish civil and political equality between the two races. In the meantime, in order to furnish the disorganized communities with sufficient means for reconstruc- tion, he would maintain martial law, and entrust its administration to mili- tary governors. But this plan Mr. Lincoln rejected with all his force. At the very moment, and while Mr. Sumner was expounding it to him, he was striving to further the execution of another, entirely different plan from that which was proposed, and to ward off any painful or strained dis- cussion, the President confined himself to silence. It must, however, be said, that after the sad experiences of the past eight years,* a number of Southern men have come to think that the adop- tion of Mr. Sumners plans, extreme as they undoubtedly seemed in 1865, might have spared the once secessionist States many of the mishaps that have fallen upon them since. But home politics did not furnish the only questions which then engrossed the attention of the American Government. While Mr. Lincoln, seated at the head- quarters, close by the telegraph opera- tors, was sending off his personal orders to General Grant, and dictating to him the terms of Lees surrender, the news of which was now expected at any time, he was in addition forced to consider the presence of the French flag on Mex- ican soil, and all the while to meditate the steps to be taken with respect to the British Government, guilty in the eyes of the United States of having well-nigh publicly aided the rebel cause. Here, at least, Mr. Lincolns and Mr. Sumners minds seemed in perfect ac- cord. Both equally deprecated war. Mr. Sumner on that subject was ani- mated with a strong belief, to which he was ever faithful; indeed, one of his constant preoccupations consisted in endeavoring to find a final substitute for the decisions of battle - fields in in. ternational arbitration. On the other hand, Mr. Lincoln also had an instinc- tive horror of war. The Quakers, from whom he descended, had transmitted to him with their blood their doctrines of peace. Regarding the policy to be followed toward France and Great Britain, the sentiments of the President of the United States and those of Senator Sumner were in complete harmony. Both believed that the mere fact of the * Written in 1874. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OP CHARLES SUMNER. 157 Unions reconstruction would amply suf- flee to overthrow Maximilians throne and bring about the evacuation of Mex- ico by the French troops. They also thought that the victory of the United States over themselves, and the aboli- tion of slavery, would exercise sufficient moral pressure to induce England to recognize her error. It must be observed that at that mo- ment, amid the first joy of triumph, the popular cry seemed to demand the intervention of the United States in Mexico. Masses of armed men showed themselves ready for a new campaign, which would doubtless have united under one flag the adversaries of the civil war. It needed all the moral forti- tude of statesmen like Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Sumner to restrain such elements, ready to break loose. And this is pos- sibly why it was then rumored, and per- haps not without some reason, that Mr. Lincoln, though personally opposed to Mr. Sumners home policy, intended intrusting him with the conduct of foreign affairs, and that he thought of appointing him Secretary of State in place of Mr. Seward. But how futile are the designs of men! On April 9th, toward evening, the President and Mr. Sumner re-entered Washington City to- gether; and five days later, Mr. Sumner was among the small group of friends called in haste, on that terrible night, around the bed where Mr. Lincoln lay dying. With Mr. Johnsons elevation to the presidency, the attitude at first taken by radical republicans as regards the Executive was not to remain long un- changed. Convinced as was Mr. Sum- ner that the problem of. reorganization of the South depended on the President, and that his power amply sufficed to solve its intricacies, he strove at first to make Mr. Johnson share his views. It is even probable that the latter went so far as to make promises, or at least al- lowed it to be understood that he would follow what was then termed the radi- cal policy. At all events, when Mr. Sum- ncr left for the summer vacation, he, who rarely suspected double dealing in others, felt certain of the Presidents co-operation. But, supposing even that Mr. Johnson had spoken to him in good faith, Mr. Sumner undoubtedly labored under an illusion, and attached too much impor- tance to a few vague sentences. He thereupon carried with him to Boston hopes which did not remain long un- deceived. In fact, the situation soon changed for Mr. Sumner. The chief help on which he counted failed him completely. Mr. Johnson openly declared war against his principles. It became in- cumbent upon him to alter his planto fight the President and induce Con- gress, by means of popular pressure, to adopt and maintain doctrines which un- til then had been regarded unfavorably in both assemblies. If ever like enter- prise was coupled with great difficulties, the then impending events and state of public opinion greatly aggravated those difficulties. The Federal armies, disbanded with all possible prompti- tude, were at that moment returning home, supplying the Northern States with the working hands they so sorely needed; commerce and industries were everywhere beginning anew; everyone desired rest, and the immense majority among the people, happy to enjoy again the benefits of peace, seemed well dis- posed toward the policy to which Mr. Johnson appeared more and more to commit himself. It was under such circumstances that Mr. Sumner, feebly backed by a small majority, prepared to fight a new battle. I remember, one day, Mr. Sumners communicating to me a letter which he strongly recommended me to read with attention. It was from Mr. Thaddeus Stevens, who had upheld in the House of Representatives very nearly the same principles of which Mr. Sumner had be- come the champion in the Senate; and both of them had found themselves in a powerless minority whenever they had attempted opposing Mr. Lincolns policy. But Thaddeus Stevens now understood that the situation had changed. Gifted with an instinct which seldom mis- guided him; armed with political cour- age which nothing could daunt; able in turn to lead the House of Representa- tives, and remain firm when abandoned by it; strengthened by his own domi- neering sentiments ; and filled with 158 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. confidence regarding his own ability, Mr. Stevens understood that the time had come when he could at last exer- cise that political sway which he had always deemed to be his calling. He was therefore urging upon Mr. Sumner not to allow himself to be hindered by any obstacles, and in the name of the Unions preservation, and in the interest of the freedmen, to declare war against President Johnson. But ~while they were preparing for this new struggle, how different was the attitude of the two men whose fate it was to act the principal parts in it! Mr. Sumner, fatigued by the many po- litical battles which he had fought for years past, was already struggling against the disease which was slowly undermining his powerful constitution. He felt a sort of general lassitude which was beginning to alter his features, and besides, controversies and debates were things painful to him; while accepting, or even while cafling them forth at times, he only fulfilled what he deemed a duty. Mr. Stevens, on the contrary, although then over seventy-two years of age, was still filled with all the ardor of youth. In the midst of strife he seemed in his element. The hotter the fight, the more uncertain its issue, the greater became his daring, the more numerous the expedients which would suggest themselves to his mind. Of what immense value, therefore, was Mr. Stevenss co-operation to Mr. Sumner! It was during the month of Septem- ber, 1865, that Mr. Sumner delivered, before the Republican Convention of Massachusetts, the first speech in the course of which he plainly asserted his hostility to President Johnson, and ex- pounded his personal views regarding the home policy to be followed in the future. The United States, he claimed, must exact guarantees for the future. They owed it to themselves not to aban- don the race recently freed, or neglect anything in order to place it on an equal footing, political and social, with the white race. To stop at the point reached would be equivalent to an abandonment of the cause which had recently triumphed. At the same time, with a foresight which late events have proved to be wisdom, Mr. Sumner then went on to state that the United States Government must keep up to all its pecuniary obligations and pay off all its debts, of whatever nature they might be. Thus began the conflict which was destined to last well - nigh four years. During that long period Mr. Sumner remained ever foremost in the strife. The force of his character, his irresisti- ble will, his indefatigable perseverance, at last convinced the Republican party in Congress and throughout the coun- try. This strange leader, who acted al- most always alone, and who took coun- sel only with himself, finally vanquished the most obstinate resistance. However, it must be said that Mr. Sumner was in turn obliged to make some concessions to the majority of the Republican party. This accounts for his being forced to consent to the immediate readmission of the South- ern States into the Union, which how- ever did not take place without very vio- lent discussions in Republican meetings and conventions. Mr. Sumner always thought that it was not necessary to hasten in this matter, but he gave in at last. Indeed, for this very reason perhaps, when impartial history shall describe the events of that period, and it shall be asked who was responsible for the sad consequences that followed the policy termed the policy of recon- struction, it should long hesitate be- fore throwing upon Mr. Sumner the whole responsibility. It was during that part of his life, from 1865 to 1868, that Mr. Sumner strove to define what is a republican form of government. And here it may be important to pause a moment and to examine what were, in the opinion of this statesman, the true conditions of life in a democratic and free people. Nurtured in the pure traditions of New England, having breathed in a measure the same atmosphere in which, a cen- tury before, had lived and toiled the founders of American liberty, Mr. Sum- ner had educated himself up to a re- spect approaching to worship of the patriots of that illustrious epoch. Con- stant meditation on the writings of that time had imparted to him this venera- tion for the fathers of liberty. The re PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. 159 public they had established seemed to him the most illustrious of American traditions. And thus this patrician, enamoured of the democratic institu- tions of his country; this faithful ex- ponent of all that New England had noblest and best; this man of letters whose mind was cultivated by the widest knowledge; this statesman brought up, so to speak, in close intercourse with Otis and the Adamses, firmly believed that he was called upon to continue and perfect their work. It is not in any de- gree strange, therefore, that he sought first of all to prove that the origin of his ideal republic could be traced to the works of its founders; thence a constant effort to establish, beyond all possible doubt, that the authors of American independence had contem- plated uniting in perfect equality all human beings residing upon the Ameri- can continent. Furthermore, to Mr. Sumner~s mind the declaration of inde- pendence and the bill of rights did not wholly rest upon a philosophical effort of thought. They had been evolved, he held, both of them, out of the very tra- ditions of the country. Each article, in both these documents, had directly em- anated from the controversies which arose, during the second half of the past century, between the colonies and the mother-country. It only remained, therefore, to define, in a more satisfac- tory manner, the sentiments which then prevailed. From this standpoint, if the rights of man and of the citizen, and political as well as civil equality of all races be claimed, it was only because long before the Declaration of Inde- pendence was ever written, Otis, Samuel Adams, and others had claimed the same rights. Thus the ideal republic, the advent of which Mr. Sumner was striving to pre- pare, could not in his mind be consid- ered as a new thing. He was convinced that he had found it described in the past, and he, who had so often been treated as a dangerous radical, firmly believed himself to be the representa- 4 tive of the purest American tradition. It seems, therefore, as though one were forced to admit that, notwithstanding the fact that this idealist often failed to consider sufficiently the conditions of weakness which democracy imposes of itself upon oar political societies, the plan he had conceived, the doctrines he professed, and the principles to the success of which he had devoted his life, were surely not wanting in great- ness or in justice. If they could not wholly prevail here, on earth, if mans infirmity too often comes and convinces the noblest thinker that there is but little room for the realization of his schemes, it remains none the less true that even when he errs, he still stands upon a plane to which the crowd does not attain. What Mr. Sumner wished was to make of the United States a model republic, which little by little should inspire all nations with the desire to imitate it. He was not one of those who pretend to convert other nations by force, and bring them, by means of a revolutionary propaganda or conspira- cies, to the overthrow of their govern- ments; he would have considered it unworthy of himself to join in such intrigues. It may be said even that this great American republican judged rather severely the men who in several countries of Europe parade under the name of republicans, and whose con- duct prostitutes it, and harms the very cause which they pretend to serve. But having long reflected upon that in- fluence which the declaration of Ameri- can independence had exercised over the great French movement of 1789 at its inception, he felt assured that the restoration of the republic in America would serve as an example which the new continent would point out for Eu- rope to follow. While Mr. Sumner was multiplying his efforts to bring about reorganiza- tion in the United States according to the plan he had conceived, events in Europe were for a moment of such a nature as to strengthen his hopes. Forced to abandon Mexico, and to retire as it were before the moral power of the United States; stricken, though indirectly, at Sadowa; threatened at home by the newly rising spirit of free discussion; the French Empire, which Mr. Sumner had ever considered to be the incarnation of C~esarism and mod- em tyranny, was tottering and visibly 160 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OP CHARLES SUMNER. weakening. At a distance, one could readily believe that a new sentiment was manifesting itself in France, and over the entire older continent. Mr. Sum- ners optical illusion in this respect can easily be understood. Deceived by ap- parent demonstrations, he thought that the moment was coming when repub- lican institutions would triumph over the world. How many times, and during how many hours, did we discuss together these questions! And although in my mind objections arose which did not shake the great believers faith, I rare- ly left him without having felt that as- cendency which the firm believer always exercises over the man who doubts. At last, the thunder peal of 1870 broke forth; the war declared by Em- peror Napoleon against Germany filled Mr. Sumner with indignation. He ex- pressed himself in a speech upon the subject. The Emperor, according to him, had committed the greatest of crimes. At this first instant, therefore, his sympathies were with Germany, which seemed to him assailed. He moreover deemed the Emperor respon- sible for the destruction of the European equilibrium, which had seemed to him favorable to the development of free and republican ideas; but soon after his sentiments changed. I remember, in the autumn of that same year, after the catastrophe of Sedan, Mr. Sumner one day handed me a letter he had just received from his faithful friend Mr. Louis Agassiz. This time the illustrious geologist, whose loss Switzerland and the United States still mourn, wrote to him in French. He seemed to desire to speak again on that occasion the tongue he had spoken in the past, in order to express to his friend what he thought of the political and military events then on the verge of fulfilment in France. I have seldom read a letter more truly sensible, more simply eloquent. In it Louis Agassiz appealed to Mr. Sumner, asking him to speak out publicly and withdraw from Germany the moral sup- port he had at one moment lent her. It was no longer a war of conquest, said he; the spirit of usurpation was again blowing over Europe, was even no longer taking pains to conceal itself under those democratic and revolution- ary formula which the first Napoleon had so cleverly lent it. Old feudal Ger- many, as though made young again by recent scientific discoveries, was now embodied in the conquerors. After thus describing the true character of the invasion, Louis Agassiz pictured the sad consequences which would follow the triumph of such forces over Europe. And he concluded by saying that they would destroy, or at least impede, the ideas of liberty and progress. Mr. Sumner was on the point of fol- lowing this advice of his friend; he wished to find an opportunity of telling the American people what he thought; but even at that time work bad be- come so difficult and painful to him, public speaking fatigued him so much, that he was forced to spare the little strength left him for the discussions in the Senate. But if he enjoyed an hour of satisfac- tion during that period, it surely was when he learned that in the midst of the bloody ruins of France, M. Thiers, now chief of the executive, was striving to establish a republican form of govern- ment. How often have I heard him ex- press his ideas upon this subject! While he admired the art of the great politi- cian in the reconstruction of the power of his country amid such great and per- plexing difficulties, he was above all in- terested in the progress which the states- man made in republican ways. It must be said that the hopes he then enter- tained regarding M. Thierss policy bor- dered at times on illusion. Mr. Sum- ner did not fully realize the terrible blow which German invasion had strnck at the spirit of liberty. He refused to see that the liberal party had been over- thrown by the old feudal institutions re- vived and victorious. But where is the Frenchman who would consider erro- neous the judgment of those who kept up their implicit faith in the future of liberal institutions in France? Mr. Sumner did not confine his thoughts on foreign politics to the de- velopment of republican institutions throughout Europe. Faithful follower of American tradition as he was, he never departed one moment from the principles PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. 161 of neutrality and non-interference which President Washington had caused to prevail, and which his successors have scrupulously applied. Nothing could have induced him to consent by his vote to contract an alliance with any great foreign power. Grateful to Russia for her favorable attitude toward the North an attitude from which the Czars pol- icy never departed from 1861 to 1865 he neglected no opportunity to mention what he termed the friendship be- tween the two nations. His good faith and candor caused him to think too well perhaps of the Russian sentiment as regards his own country; but whatever were his illusions upon this subject, he would never have consented to bind the United States to Russia by means of any diplomatic act. In truth, Mr. Sumner, like most Amer- icans of his time, had received too deep an impression from the civil war to be at all able to overcome it. Thence orig- inated a sentimental foreign policy in which each European nation ranked ac- cording to the degree of sympathy ex- hibited by it at the time of the war for the Unions preservation. How often, when I heard him deplore the uncertain and vacillating attitude of France toward the United States at the time of the crisis, have I regretted the fatal influences that weighed upon the decisions of the Imperial Government, giving to its policy an air of half-con- cealed hostility. How much better it would have been to conform with that time-honored tradition, born in the last years of our old monarchy, which was so ably continued by the first Consul, and which perished together with so many other excellent things at the close of Napoleon the Thirds reign! But especially toward Great Britain, Mr. Sumner felt his strongest, possibly his most bitter resentment. Reared in the study of her history, filled with re- spectful admiration for her great men, learned in all the details of her consti- tutional existence, sincere follower of the ~ liberal school from which her greater W glories spring, and, so to speak, enam- oured of those abolitionists who, long before his day, had trodden the path upon which he had walked unflinching- ly, Mr. Sumner, it may be said, felt, as regards that nation which had well- nigh openly declared its hostility to the Unions cause, a sentiment of love be- trayed. How was it possible that Lord Rus- sell, the impregnable bulwark of the abo- litionist cause in England, had become in 1862 an opponent of American abo- litionists? It was always with bitter sadness, though never angrily, that Mr. Sumner expressed himself regarding the existing relations between the United States and Great Britain. To his mind that nation was guilty of a great moral wrong, and owed those who had suffered therefrom a manifest atonement. Such was the feeling which inspired his speeches, at times eloquently pas- sionate, on the existing intercourse be- tween the two Anglo - Saxon nations. On reading them one can readily un- derstand what explosions such fiery words would provoke on the other side of the Atlantic. A challenge of war was thought to be concealed under them. The orator was even accused of exciting the worst of feelings and of appealing to the darkest hatreds. But in all this English public opinion was mistaken. Mr. Sumner only considered that Lord Palmerston, Lord Russell, and their col- leagues had wronged the United States, and it was by appealing to higher senti- ments that he demanded justice of their successors. Never did the idea of armed retal- iation suggest itself to Mr. Sumners mind. This, indeed, might be called a new sort of diplomacy. The men of the old school might smile at it and regard the author of such passionate tirades as one who was lacking in practical good sense; and yet it was Mr. Sumner who this time was in the right, and saw more clearly than they. The moral force which he in a measure embodied, and by which he was sustained, was finally to triumph, as events have shown; it was in truth more potent than would have been the Unions fleets and armies. Senator Sumner lived long enough to see sitting at Washington commission- ers from Great Britain, chosen among the two great political parties of Eng- land, come to an agreement as regards the general clauses which were to put an end to the pending difficulties between 162 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. the two nations. And he helped to ob- tain the ratification by the United States Senate of the treaty of Washington, the first article of which contained the sin- cere expression of regret which England made in atonement for her conduct dur- ing the American civil war. Strange negotiation indeed, if thus it can be termed, and strange results also! Pub- lic opinion may discuss them, enthusi- asts may exaggerate their importance; professional diplomatists may wilfully belittle them ; but let at least everyone observe, by comparing dates, that the mixed commission was being assembled at the State Department of the United States, at the very moment when tri- umphant Germany was rending from her vanquished opponent the prelimi- naries of Versailles, and that the treaty of Washington was concluded by a few days before that of Frankfort. Mr. Sumner had conceived, in regard to the foreign affairs of his country, a general theory; as I have very often heard him state it, I shall here trace its principal outline. Disinterested regard- ing what might occur in Europe, the American Union has already witnessed the downfall of well - nigh all the old colonial system; a few years more, and the last European standard will have disappeared from the American Conti- nent. Englands wise policy only pre- pares the advent of Canadian indepen- dence, and if until now a prudent hand has still maintained her domination over the Antilles, yet it is a question how long this status quo will last. But whatever may be the future of the British isles, at a small distance off lies that large Spanish dependency, Cuba, * where for years past blood has been flowing incessantly, rand where at any moment an outbreak may occur that shall determine the overthrow of Span- ish dominion. Thus with patriotic in- terest Mr. Sumner witnessed the evolu- tion of political questions in Canada and in the Antilles. But he did not neglect the daily study of American growth of power on the Pacific coast. It would be inter- esting to read over his speech delivered in 1867, on the purchase of Russian * This was written at the time of the Cuban insurrec- tion. America. It was necessary, said he in it, to increase national sway over that immense coast. The day would prob- ably come when emigration with the flow of its tide from east to west, would establish on that yet hardly inhabited slope the centre of an immense empire. In Mr. Sumners mind, it was in that direction that the United States would one day develop its power. But all the while, he did not cease warning his countrymen to proceed slowly, and to fear above all territorial annexations. His warnings in this respect amounted to personal resistance whenever the an- nexation of any of the Antilles or of the Mexican territories was spoken of. And it was precisely this political con- viction which was to lead Mr. Sumner to sacrifice his own situation in that Republican party for which he had so long toiled, and which owed him so much. The very day President Grant signed a treaty with a view to the an- nexation of the Dominican Republic to the United States, Mr. Sumner found himself placed in a most painful posi- tion. Was he to sacrifice to his party, and to the Administration, one of his most profound convictions? Or, on the contrary, by opposing the ratification of this diplomatic agreement, was he to obey what he considered to be a most imperious duty, at the risk of breaking political ties which seemed indissoluble, and of renouncing personal friendships which time had cemented? I was witness of the struggle. that pre- ceded his determination. Why can I not, would he say at this moment of doubt and perplexity, why can I not retire from political life? Why have I yet so many sacred duties to perform, so many promises to keep regarding my poor darkies? You see it, I cannot forsake my wards, and yet how happy I should be to go abroad and live, and there devote myself to a peaceful life and the culture of the arts. However, Mr. Sumner, placed in pres- ence of what he deemed to be his duty, resolved to perform it. He did so re- gardless of the peril he was incurring, and knowing well in advance that he was heaping up against himself implac- able vengeance and wrath. But as soon as the old wrestler had resolved once PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF CHARLES SUMNER. 163 more to enter the arena, he was again able to display all his power. The speeches he delivered on the San Do- mingo question may be classed among his best. Although he was forced to strain himself in order to give his voice its former fulness and vigor, yet sel- dom did he produce greater effect upon the large audience which then filled the Senate chamber. He attacked directly the Presidents policy regarding the An- tilles, opposed with all his might the San Domingo annexation, and with pro- found emotion, although unflinchingly, he accused the official representatives of the United States of violating the rules of international law. This time again did Mr. Sumner triumph. He struck a death-blow to the annexation plan; the President himself was forced to retreat and abandon his cherished scheme. But how dear was this victory to cost him who had forced the executive power to give way! This is not the place to relate the well-known events which en- sued. Watching day by day their de- velopment, and following with anxious interest the painful incidents as they arose, I often thought whether the most despotic courts, whether the monarch- ies which have been the most declaimed against, have ever known anything more pitiful than the deeply hidden plots of which the greatest citizens of free re- publics may be the victims. While many supporters of the President, now interested opponents of Mr. Sumner, were pursuing him with their wrath, and were using against him all the weapons within their reach, the old leader, who had never known the force of intrigue, and who, owing to the ideal- istic turn of his mind, was totally unfit for an appreciation of base sentiments, still believed himself on his former pin- nacle, while in truth he had been over- thrown. What a wakening was his when the truth finally dawned upon him! It was in the spring of 1872; he had protested in the most solemn manner against General Grants second nomi- ation for the presidency; he had ex- pressed himself with unrelenting sin- cerity regarding the Presidents policy, and the Republican party, so long do- cile to his voice, chose General Grant for a second term, thereby disowning its old chieftain. Mr. Sumner remained alone. At that moment, as if joining in to aggravate his situation, his old illness, the same which had once before im- perilled his life, attacked him again, and caused him most horrible suffer- ings. He had hoped, he wrote from Boston, to be able to assemble his fel- low-citizens in Fancuil Hall, that ven- erable forum, in order to speak once more .to them of the great questions that relate to the countrys welfare; but painful symptoms warned him not to attempt this effort. The speech he wished to deliver was given to the press. Certain of its passages, though surely not to be compared with Mr. Sumners powerful oratorical efforts, deserve notwithstanding to be quoted; the sentiments therein expressed will remain as the crowning work of his life, and will live also as an historical docu- ment. Casting his glance once more on the long-trodden path, the orator deemed, not without good reason, that his duty toward the enfranchised race was well-nigh fulfilled; and he made one last appeal for reconciliation to the parties that had so long fought against each other. Protesting against any im- putation of bitter feelings, he thus summed up his public life: Such is the simple and harmonious record, showing how from the begin- ning I was devoted to peace, how con- stantly I longed for reconciliation, how with every measure of Equal Rights this longing found utterancehow it became an essential part of my lifehow I discarded all idea of vengeance or punishmenthow Reconstruction was to my mind a transition period, and how earnestly I looked forward to the day when, after the recognition of Equal Rights, the Republic should again be one in reality as in name. If there are any who ever maintained a policy of hate, I was never so minded; and now, in protesting against any such policy, I only act in obedience to the irresistible promptings of my soul. At the same time Mr. Sumner, whom his personal friends were anxious to tear away from the troubles of his pol 164 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OP CHARLES SUMNER. itical situation, and from the fatigue which endangered his life, consented to leave for Europe. In December following he returned to Washington. But by what sad cir- cumstances his return was attended! The Republican party publicly disowned him; the commonwealth of Massachu- setts, that had ever remained faithful to him, in turn also abandoned him. Furthermore the legislature, assembled in Boston, grasping a miserable pre- tence, publicly censured him. On the other hand, his physical sufferings were so intense that they had altered the strong expression of his features, and nearly deformed his stately bearing. A sad state and time this was, of which but very few of his friends were wit- nesses. At certain moments it was to be feared that courage would forsake the old athlete; and yet his faith in the justice of his cause was so implicit, that even while stretched on his bed of suf- fering, where he was forced to pass most of his time, he would exclaim now and then: I have but one enemy to con- tend with, and that is disease. Let it spare me a while, and I feel sure that soon it will become manifest that I was right. But how could he defend himself now that his physical strength was so much exhausted that, during this whole sad winter, it was impossible for him to ap- ply his mind to any constant work? He even seemed uninterested in poli- tics. Hardly did he even allude to them when speaking. In this state, but one consolation was left him and but one pastime: French literature that of our great epochs. The Me- moirs of St. Simon awoke in him un- ceasing interest. The same with Vol- taire, whose complete works he carefully reread He even went so far as to at- tempt a new study of the Anecdotical Memoirs relating to our history of the last two centuries, the minute details of which he desired to study once more. In the early spring, however, his illness seemed to abate; and while a work of re pair was going on in his physical organ- ism, which seemed still so vigorous, pub- lic opinion was already recovering from its hasty judgments. Mr. Sumners vacant place had not been filled. The Senate missed in its discussions the presence of his great moral courage. The people of Massachusetts also began to regret its rash decisions; a visible change was taking place, and in spite of vile efforts the general sentiment of the honest masses was coming back to Mr. Sumner. He lived long enough to see the Massachusetts legislature re- scind the resolutions that the former legislature had adopted against him. The illustrious senator, who was now unable to add further to his fame, had a right, if we may say so, to witness this act of reparation. Providence just- ly ordained that it should be so. It was on Monday, March 9, 1874, that the United States Senate received of- ficial notification of the annulling of the resolutions of censure. Mr. Sum- ner enjoyed the satisfaction of being present at this ceremony. Hardly was it over, when he left the Senate cham- berfar from thinking that it was for the last time. Two days later America learned that Charles Sumner was no more. On hear- ing the news, the whole country, which associated Mr. Sumners name with those of his most renowned contempor- aries and friends, felt a thrill of pain. How could the nation fail to recall at that moment, Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Seward, and Mr. Chase? How could it fail to understand that a great era was now closed? And now * that Mr. Sumners seat is vacant in the liJuited States Senate, and that this last one of the great athletes of that epoch, after mourning for his former associates, has in turn followed them to the tomb, where the common- wealth of Massachusetts has just laid him, it remains to be seen whether the young generations shall bring forth men worthy to take his place. * Written in 1874. Th~PI.\Tb~O~J S/luV-FCFTI-I& FLCRFNTJf4~$. THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. By E. H. and E. W. Blashfield. IN ti ese days of triumphant special- which has seen no disillusion. They had i~m, when brush and chisel, burin not even found out what they could not ud aquafortists tool perform feats do, and their naV fervor set a halo even that would have set the Renascence upon their awkwardness; eternal youth agog; ~hen a phalanx of French artists was theirs and its sublime confidence stand armed cap-a-pie with all the varied and audacity; if we study them enough knowledge that the years have brought we shall find even in their lesser works to Ars Longa; when art pours in from detur amanti, something to reward England, Sweden, Russia, Japan; when us, something of the glamour of the Ai erica has already started in the reawakening, of the joy of earnest en- great torch race, sure to hold the light deavor, of the serenity of achievement, high (how high perhaps we hardly dare and amid all the scierce and all the to d eam), why is it that we turn again perfected technique of modern paint- and again to the old masters, the men ing, the hill-towns of Tuscany and Um- of Florence and of Venice, of the qui- bria will still rise as high altars of art; et galleries and palaces of a land older the lagoons of Venice will still shine for than our own? us with the opalescent color of Titian, They take us out of the bustle and and still hold the bituminous depths of strug~, le, and beckon us to their feet in Tintoretto. the half light of the chapter-house, in But among them all Florence claims the sun-dappled stillness of the cloister the highest place; for in that long pe- or the deserted chamber of state; they nod from 1300 to 1580, which covers sit throned and tranquil, nowise toiling the Italian Renascence in its various ~ for recognition, so that we love them phases, she was the focal point for at W for their very peace. But better than least two hundred years. This epoch all this, theirs was the springtime of of art evolution may be conveniently art; they were in the gold of the morn- divided into four periods: that of the ing and they had its golden touch; precursors, of Niccolo and Giotto; that theirs was the high-hearted conviction of the early Renascence, with the group VOL. XIIL17

E. H. Blashfield Blashfield, E. H. E. W. Blashfield Blashfield, E. W. The Florentine Artist 165-184

Th~PI.\Tb~O~J S/luV-FCFTI-I& FLCRFNTJf4~$. THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. By E. H. and E. W. Blashfield. IN ti ese days of triumphant special- which has seen no disillusion. They had i~m, when brush and chisel, burin not even found out what they could not ud aquafortists tool perform feats do, and their naV fervor set a halo even that would have set the Renascence upon their awkwardness; eternal youth agog; ~hen a phalanx of French artists was theirs and its sublime confidence stand armed cap-a-pie with all the varied and audacity; if we study them enough knowledge that the years have brought we shall find even in their lesser works to Ars Longa; when art pours in from detur amanti, something to reward England, Sweden, Russia, Japan; when us, something of the glamour of the Ai erica has already started in the reawakening, of the joy of earnest en- great torch race, sure to hold the light deavor, of the serenity of achievement, high (how high perhaps we hardly dare and amid all the scierce and all the to d eam), why is it that we turn again perfected technique of modern paint- and again to the old masters, the men ing, the hill-towns of Tuscany and Um- of Florence and of Venice, of the qui- bria will still rise as high altars of art; et galleries and palaces of a land older the lagoons of Venice will still shine for than our own? us with the opalescent color of Titian, They take us out of the bustle and and still hold the bituminous depths of strug~, le, and beckon us to their feet in Tintoretto. the half light of the chapter-house, in But among them all Florence claims the sun-dappled stillness of the cloister the highest place; for in that long pe- or the deserted chamber of state; they nod from 1300 to 1580, which covers sit throned and tranquil, nowise toiling the Italian Renascence in its various ~ for recognition, so that we love them phases, she was the focal point for at W for their very peace. But better than least two hundred years. This epoch all this, theirs was the springtime of of art evolution may be conveniently art; they were in the gold of the morn- divided into four periods: that of the ing and they had its golden touch; precursors, of Niccolo and Giotto; that theirs was the high-hearted conviction of the early Renascence, with the group VOL. XIIL17 166 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. which surrounded Cosimo and Lorenzo dei Medici; of the full Renascence, when Rome called Tuscan and Umbri- an alike into her service, and of that later time which, decadent elsewhere, saw he glorious supremacy of Venice. Thus through fully two-thirds of the art movement Florence marched at the head of Italy; and we see the Floren- inc first as the strong man in armor, merchant and soldier at once, beating off Barbarossa, conquering his civic rights one by one, and setting the Phrygian cap of liberty upon his hel- met ; the later and milder time twists garlands about it, and sculptures his shield; and his son grows up a pale- checke student, with a crop of curls, a brush and chisel in his scarsella, and a great book clasped upon his breast. As we look at old pictures of this pro- tagonist of independence, this Athene of towns, who wore helmet and laurel alike, and held palette and iance at once, we see that five hundred years ago she was still the grim-visaged and simple-mannered Florence of the Di- vine Comedy. We turn the pages of the pictured record. Another short hundred years transforms the fortress-city of Corso Donati into the palace-city of Loreuzo dei Medici; the Renascence has come to its full tide, and the Florence of Dante, which, lovely as it appeared in the dreams of the exile, was brown and bare as a Franciscan friar in its out- ward semblance, had by the end of the fifteenth century become a reasury of beauty. Many different causes haJ contributed to this result: commercial prosperity, municipal freedom, the in- tense civic pride, the passionate love of the city that then stood for patriotism, the newly awakened plastic sense, the Italian desire to far figura, the lovers instinct to adorn the beloved, and the possession of generations of artists The New Herness. 9 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST~ equal to their task, all united to dower Florence with innumerable treasures. All the best blood of the time was run- ning into this new channel and cours- ing there more and more strongly. The incessant warfare of earlier times, the death-grapple between city and city and between rival factions and greater and lesser guilds had ended in utter exhaustionan exhaustion too often making way for a local tyrant; but the marvellous vitality of Italy, which in one way or another never flagged, showed itself in her art the hand tired of striking with the sword struck lightly with the chisel ; and the cnn- ning Medici set the unwitting artists to gilding the chains of Florence. There were chains indeed, but the craftsman lived in a republic of ideas and his craft was honored by the ty- rant; he alone of all men was free ; for the Inquisition had not yet begun to prescribe the action of the people of fresco or panel, or to peer through the cycholes of its cowl into parch- ment and picture to ferret out heresy. Cosimo the Ancient might say in his cynical way that it took only a few yards of scarlet cloth to make a burgher; but he never ap- plied his yard-measure estimate to hu- manists or artists. A noble field lay open to the latter. If they did not receive the great prices of to-day, neither did their works dis- appear into private galleries; art be- longed to the whole city and was a mat- ter of personal interest and pride to each citizen ; the fa~adc or the monu 167 2) /1 -~ ~- 4/ ~//~ / I 168 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. ment was his, and he walked out to see it uncovered, in a flutter of pleas- ant excitement, and quite prepared to fasten his epigram or his sonnet at its base. For all Florence became at once customer and connoisseur, and fairly went mad with enthusiasm over its new masterpieces. The Signiory mingled mens houses or cramped into pretti- ness to please a caprice; no carefully nurtured exotic, foreign to all its en- vironment; it was democratic, munic- ipal of the people, by the people, for the people stooping to the hum- blest offices; carving the public foun- tain, where goodwives washed their 2 with the business of grave embassies questions of decoration of public pal- aces, and art matters were treated like affairs of state. A daughter of the Re- public, arts best service was given to the cityto the market-place, the town- hall, and the church; this was no courtly official art, shut up in palaces; no burghei art, withdrawn into rich cabbages and filled their clashing metal buckets; and rising heavenward on the broad curves of Brunellesehis dome. It was a deep - rooted, many - branched growth of the soil; an integral part of daily life; a need, a passion, and a de- light at once. It almost seemed as if art, Orphe- us-like, held sway over nature. Rough K (2 j ) THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. 169 crags piled themselves up into palaces, iron bowed itself into lovely curves, and bronze filled the hollow mould with fair shapes ; glistening marbles covered the bare fa~ades; acanthus and laurel, oak and ivy, lilies and poine- granates twined around the church pillars, climbed to the cornice, and clus- tered about the deep-set windows; ran over choir stalls, and thrust themselves between the yellowed parchments of the choral 1)ooks. With theiis came the birds to perch among the bronze twigs and nest in the marble foliage ; the lions crawled from their lairs to crouch beneath church pillars ; unicorns, grif- fins, and strange sea-monsters, blowing the salt foam from their nostrils, came at the magicians bidding, to support a shield or bound along a cornice. Night lent her stars to roof a banqueting-hall; the planets shone over the exchange, and summer abode on the painted wall while winter whitened the streets outside. And it was within the field of this world of art, that the perturbed cities of the Renascence found their one neu- tral ground, where the shrill voice of controversy was hushed, and hatred dropped its dagger, where the old feud was forgotten, where Guelph and Ghib- elline, Pallesco and Piagnone met as friends united by a common sympathy, swayed by a common delight. In San Marco. 170 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. Something of this was dimly under- stood, even by the little apprentices who ground the colors and kept the clay moist. They knew that the mas- ters went and came unharmed through harried country and hostile states; they saw the Magnifico buy the pictures of a follower of the Friar. Even civic strife spared the artist who worked for the glory of the town, and was there- fore sacred to the man of the Renas- cence, who, though he could hate fiercely and strike hard, loved his city as a mother, and adorned her like a bride. The city so loved and so adorned was not very different from the fair town set in the hollow of the hills which we admire to-day; it has lost its proud zone of ramparts and the glow of me- dheval color, but otherwise it is com- paratively unchanged since Don atello lodged in the street of the Melon, and Benvenuto kept shop on the old bridge. Here we can walk arm - in - arm with Gossip Yasari; every turn brings us face to face with the memory of a world- famed master. The very name of a street suggests some great artistic achievement; a few lines of inscription on a house-front start a train of asso ciation which quickens the pulse of the lover of beauty; all about us, the very stones, are eloquent, and if we would study the greatest of modern art epochs, and understand the environ- ment of the Renascence artistthe con- ditions under which he lived and la- boredwe have but to look at the city upon which he set his seal, as a king stamps his effigy on the coin of the realm. Four hundred years ago morning entered Florence much as it does to- day, slipping unchallenged through the ponderous gates, stealing like a gray nun through the narrow streets, glim- mering faintly through the grated win- dows, and leaving the lower stories of the crag-like houses still dark and som- bre, touched with light the dome of the cathedral and the crests of those stern towers which spring upward like un- sheathed swords to guard the white and rosy beauty of our Lady of the Flower. As the dawn struggled through the leaded casements, or the deep arches of the workshop, it saw the artist already at labor. Sometimes it paled the light fixed to Michael Angelos forehead, with which, like a Cyclops, he worked through the long nights, or DRAWN BY E. H. BLASHFIELD On Ponte Veochia. 172 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. The Open-air Pulpit at Prato. surprised Master Luca patiently freez- ing his fingers over his new invention, the terra in~etriata; or, mavbe,it put out the lanterns which Ghibertis work- men carried in their nightly walks from the furnaces in the Via Sant Egidio to the Baptistery. Work began early for the Florentine artist; for the paint- er, sculptor, architect, worker in gold, iron, or wood, was first of all a handi- craftsman with a handicraftsmans sim- ple tastes and frugal habits. Arte, art, meant but craft or trade, and later, by extension, guild of craftsmen, and was applied to the corporations of cloth- dressers and silk-weavers as well as to the associations of architects and sculp- tors. Then painters did not play the gen- tleman ; small distinction was made between the artist and the artisan; and, though no~r and then a banquet at the new house in the Via Larga, or a little junketing in Albertinellis wine- shop, or a gay supper at the Pot Luck Club (Compagnia del Pajuolo), opposite - -~ 1 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. 173 the Foundling Hospital, might tempt him to keep late hours, morning naps were exceptions; and the stone-mason, when he came through the dim twilight of the shadowed streets to his days work on church or palace, found Bin- nellesehi or Gozzoli there before him. No wonder such men rose early; the whole world of art lay before them, un- conquered, unexplored; the mysteries of nature were to be solved; the lost treasures of autiqaity regained. The processes of technique, the media of ar- tistic expression to be discovered ; and for such achievement the days were all too short, and the nights as well. If they would play the sluggard, the voice of Florence itself awoke them; for with the broadening day the bells of Giottos tower began to ring the Angelus, fill- ing the vibrating air with solemn mel- ody, as one after another from the iron throats of San Lorenzo, of San Michele, and of Santa Felicift came answering peals ; while on the circling hills, gray with olive or dark with pine, the bells of convent and chapel and parish church echoed faintly, greeting each other with the angelical salutation. There were few artists who did not Across the Street. 174 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. them a fresh-faced girl or two of the Nencia type, white as creani-cheese and round as a little sausage, were crowding into the Duomo to say a few ayes before some favorite shrine; here and there, with ink-horn at his belt, a scholar passedPico or Poliziano on his way to the Medici palace, or the still green gardens of the Academy. Knots of leather-clad craftsmen, bare- armed cloth-dressers from the Cali- mala, silk-weavers bound for San Bia- gio, goldsmiths, hurrying to their work in the Pellicceria, jostled each other in the narrow way. Here, too, were matrons of the old school, austerely wrapped in cloak and wimple, and blooming girls, whose pearl - wreathed hair and bare throats were hardly shaded by transparent veils, demurely conscious of the admiration they ex- cited and not averse to let- ting a young painters eyes enjoy their comeliness. Had not Ginevra dci Benci, one of the proudest beauties of Florence, sat for Messer Domenico Bi- gordi? and he who would see the fair wife of Fran- cesco Pugliese limned to the life need only visit the little church outside the walls, where Filippino painted her as Madonna. What pretty girl was not ambitious to figure in a fresco, or pose for a saint, tricked out with halo and symbol? When did adora- tion ever come amiss? or when was a bold glance and a fervently whispered bella really resented? -~ Meantime she who hoped some day to see her own ____ -~ portrait as St. Catherine or Barbara or Lucy, behind built palaces, bought rare Greek man- the blazing altar-tapers, dimmed with uscripts, and bribed royalty, were the cloud of fragrant smoke, en ~oyed a abroad for their marketingto chaf- somewhat grosser incense. In this town fer over a couple of fowls or a handful of tiny streets and thickset houses, of vegetables. Groups of sun-burned whose inhabitants had grown up to- peasants, in their gayest gear, among gethe in close quarters, generation af bow their heads and begin the day with the poetic orison, honoring the Word that was made flesh, and dwelt among ns ; and what better prayer could there be for men whose chief care lay in the portrayal of that same flesh, and who were to paint man, man, whatever the issue. Early as it was the city was astir, and the streets about the cathedral were thronged with people on their way to early mass; home-staying house- wives were gossiping on the door- steps as in Dantes day; long-gowned burghers, like Filippo Strozzi, who OrJTVIL P!IVZZ/\ 175 ter generatioii~ where family loves and hatreds were matters of heritage and tradition, and where each man was as well acquainted with his neighbors af- ~ fairs as with his own, none of these W young ladies were unknown to their admirers, who could estimate each fair ones dower to the form. On the heads and hands of these pretty girls the passing goldsmith saw his own work in wreath and ring; and when the whole parti - colored crowd swayed and bent like a field of wind-swept irises as a priest and a hurrying acolyte passed with the Viaticum, even while mutter- ing a prayer for the soul about to pass away, he recognized with pride the sil- ver pyx which had left his masters shop only a week ago. Perhaps it was hardly out of sight before the street began to THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. The Artist as Engineer. Y AT TNE SIGN 0F TH~ G/-\~LANO DRAWN BY E. H. BLASHFIELD. THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. 177 resound with ringing hoofs and clash- ing steel, and a company bound on a mission to Sienna, escorted by some thirty lances, clattered past; not so fast but that the workmen from Niccol6 Ca- parras forges could salute its gallant young captain, whose fine armordec- orated with masques and lions heads was their own handiwork. As the sol- diers jingled by, the high houses echo- ing their clangor tenfold, the sculptor modelling a St. George for the armor- ers, looked long and wistfully after their leader, who rode with shoulders well- squared, and pointed sollerets turned aggressively out, forcing the burgesses to flatten themselves against walls, or to retreat incontinently under loggie, and reminding more than one of that roar- ing young spark of the Adimari, whose iron elbows and steel toes wrought such havoc on Dantes neighbors. These vividly costumed people of the Renascence have gone forever from the streets; they have stepped into the gilded frames of altar-pieces, or faded into the frescoed walls of choir and cloister; they have climbed the palace- stairs and vanished into quiet galler- ies ; they sleep in state in the canopied niches of Desiderio and Rossellino, and lie under the pictured stones of Santa Croce. But the background against which they moved is unaltered; the churches and palaces where painter and sculptor worked, the houses where they lodged, the shops where they sold and taught, the beautiful things they cre- ated are still there; the palaces of Brunelleschi and Michelozzo and Bene- detto are yet drawn up in line. They bear a strange likeness to the mailed ancestors of their builders, as they stand facing each other like duellists with a perpetual menace, holding high their blazoned shields, peering dis- trustfully through their grated win- dows barred like the eyeholes of a hel- met, thrusting out their torch-holders, defiant gauntlets, into the street, and flaunting their banners over the heads of the passers - by. The deep cornice shades their stern fronts like a hood drawn over a soldiers brows; and as the knight wore a scarf of broidered work, or a collar wrought with jewelled shells and flowers over his steel corse- VOL. XIII.18 let, each rugged fa9ade is softened into beauty by sculptured shrine or gilded escutcheon, cunningly forged lamp-iron and bridle - ring. Into the grim nar- rowness of each dark street had come some touch of color, some bit of ex- quisite ornament; and as the painter hurried to his shop in the morning or strolled at evening with his lute, he could see on every side the work of some brother artist. Close at hand was Donatellos stemma, where the lion of the Martelli ramped upon his azure field; under heavy wreaths of pale-tint- ed fruit a Robbia Madonna gleamed whitely; the huge fanale, or torch- holder, at the corner, bristling with spikes like some tropical cactus, was forged by Nicholas the Bargain-Maker; the rough-hewn palace which darkened the slit of a street, Benedetto of Ma- jano did not live to finish; that win- dow-grating Michael Angelo designed, bending the bars outward in beautys service to hold the elbow cushion, or the caged nightingale, or the handful of spring flowers in their glazed pot of Faenza-ware; while behind the half- open iron-studded doors Michelozzos columns rose between the orange-trees. Who can over-estimate the artistic value of such environment, the uncon- scious training of the eye, the educa- tion of the perceptive faculties, the keen stimulus and the wholesome restraint exercised by the constant presence of a universally recognized standard of excellence. The art student might draw from the antique in the garden of San Marco, or copy the frescos of the Brancacci Chapel in good company, with Michael Angelo and Raphael at his elbow (running the risk of broken bones if he happened to be envied by the studio-bully Torrigiani); and un- der his masters orders might work up details in a panel, or even follow a car- toon; but the city itself was his real Academy. All over this city the artists lodged and worked; the places still exist. There are dark arches where, in spite of perpetual twilight, masterpieces grew into being; and there are stairways of heavy gray stone that have been pol- ished and channelled by the shoes of masters who lived long ago. 178 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. In the Melon Street (now Via Rica- the Via Anguillara, Michael Angelo the soli) the memories thicken. There the old man in the Via Ghibellina, and in long-gowned trecentisti have walked; Via Ginori are the stairs down which Tafi, who set the solemn mosaic upon the young Raphael has often walked the dome of the Baptistery, and with with his host. Andrea del Sarto, with him his roguish pupil, Buffalmacco, Franciabigio, had his shop in that whose greatest works of art were his southern angle of the Piazza Or-San- monumental practical jokes. Giotto, Michele, where a dark vault gives en- too, the chief of them all, caped and trance to a street so narrow that lovers hooded as we see him in the Portico might clasp hands across it from the of the Uffizi, had come a little later to windows corbelled out above, and where, make the house of the five lamps too, the artists were next door to the trebly illustrious. The lamps are still palace of their arch-patrons, the mer- on the house-front, glimmering above chants of the mighty guild of wool, the little shrine where the old painters with its blazon and loggia and battle- often stopped to tell their beads before mented parapet. Fra Bartolommeo got the image of our Lady, who had been a his nickname of Baccio della Porta, good friend to their craft ever since the from the Roman Gate, near which he day she sat for its patron, Saint Luke. lived, and when later he took the ton- Perhaps they passed on thence to sure and renounced his art for a time, that garden of the Gaddi, in the little his comrade, Albertinelli, discouraged street not far away, to which the paint- by his loss, dropped palette and brushes ers pomegranate-trees gave the name and opened a wine-shop under those old of Via del Jilielaranejo, which it wears houses of the Alighieri, where nacque even to-day. In the Calzaioli, just il divino poeta. Ii Rosso, with his ap- beyond the Bigallo, and on the same prentice Battistino and his ape (whom side with it, about a hundred years the chronicles leave nameless), made life after Giotto, Donatello, and Michelozzo merry for the monks of Santa Croce; worked together like brothers, per- and Cellini, born near the modern iron fecting the art of sculpture, and hew- markets, and casting his bronze in the ing that tomb of Pope John in the Street of the Bower, studied first with Baptistery, which was the forerunner Bandini in the Furriers Quarter, then of all the lovely Tuscan-Renascence under the new dispensation of Duke tombal architecture. Later their mal- Cosimo, went with the other goldsmiths lets rang behind the cathedral at the to that Ponte Vecchio where the ap- corner of the Via dci Servi, while the prentice lads were stationed to offer minor music of goldsmiths hammer trinkets to the passing ladies, and to and niellists tool was heard from the the very shop whence his bust now shops of Pollajuolo and Finiguerra, in looks down upon his successors. So the Vacchereccia. Monasteries there are the tale runs; and the list is endless, too, where famous artists once worked, for Florence remembers her famous convents where the sisters painted, like men, and the archives beneath the pict- that Plantella Nelli, who had to make ure gallery of the Uflizi are crammed Herods and Judases of the novices, with records that give house, date, and since no man might penetrate the walls. name, dry bones to which the chroni- The convents are secularized now, but clers add lifethe life of the crowded, we still find them in all quarters of the narrow-streeted city, with its art, its in- city. dustry, its busy hours, its leisure, and Ghiberti cast his gates in the Via even its fun and jokes. Sant Egidio; to-day the house shelters For the hard-worked painters found the quaint foreign grace of Van der Vey- time for the latter, made time for them dens Flemish Madonna; and gerani- indeed. Woe to the man who was con- ums now flame in the garden of the Via ceited, credulous, or lazy; his foible was della Pergola, where Benvenutos fur- exploited by a dozen past-masters in naces once burned fiercely as the molt- the science of tormenting; Florontine en bronze became Perseus. tongues were proverbially sharp, and We visit Michael Angelo the boy in constant practice in the wordy warfare THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. 179 of the studio gave them even a finer edge. The greatest artists Donatello, Brunellesehi, and earlier, Buffalmacco con- cocted elaborate beffe and burle, with no pity for their victims; the temptation was great; the ages of faith had not passed away, many good folk accustomed to believe in miracles afforded golden opportunities to the prac- tical joker; and if we may believe Sacchetti, Ser Gio- vanni, and Boccaccio, the wags were equal to the oc- casion. There was such a fund of credulity lying idle, it was so easy to make Ca- landrino believe that he was invisible, to persuade the Doctor that he might sup with Helen and Cleopatra, to convince Il Grasso that he had changed his identi ty, that we can hardly blame the paint- ers for farces in which the whole town joined, even the good parish priest play- ing his part. This fun was rifest perhaps at the noonday hour, when Luigi Pulci takes us into that old market, around which the studios were set thickest, and which only three years ago stood just as it was when hungry industry, bent on dining, surged into the Mercato Vec- chio, Arte Minori and Maggiori at once. Here artists great and small, mas- ters and apprentices, dined; here was dinner enough for all Florence; and the irregular square, round which the tall, soot - stained houses crowded was a gluttons paradise, in which Mar- gutte would have found all the articles of his credohis tart and tartlet, his stuffed beccafichi, and his good wine. There were meals for all tastes and all purses; one could lunch on fruit and eggs and cheese with Donatello, or sup like a Magnifico on the boar that grinned from the butchers shop, and only two days before was crunching the acorns of Vallombrosa; there was good eating in the grimy, black shops, where before a huge fire a spit revolved loaded with trussed fowls and haunches of venison; and the pastry-cooks was not to be de spised with its de- licious scent of spices and warm pasties, just off the hot iron plates, set out in dainty white baskets ciambelli and cialdonibuns and wafers, the crisp berlingozzi that poor Visino thought worth all the kings and queens in Hungary, and those light, golden, sugar - sprinkled pastykins which the magnificent Lorenzo sang of. These delicacies were not for the apprentices, they brought their own empty flasks and canakins to the wine-shop, to be filled with white Trebbiano; they patronized the pork-butchers, buying whole strings of sausages, and the poulterers, whose neighborhood gave the famous nick- 180 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. name of Pollajuolo, and where one stu- dent at least bought the caged wild birds and set them free, while onlook- ers wondered at the queer caprices of young Leonardo da Vinci. Wine and bread, onions and sausages once con- sumed, whether before the shops or on the steps of Santa Maria in Campidoglio, the prentices went back to the shop. It was usually in the massive basement of a tall house, fronting some tiny piazza, or narrow street. The heavy iron-barred shutters, which at night closed its four arches, were raised and fastened to the wall, and even the pon- derous door stood open, for light was precious to the workers within. The lower half of these arched openings was filled by counters of solid masonry, to which a couple of seats were often added on the outer side. Within the furnishing was meagre enough; a few heavy joint stools, hacked by genera- tions of students, a strong box, a deli- cately wrought pair of bronze scales for weighing pearls, gold, silver, and precious colors; a carved and gilded triptych frame hanging on the wall waiting to be filled with the patron saints of its future purchaser; on one counter a small anvil, a goldsmiths hammer, graver, and pincers, and a goatskin bellows. A charcoal drawing or two was stuck on the wall; from a peg hung a fine jewelled girdle; and on a bracket over the door were some elaborately chiselled silver trenchers. At the back a door led into the studio lighted from the next street, where the students worked under the masters supervision, drawing, painting, model- ling, and carving. The life of these art students was di- vided into three sharply defined stages. The child of eight or ten, who was learn- ing the rudiments of the craft, was called an apprentice; the youth who aided in the execution of important commissions an assistant (companion would be the literal translation of the Italian word), and the fully fledged young artist who had begun to fly alone a maestro, or master. The whole training was emi- nently practical; there were no medals, no exhibitions, no public awards. Now and then there was a great competition for some important civic monument like the doors of the Baptistery or the fa9ade of the cathedral, to which not only Italians, but artists from beyond the Alps were invited to send designs; but these were very rare, and by the end of the fifteenth century had prac- tically ceased to exist. There were no academies, no public art schools, and no government appropriations for ar- tistic instruction, no official institu- tions; but the state, while ignoring art in the abstract, encouraged the in- dividual artist. To produce some- thing which somebody would want to possess, to turn his knowledge of the beautiful, his mastery of technical pro- cesses to some concrete end, was the object of the education of the future artist a work - a - day genius ignorant of our modern formula of art for arts sake. Pietro Yanucci painted the Flor- entines on altar - curtains while wait- ing for the time when, as Perugino, he should work on the walls of the Sistine Chapel; Bodolfo Ghirlandajo told sad stories of the death of kings on the baldacehino draperies for Ml-Souls- Day; and Brunellesehi chased rings and set jewels while dreaming of an- tique temples and giant domes. Thus were executed not only the master- pieces we admire to-day in the churches and museums of Europe, but a whole series of minor works, which surround the pictures and statues of the Renas- cence, like the fantastical bordering about the illuminated pages of the missaL Art did not mean the production of pictures and statues only, it meant a practical application of the knowledge of the beautiful to the needs of daily life. So the bottega hummed and buzzed with the manifold business of the artist. If orders came in his ab- sence the apprentices were to accept them all, even if for insignificant trifles; the master would furnish the design and the pupil would execute; not from greed of gain as with Perugi- no, but from the pure joy in creative work which made Ghirlandajo willing to decorate hoops for womens bas- kets, and at the same time long for a commission to paint the whole circuit of all the walls of Florence with sto- ries; and which enabled him, although & THE FLORENTINE AR TIST. 181 he died at the age of forty-nine, to leave behind him a second population of Florentines in the choirs and chapels of her churches. And there were constant opportuni- ties for the exercise of this creative fac- ulty. Orders did not cease. Now it was a group of brown Carmelites who called master and men to their church, to be at once scene-setters, costumers, carpenters, and machinists during the Ascension-day ceremonies, and for the angel-filled scaffolding from which va- rious sacred personages should mount to heaven. The Abbess of St. Cathe- rines came in state to order designs for embroideries to lighten the heavy leisure of the nuns; or some wealthy merchant, just made purveyor of Flor- entine goods to the most Holy Father, would put the papal escutcheon on the cornice of his house, and wished to know what the master might demand for his drawing, what for the pietra- sererta or marble, what for the sculpt- urewhere to the keys and tiara sur- mounting the arms of Rovere or Me- dici should be added, as supporters, some device of the painters invention. Sometimes abbot or prior brought a great order for the decoration of a whole chapel or cloister, and the botte- ga palpitated with expectant enthusi- asm, in spite of which the prudent master did not forget to specify in the contract that for the said sum he would furnish the paint, except the gold and ultramarine, which must be supplied by the monks, for the breth- ren dearly loved these costly colors, and the painter well knew that without this important clause he should have the prior always at his elbow demand- ing more and more of the blue. Even the imagination of a Pope Julius II., equal to the conception of a Saint Peters and of a mausoleum as big as a church, could not rise above the mo- nastic tradition, and he could say as he stood for the first time beneath the aw- ful prophets and sibyls of the Sistine Chapel, I dont see any gold in all 1~ this! Again, there would come an embassy in gowns of state from some neighboring city, with armed guards and sealed parchments, bringing a commission for the painting of church or town-hall; or a foreign trader from Milan or Genoa would step in to hag- gle over a portrait. Most welcome was a bridal party, for its manifold needs gave work to the whole studio, even to the ten-year old apprentices in the back shop. Chi prende moglie vuol quattrini he who takes a wife needs cashruns the Florentine proverb, and we do not wonder at it when we realize what a quantity of fine things a bridegroom was expected to supply. There were the dower-chestscarved, gilded, and painted with triumphs of love or chas- tity; then the shrine with its picture of Madonna flanked by patron saints for the brides chamber, and if the sposo was inclined to do things handsomely the painter could add the portraits of the future husband and wife in the in- ner side of the gilded shutters; a chased and enamelled holy - water basin, and sprinkler to hang beneath it of course; and for the tiring mirror, just arrived from Venice, the master must design a silver frame; then, while our hand was in, why not add a painted frieze of put- tini on a blue ground to run between the wainscoting and the beamed ceil- ing? Next (for the list was a long one) came the damigellas book of Hours, wherein the tedium of long prayers was pleasantly enlivened by the contempla- tion of goodly majuscules and fair min- iatures. Important, too, was the plate, no small item in days when a comfit sal- ver or a tankard was signed Verrocchio or Ghiberti. Then, objects of moment- ous interest and of anxious consulta- tion to the whole party, came the jewels and their settings. The buyers brought the raw material with them, pearls and balas-rubies, the precious convoy of a Venetian galley fresh from the far East; a big turkis engraved with strange characters, torn from the neck of an Al- gerian pirate by a Genoese sailor, and an antique cameo unearthed in a Ro- man vineyard only a week before. Each jewel was then examined, weighed, and entered in two account - books the painters and the ownersto prevent any possibility of fraud or mistake. Afterward ensued a most animated and dramatic discussion of designs, details, and prices, during which artist and cus 182 THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. tomers vied with each other in fine his- trionic effects, followed in due time by an amicable settlement and more en- tries in those diurnal books which still exist among the domestic archives of Florentine families to inform poster- ity how many peacock feathers went to a garland, how many hundredweight of fine pearls to a girdle, and just how many forms Macigni, Strozzi, or Bardi paid for a buckle or a pouch-clasp. Strange as such varied orders would appear to a modern artist, they seemed natural enough to the painters and pa- trons of the Renascence, to whom art meant, first of all, the embellishment of daily life. In these days of special- ists and perfected processes it is difil- cult to realize how wide a field was then open to the creative artist, and in how many different directions his personal- ity sought expression. All life was his, and all its forms; nothing was too small or too great, too trivial to be tried, too difficult to be dared; in him the audacity of the revolutionist was united to the infinite patience of the gem-cutter. He attended personally to a thousand details now relegated to trained subordinates. He must answer for his materials, must dabble in the grave art of the apothecaries (that ar- te degli speziali e medici which called Dante member), that the chemicals might be pure for the color his appren- tices ground; he must linger in the Pellicceria, or Furriers Quarter, choos- ing fair, smooth vellum, and must anx- iously test the panel upon which Ma- donna should appear, lest fine gold and costly ultramarine might be wasted upon unseasoned wood. He must train his model, watch the carving of his picture-frame, and see that the oil was properly clarified. The sculptor went to the quarries to select his blocks of marble, and superintended their re- moval to the town; he examined the jewel on which cameo or intaglio was to be cut, and planned the scaffolding for his colossal statues. The architect arranged all the practical details for the execution of his designs, invented machines for raising stones and beams, built the bridges and platforms used by the workmen, was his own foreman and master-builder, and of him it might be truly said, No stone was laid that he did not wish to see, Non sarebbe murata una pietra, che non lavesse vo- luta vedere. The chisel, the needle, the compass, the burin, the brush, the goldsmiths hammer, the caligraphs pen, even the potters-clay and the masons trowel were alike familiar to him. He could fill a dusky Gothic chapel with a fres- coed paradise radiant with golden heads and glimmering halos and the sweep of snowy wings, and fashion an ear-ring for a pretty woman; he could design embroidery patterns in chi- aro-oscuro for certain nuns and other people, and build a bridge over Arno that has stood for five centuries against storm and flood, even when the river swollen with rain and laden with wrack tossed its tawny waves high against the piers and battered them with uprooted trees and clods of earth and broken beams. He could set a great cupola on the cathedral walls and write abusive sonnets to those who declared he was tempting God by this achievement; he could, on his way to Carrara to select marble for a monument, casually and as an incident of his errand, survey and w THE FLORENTINE ARTIST. 183 build a road over the torrent-beds and the shelter of the eaves around some sharp spurs of the mountain; he could sweet-faced saint. cramp his hand to fill his ladys mis- And in these myriad forms of loveli- sal marge with fiowerets; he could ness he could immortalize his native design a cartoon for the tapestry-weav- town; freely as he scattered his riches ers and crowd heavens glories into a over Italy it was for Florence that he gilded triptych as well as he could reserved his most precious gifts ; it is make scaling ladders and armor war- to him, the greatest of her sons, that she ships ; he could decorate a dower- owes her proud title of The BeautifuL chest, and paint a cathedral apse, and During long centuries of silent shame chisel a holy-water basin while fortify- when the foreign yoke lay heavy on her ing a city; he could write to a Duke neck, the dead artists still served her; of Milan describing his inventions for she hid her misery and degradation un- war-machines, bombs, and field-pieces, der the splendid mantle of their con- his plans for fortifications, canals, and summate achievements, which still sane- buildings, adding as an after-thought tifies her and will make her a place of at the end of the list, in painting also pilgrimage as long as art has a single I can do what may be done as well as votary. any, be he who he may. For creeds decay, and scholarship He could handle a pen as well as a grows musty, and the wisdom of one brush, and fill the empty mould of the century is the foolishness of the next, sonnet with the fiery molten gold of but beauty endures forever. A scepti- real passion; he could write treatises cal age smiles at the bigotry which on art rich in wise precepts, histories condemned Matteo Palmieris picture, of sculpture in which his own works and yet is charmed by the melancholy were not slighted, dissertations on do- and mannered graces of Botticelli; the mestic economy, and world-famous lives of fellow-craftsmen. Using the style like a chisel, carving character in broad, virile strokes, molding colloquial Ital- ian like wax, he could cast, in the furnace of his own fierce nature, an unequalled full-length portrait of the man of the Renascence in the best of modern au- tobiographies. He could make scientific discoveries, solve mathematical problems, embroid- er an altar-cloth, invent costumes for a masque, summon the gods of Olym- pus to the magic circle of the seal ring, engrave buttons in niello, illustrate Dantes Paradise and Petrarchs Tn- umphs, design moulds for jellies and confections, model statuettes in sugar paste, and make of a banquet as rich a feast for the eye as for the palate. He could damascene a corselet, paint a banner for a procession with rose- crowned, peacock-winged angels and gaunt patron saints, or cast a huge church-bell girdled with many pattern- ings and Gothic letters which still tell us Franciscus Fiorentinus me fecit ; scholar shudders at the barbarisms of he could paint and glaze a sweet water- the famous humanists, but the sculptor jar, or a cool-toned pavement, or a still takes off his cap to Donateilo; the shrine where under heavy garlands the mysticism of the Divine Comedy rings cherubs clustered close like doves in strangely hollow on a modern ear, but 184 A MEMORY. have the Night and Morning of Michael Angelo no meaning for us? The sci- entist of to-day looks with reverent pity at Galileos rude telescope, but the architect counts Brunellesehis dome among the miracles of his art; Leo- nardos fortifications have crumbled away, his inventions are superseded, only the drawings remain of the fa- mous flying machine; but la Giocon- das mysterious smile has not ceased to fascinate an older world. A MEMORY: ANNE REEVE ALDRICH. By Edith M Thomas. SINCE through the Dark thy singing soul took flight (A wistful cadence lingering after thee), Receding ever, thy young face J see, Once seen, once only, on a festal night, Crowned with a tender wreath of green and white. But now, alas! its leaves droop witheringly, Its lilies-of-the-valley gathered be From the pale meadows far from mortal sight. So dost thou come, so still the memory haunt, Like Hero, with drownd eyes and long bright locks, Tossed up the reedy marge of Hellespont, Or her who from the steep Leucadian rocks Sank underneath the waters seamless weft, And but a mellow gleam, a remnant music, left

Edith M. Thomas Thomas, Edith M. A Memory: Anne Reeve Aldrich 184-185

184 A MEMORY. have the Night and Morning of Michael Angelo no meaning for us? The sci- entist of to-day looks with reverent pity at Galileos rude telescope, but the architect counts Brunellesehis dome among the miracles of his art; Leo- nardos fortifications have crumbled away, his inventions are superseded, only the drawings remain of the fa- mous flying machine; but la Giocon- das mysterious smile has not ceased to fascinate an older world. A MEMORY: ANNE REEVE ALDRICH. By Edith M Thomas. SINCE through the Dark thy singing soul took flight (A wistful cadence lingering after thee), Receding ever, thy young face J see, Once seen, once only, on a festal night, Crowned with a tender wreath of green and white. But now, alas! its leaves droop witheringly, Its lilies-of-the-valley gathered be From the pale meadows far from mortal sight. So dost thou come, so still the memory haunt, Like Hero, with drownd eyes and long bright locks, Tossed up the reedy marge of Hellespont, Or her who from the steep Leucadian rocks Sank underneath the waters seamless weft, And but a mellow gleam, a remnant music, left By T. R. Sullivan. There cannot be two loves in a mans life; there can be one only, deep as the sea, but without shores. BALZAC. IT all began with Moore, who passed the club-window in deep mourning for his wife. I had expressed my sympathy for him, and Arkwright had given inarticulate assent to it ; then moving uneasily in his chairI think to make sure that we were quite alone he added: Everybody pities him. But nobody pities you or ~ Certainly not on that score, you miserable unmarried Benedick! I an- swered, resisting a strong inclination to laugh lest I should frighten him off; for such a speech from Arkwright was unusual, to say the least, and it aroused all my innocent curiosity. I remind those who know us only by sight that we are bachelors of a certain weight and importance, out-and-out club- men by long education; coming in regu- larly at five oclock, we often stay until the doors are locked and lateror ear- lier, accurately speaking. Arkwright is fifteen years older than I am, though he does not look it; there is, in fact, something uncannily young about him in spite of his white hairs; he has a very sharp brown eye, and a brilliant hardness as of highly tempered steel * that makes him shine in any crowd of men. When you are alone with him, he softens or toughens according to his mood and yours; yet even in his weak- est moment keeping his tender side so carefully guarded, that he has never to my knowledge been charged with sen- sitiveness upon any subject. We two were alone, as it happened, at this twi- light hour of the long spring day, hav- ing come into the library (our club Sahara so far as frequentation goes) to settle a disputed point in linguistics by reference to the dictionary. He had maintained that the verb to orients was not good English, and I was right, as usual, though that is neither here nor there. Then we sat silent for a while in the window, drank once, per- haps twice; and when poor Jim Moore went by in his black clothes our mem- orable talk began. But it is precisely on that score that we deserve pitypresumably, insisted Arkwright. The miserable old bache- lors are not born, but made; in nine eases out of ten from an amatory first cause, so to speak. And I say that the man who loves a woman devotedly and never gets her is more to be pitied than one who loses the best of wives in a year and a day. Jim has his memories at leastlucky devil ! Of course Arkwright fired into the air. But his shaft happened to graze an old scar of mine which has not troubled me for years. How these trifling injuries will sometimes retain their susceptibility, ready, at a touch, for a sharp, unexpected twinge of pain! TO HER.

T. R. Sullivan Sullivan, T. R. To Her 185-193

By T. R. Sullivan. There cannot be two loves in a mans life; there can be one only, deep as the sea, but without shores. BALZAC. IT all began with Moore, who passed the club-window in deep mourning for his wife. I had expressed my sympathy for him, and Arkwright had given inarticulate assent to it ; then moving uneasily in his chairI think to make sure that we were quite alone he added: Everybody pities him. But nobody pities you or ~ Certainly not on that score, you miserable unmarried Benedick! I an- swered, resisting a strong inclination to laugh lest I should frighten him off; for such a speech from Arkwright was unusual, to say the least, and it aroused all my innocent curiosity. I remind those who know us only by sight that we are bachelors of a certain weight and importance, out-and-out club- men by long education; coming in regu- larly at five oclock, we often stay until the doors are locked and lateror ear- lier, accurately speaking. Arkwright is fifteen years older than I am, though he does not look it; there is, in fact, something uncannily young about him in spite of his white hairs; he has a very sharp brown eye, and a brilliant hardness as of highly tempered steel * that makes him shine in any crowd of men. When you are alone with him, he softens or toughens according to his mood and yours; yet even in his weak- est moment keeping his tender side so carefully guarded, that he has never to my knowledge been charged with sen- sitiveness upon any subject. We two were alone, as it happened, at this twi- light hour of the long spring day, hav- ing come into the library (our club Sahara so far as frequentation goes) to settle a disputed point in linguistics by reference to the dictionary. He had maintained that the verb to orients was not good English, and I was right, as usual, though that is neither here nor there. Then we sat silent for a while in the window, drank once, per- haps twice; and when poor Jim Moore went by in his black clothes our mem- orable talk began. But it is precisely on that score that we deserve pitypresumably, insisted Arkwright. The miserable old bache- lors are not born, but made; in nine eases out of ten from an amatory first cause, so to speak. And I say that the man who loves a woman devotedly and never gets her is more to be pitied than one who loses the best of wives in a year and a day. Jim has his memories at leastlucky devil ! Of course Arkwright fired into the air. But his shaft happened to graze an old scar of mine which has not troubled me for years. How these trifling injuries will sometimes retain their susceptibility, ready, at a touch, for a sharp, unexpected twinge of pain! TO HER. 186 TO HER. Bab! said I, with instinctive cun- ning, as artlessly as possible. If the martyrs to your amatory first cause could be forced to parade in mourning, the world would recognize and pity them, no doubt. But how many of our own acquaintance should we find in the procession? All, to a manespecially including those who remain single from choice! Choice, what humbug! Not a bad idea that, to put us all into distinctive mourning. What a reversal that would bring about in the worlds judgment! No more accusations of selfishness! No more envy from the married men who have drawn unlucky numbers! An unlucky number, I argued, re- flectively, being so much better than no number at all. Why, of course it is, fiercely re- joined Arkwright. What are you do- ing here with your mission unfulfilled? Where are the kith and kin that should be gathering round you? You are alone in the worldold already. A year or two more will bring you to your dotage. Who will care for you then? Who will hold your hand and smooth your pil- low? Who Dont! I pleaded, having a consti- tutional dread of any approach to se- nility in my own case. Dont go on; unless you want to drive me out into the street to fling myself away upon the first comer this one, for instance. And I laughed at the thought; for Miss Lancaster (who chanced to pass as I spoke), though still handsome in her rigid way, is no longer young. More- over, she is so enveloped in the icy at- mosphere of her own interests that I have ceased to find her interesting. Arkwrights laugh had even a more ungallant ring in it than my own, and he scowled upon Miss Lancasters state- ly figure until it swept beyond our ken. Her dancing days are over, said he. That woman has accomplished all the harm on earth that she is likely to do. Harm! I repeated, all my native chivalry rising to the surface in her de- fence. What do you mean by that? She is in all the charities, devoted to good works Expiation, my dear fellow! broke in Arkwright, with a sneer. She ruined one mans life deliberately; one? two! and Heaven knows how many more! you never heard Ludlows story, perhaps. No; how should you, even if you and he had belonged to the same generation? Ludlow? The man who made a fortune in a single night, out of copper or something? and then turned biblio- phile and poet, and And then diedunmarried. Yes, thats Ludlow. But he never set him- self up as a poet. The little book of verses on one of the shelves behind us was published after his death. We ought not to treasure that up against him, for it had a very limited circula- tion. No one read it. No one in this club, Ill venture to state, has ever taken it down. There! I thought so! And Arkwright blew the dust from the top of a thin, unpretentious octavo which he had found while he was speaking. Then he put the volume back with something like a sigh. Never tell tales out of school, or in a club! quoted I, from my own social philosophy; but as we are quite alone behind closed doors, to all intents and purposes, and as the tale is so old that it has been forgotten I see. You want to hear it. My dear fellow, you might have had it for the asking, without your apologetic preamble. For the thought of that woman brings back the fire of my youth, and makes my chilled blood boil in my veins. I would gladly proclaim her story from the housetops for the benefit of the community. Oh, these good women! The wrong they do is never estimated, simply because it is never so proclaimed and never comes to light. My voice, if I could raise it, might save some prospective victim, or teach all her kind a lesson. Have a cigar and split a soda with me, while I tell you about Ludlow. Youll say I am prejudiced. Well, discount half for prejudice, and charge the rest against that womans charitable nature. We wont be too hard upon her frailties; eternal limbo with no hope of heaven for her, that will do. So, when the brandy - and - soda had been set before us and all was quiet again, Arkwright began: To HER. 187 Ludlow, you must understand, was an exceptionally good fellow, who in his youth had an exceptionally hard time of it. His name you know, of course; r his ancestors were distinguished, rich social leaders. But the stock seems to have been poorly grafted. At any rate, it frittered itself away and died off. Harrys father came to grief financially and the boy was turned loose early to shift for himself. He became a clerk somewhere down town, barely able to make both ends meet out of a moderate salary. But he was never down on his luck, never morose; his happy tempera- ment and his sense of humor helped him through. He had studious tastes which he developed under difficulties, pu]ling out his books in the spare mo- ments of business hoursyet this with- out a sign of priggishness; on the con- trary, he showed great tact in dealing with all sorts of men agreeably on their own ground. He could be firm enough if occasion required it, but he remained courteous always. His secret was the rare gift of unselfishness. I really be- lieve that he thought of himself last in all cases where a question of precedence was involved. There never was a mean streak in him. The worst of us has his secret admiration, if you can only get at it, for somebody most unlike himself, and I had mine for Harry Ludlow, though we were never very intimate; he was an older man, you see, and for the greater part of his life a very busy one; everybody liked him, moreover; if ever a man lived without an enemy, it was surely he. Well, about this time, as the almanacs say, Miss Lancaster appeared upon the scene. You can easily imagine how she looked. Her beauty, always of the state- ly kind, would have assured her success without the other influences. If she was not immediately marked down by the fortune-hunters, it was perhaps because they stood a little in awe of her keen eye and clear head. For she had money in her own right, more money in prospect; money enough to count, for or against, and with one man, at least, it counted against her. It was late in her first winter that Miss Lancaster made the acquaintance of Harry Ludlow. They were intro- duced at a balL I was standing near, and the circumstance impressed itself upon me because she looked her very best that night, and our little knot of men, gathered as usual about the door- way, remarked that they made a fine combination. They got on famously, and I havent the smallest doubt now that Harry was bowled over in that first interview. After this, they were in the way of meeting constantly, as was only natural; but I cant remember any gossip of a possible engagement. It probably never got to that, for as the spring came on Harry shied off, cut so- ciety, refused to go anywhere, on ac- count of business, he said. It is un- doubtedly true that he had been pro- moted a peg, perhaps even then had made his first small excursion into cop- per; but he still held only a clerkship, and his real reason for secluding him- self was quite different, as I have reason to know. He wanted to avoid Miss Lan- caster, or rather Miss Lancasters money, that was the amount of itan absurd- ly morbid scruple, no doubt; but if he had a fault, it was that of over-atten- tiveness to the worlds opinion. So, having grown to be intimate friends, they drifted apart. Miss Lan- caster passed her summer in Europe, while Harry toiled on here in the heat harder and harder, until at last he broke down. When he began to mend they persuaded him to take a vacation, and on his way home, in good health and spirits, he stopped for a weeks vis- it at a country - house, never dreaming the fates had ordained that Miss Lan- caster should return from abroad just in time to meet him there. And there, just what might have been expected oc- curred, under these favorable influences, in the bright autumn weather. Years afterward, one of the party told me that her interest in him was so marked as to m~ke some sort of understanding be- tween them seem inevitable before the end of the visit. What the lookers-on saw, Harry must have seen, and that, to- gether with the unwonted propinquity, finished him. His scruples melted away; losing his head completely, as he had already lost his heart, on the last day he offered himself to Miss Lancaster, and was accepted. But the party broke up 18~ ~TO HER. without the discovery that they had come to a formal engagementan en- gagement never formally discovered by the world at large; for a week or two later, when the time came to announce it, Miss Lancaster changed her mind and concluded to break it off instead. There had been no quarrel; I doubt if the man ever quarrelled with anybody, and I am sure he never did with her; no, she broke her word calmly and de- liberately, finding that she had made a little mistake, and that she could not love him enough to marry him that was all. It is safe to assume that Harry Lud- low did not accept this situation with- oat a struggle, though exactly what ar- guments he brought to bear I cant say, for he never confided in me. One thing is certain, namely, that all his resist- ance came to nothing. He was shelved, conscientiously if you will, but definite- ly; and he never forgot it. The change in him was gradual; he dropped one club after another, until you had to go out of your way if you wanted to meet him. It was always pleasant to do so, but you could not help feeling that he had sobered down and grown old, and that he liked to be alone at the end of the days work. His best friends may have imagined that there was an under- lying cause for this, but if so they held their tongues about it; which is equiv- alent to saying that the true state of the case was never suspected at all. We are accustomed to conclude, though the evidence is far from con- clusive, that the law of compensation adjusts all our worldly affairs for us sooner or later; and according to this, Ludlow was entitled to the stroke of luck which actually came some time in the course of the next two years. A turn of the wheel made him independent, more than that, rich, for a man of his moder- ate ideas. As he had never liked busi- ness life, he promptly drew out of it and went abroad, where he travelled for a while, collecting books, writing verses, disporting himself generally. Then he came back to us, fitted up apartments, renewed his former friendships, made new ones, and was his old self again, except in one important particular; so- ciety, so-called, he had now given up absolutely; certain of its lady-patron- esses did their utmost to entice him to their houses, but the pet bird had tried his wings and would not be domesti- cated any more. He was most amiable with them, laughing at his own laziness, as he called it; there were too many changes of costume in the fashionable day to suit him; he had crystallized, his habits were formed; he had his books to study, his fire to tend, his friends who dropped in at night to en- tertain, and these pursuits sufficed for a man of his years. He had abandoned all thought of marriage. Why, then, should he pose in the market-place to awaken in the female heart hopes of acquirement that could never be real- ized? The shrewd observer would have hesitated to call Ludlow a happy man, perhaps; but he thus contrived to pass for a contented one, carrying his point, and holding his own course without of- fence. He was not permitted to hold it long, however; in a year or so the law of compensation interfered again, this time for a final adjustment. He caught cold one day, and died the next without a will, leaving his little property to be distributed among a dozen heirs. Here Arkwright paused to eye me for a moment; then he drained his glass, and at my suggestion we ordered more of the same. So, said I, with a shade of disap- pointment which my tone no doubt be- trayed, they never met, never came together; and that is all?~ Not quite, he replied; though your inference is not unnaturaL The story of my life and yours, I suppose, will end with the grave, as most lives do. But Ludlow, you see, was a horse of another color. What do you mean? Ill tell you. But, first, let us go back for a moment to that woman. Meaning Miss Lancaster? Yes; always reminding you that she is very charitable, and therefore to be dealt with tenderly. In her, all this __ time, no mental change whatever was apparent. No shadow of Ludlow s un- happiness darkened her life, nor did she become identified with good works then. She simply pursued pleasure and caught TO HER. 189 up with it, in all its rose-colored schemes taking the lead to which she was entitled as a reigning beauty. For, through the four years that intervened before poor Harrys death, she held her own tri- umphantly so far as looks went, and gained in distinction of manner, in grace, ease, and all that goes to make up what we call charm. Her success was marvellous, and she had the good sense to seem unaware of it. If one could only get her! was in the mind, Ill vent- ure to say, if not upon the lips, of many eligible men. The details of the Lud- low affair had been kept dark; and though she may have rejected subse- quently a score of lovers, for aught I know, there was no blame attached to her on their account. She had never committed herself to another engage- ment, I am sure, when her second Rich- mond rode into the field. As he is still alive, it would be unfair to tell you his name. We will call him X, if you please, and take his good looks, his vir- tues, and defects for granted; the fact that she found him worthy of her steel need not force me to establish his iden- tity. There can be no harm in stating, though, that X had been an absentee, and therefore had all the effect of a new figure on her wide horizon. He fell into line at once, and soon worked his way to a place in the front rank of her ad- mirers. Now call me, if you like, a bar- barous bigot, for the emphatic assertion that from that point she lured him on. A. woman, as you must know very well, may encourage a man in divers little ways that severally amount to nothing, but that, summed up together, can only convince him that he is not indifferent to her. These devices Miss Lancaster understood, and she employed them with the happiest results. She kept her eye upon the game, which was de- coyed, snared, bagged. In other words, X in his turn became engaged to her. He was desperately in love, and on the dull November afternoon in which she gave him her favorable answer he could not contain himself. It had been ar- ranged, as usual in such cases, I believe, that the news should not get out until certain friends who might feel aggrieved contrariwise could be duly notifieda matter of a week or so. But going home that day, X fell in with me, and poured his happiness into my sympa- thetic ear, first swearing me to secrecy. In this way, quite by chance, my ear also became the repository of the bit- terness that followed. All this took place in the year of Ludlows death. Six weeks after that event it may have been, when this first confidence was thrust upon me. A day or two later I went to the Ludlow book sale. I must explain that since Harry died intestate, the administrator had arranged for the disposal of his library at public auction. A formal advertise- ment stated that the books would be sold singly after the usual manner, in alphabetical order, according to a num- bered catalogue. I wanted a remem- brance of him, so I looked in on the first afternoon Lo see how things stood, and found them dismal to the last de- gree. A driving storm made the at- tendance very small; we were scarcely twenty souls all told, and though the dealers ran up prices now and then, the bidding could not have been called lively. The auction-room was intoler- ably hot and stuffy, and its flaming gas- light in the middle half blinded me un- til I had moved down beyond it close under the desk; there biding my time, while book after book that I did not want went for a song, in spite of sharp flings at the general sluggishness from our auctioneer, who nearly lost his pa- tience. At last he put up a Sir Thomas Browne in an old edition1646, I think; this, though not especially valuable, struck my fancy, and I made a motion for it. My bid was raised once, twice, and again, obviously by a signal like my own, for no one had spoken. Glancing over my shoulder I saw that my silent competitor was a woman, the only one present, a late-coiner apparently, who stood at the back of the room near the door. Her veil was down, and the gas- flame between us was so dazzling that her figure could scarcely be made out from my advanced position. I neither recognized her, nor had the remotest idea that we had ever met, but I did not bid again. She bought the book, and before her name could be demanded, a clerk, stepping forward, whispered that 190 TO HER. the lady wished to carry off her prop- erty at once. As she did so, I saw in mild surprise that I had been crossing swords with Miss Lancaster. Without a look at the small quarto in old calf, which I still coveted, she paid her price hastily and turned to go. But a bit of paper, fluttering out, detained her an instant longer; she caught this up, ex- amined it, and laid it back carefully be- tween the leaves. A loose title, I thought, as the door closed behind her; or, perhaps, only a fly-leaf with poor Harry Ludlows autograph. My guesses hit wide of the mark; for the loose sheet was not a fly-leaf, not yet a title-page, nor had it anything whatever to do with the quaint discourse upon Urn-Burial, in which by chance it had lain buried. It was merely one of Harrys own manu- scripts carelessly left there, no doubt, at the time of its composition. Had I bought the book, I should have treas- ured always, without fully comprehend- ing it, this scrap of work from Ludlows brain and hand. For me it would have had great value, but no particular sig- nificance. Chance willed otherwise, and gave the document straight into the hands of the one human being who was capable of its interpretation, the very one, in fact, to whom it was addressed. In spite of that, the writer, I am con- vinced, never meant for a single mo- ment to bring his lines to Miss Lan- casters notice; and, if his own words are to be trusted, the direct result of their disclosure was the last thing on earth he would have desired. This result, unexplained at first, was not long delayed. Three nights after my small adventure of the auction-room, when I had entirely forgotten it, X burst in upon me very, late, pale as a ghost, with a look most unlike a happy lovers. Good Heavens! I stammered. What has happened? Miss Lancas- ter Miss Lancasteryes ;. he explained incoherently. I have been out of town called away suddenly on business called back suddenly too, by this! And he handed me a letter. It was hers, begging to be released from her engagement. She did not love him as he deserved to be loved. Her discovery had come too late, but happily in time to prevent its coming to the worlds knowledge. He must for- give her, if he couldforget her, at all events. Nothing could alter this de- termination, into which she had been led reluctantly but irrevocably through no fault of his. She was much to blame, she should never forgive her- self; and she implored him to make no attempt to see her. A meeting would bring only deeper pain to both. Dumb with astonishment, I turned to X, who had watched me tremulously. What do you say to that? he gasped in a strange voice, almost un- recognizable. He was like a man stand- ing appalled in the presence of sud- den death, for whom one fears that the shock may also prove his death-blow. Say? I repeated, indignantly. Why, this is monstrous! You must insist upon seeing her, insist that she shall give you an explanation! He paced the room for a while, un- able to talk, then grew calmer; and we discussed the matter at great length. He left me, promising to see her, to let me know, afterward, what came of it. I waited two days, but had no word. Then I wrote, and received a line in an- swer requesting me to call upon him. The excitement had passed off, and, though very grave and sad, he was self- possession itself. At my inquiring look, he shook his head; then quietly in- formed me that, according to my ad- vice, he had seen her that very day. She had, at first, refused to explain her letter, but, overcome with his re- proaches, had yielded and had confessed to serving Ludlow in the same fashion. She had made a terrible mistake, that never could be set right in this world. Ludlow was the man she had really preferred above all others, the only man on earth she ever could have loved. In vain X urged that two wrongs never made a right, that poor Ludlow was dead and buried, that he, himself, lived and loved her, that she had promised to love him. She was deaf to his logic, deaf to his entreaties. She could not keep her promise. Assured of this her- self, she had now but one duty to make him assured of it. And when, at last, with all his arguments exhausted, TO HER. 191 he stood speechless before this calm, unemotional conviction, she closed their debate forever by handing him the paper found in Ludlows copy of the Urn-Burial. It was merely the rough draft of some verses. They are not re- markably original, not great in any way. They do not even show the high-water mark of Ludlows rivulet of talent. And yet, with your permission, I will read them to you.~~ Night had almost descended upon us, and our lamps had not been lighted. But in the window where we sat it was still possible to make out a line of print. Arkwright turned to the shelf, took down the book again, and stepping nearer to the light found his place in it. Listen! he said. As I told you before, they are addressed TO HER. Though you and I have not met for years, To-night, I wake in that mist of tears One thought of old had the force to start The thought that never has left my heart. For love like mine, deny it who can, Comes once, but once, in the life of man; And if he triumphs, the skies may fall, And if he loses, he loses all. I wonder if you regret; perchance, Some word of the past, some circumstance Has proved the worth of that force unseen, And made you long for what might have been. Or, in the future, this written word May plead with notes in my voice unheard, To make you pause at the broken line And sigh, and say: All his life was mine! Ah, then, perchance, I shall hear the grass Pressed softly back, as your footsteps pass To bring, where my sightless eyes shall see, The tear for my grave, denied to me. Nay, do not come; for I think my love Would burst its cerements, the weight above, And my fierce arms strive through turf and mould For you, with that force you feared of old! No. no; I would not that all the pain feel, by you should be felt again. would not, though Heaven before me shone, Bring you to know all that I have known. Live on, to think that the wound has healed With never a scar to be revealed; When we two meet in the coming years, Peace to your smiles, and to me no tears! Arkwrights low, clear voice had for once a degree of expression in it that surprised and interested me. I should have declared him incapable of so much feeling. He put away the book without comment; then taking his old place, he lighted a cigar and handed one to me. Absorbed in something else, I ac- cepted it mechanically, becoming con- scious a moment later that I had sighed in doing so. Arkwrightlaughed gently. Thanks! said he. You make a friendly audi- ence. The thing is not worth much, yet I hoped it would touch you. Yes, I said, still following my own thought more than his. So she leads, as you say, a life of expiation? But with no such self-admission, you may be sure, he retorted. Her regret was like her beauty, skin-deep, as the regret of such a woman must always be. She has drifted into the life she liked best. Thats the whole story. How you hate her! said I, thor- oughly myself once more. Upon my soul, I believe you are the unknown quantity. Does your name begin with Thank you, no! said Arkwright, laughing. I have not soared so high. My hatred is only upon general prin- ciples. Do you want proof? A man never hates his own destroying angel. You know that as well as I do. You are taking a great deal for granted, I protested. But your evi- dence has weight, I admit. They say, the fellow who is blighted always de- fends his blighter. They says is good, he insisted. But X ? said I, to divert his train of thought a little. Joking apart, what became of him? Nothing. And thats the mischief of it, replied Arkwright, gravely. He lives along like the rest of us. Not gifted with Ludlows tastes and re- sources, he made no attempt to improve himself. In consequence, he has dete- riorated. You meet him here often, so do I. He knows that I know, and he always remembers the fact and regrets it, though he hasnt mentioned it for years. As Sir Thomas Browne would say, he has lain down in Darkness and has his light in Ashes. As I say, all 192 TO HER. the finest possibilities of his nature have shrivelled away for lack of cultivation. You ought to see him pass a friends child in the street. It gives him, some- times, a very queer look. All the secret of his life is there. He kills his days off somehow, one by oneand his nights. He sits up too late, plays too many games of cards, eats and drinks more than is good for him, does always a little too much of everything. His process of slow degeneration is not a pleasant one to contemplate. But what would you have? He must do something. He cant go home, you see. Und das hat mit ihrem Singen die Lorelei gethan, I suggested. Precisely. Good soul that she is ! I made no answer, and he drummed upon the table in the dark until the electric burners overhead flashed up, making the room a blaze of light. I leaned back for Ludlows little book which was just within my reach. What are you about? inquired Arkwright, sharply. One of those lines was rather good, I replied. I want to remember it. Stop! said he. Ill find it for you.~~ But I had already examined the short table of contents from the beginning to the end. Why, the thing is not here ! said I, looking up as I spoke at Arkwrights face, which had suddenly become a study in confusion. No, he faltered. I repeated it from memory. The book kept me in countenance Fudge ! I cried; let us have no nonsense. You wrote those verses. Welland if I did? But your story? The ladyX Ludlow? All true, except the poem-incident which I introduced on the spur of the momentclumsily, I confess. She never would have given it to X, you know. The white lie was an act of gallantry on my part, for the lady hadnt even that poor excuse; she threw one man over as she did the other, with no excuse at all, unless her purchase at the auction stands for one. In justice to her, I must assure you again that she really did make that small display of feeling. She never saw the verses, then? How could she? I wrote them at home, the night before last, looking at my other arm-chair. It suddenly occurred to me, just now, to try the thing, as they say, on a dog. I reaped my reward. One line is rather good, in his opinion. You wont betray my authorship ? No, said I, laughing. On condi- tion that I come in for a copy. I see. It will do for you, as Jingles marriage-license did for Tuppy. No names are mentioned. It is like the poets Any Wife to Any Husband, with a difference: Any Veteran to Any Lost Mistress! I appreciate the compli- ment; you shall have your line. Brute! I returned. Where are you dining? Let us eat together. Pringle has taught the cook a new sauce B~arnaise, and old Weston has sent in some early tomatoes from his forcing- house. We can have a bottle of Brut; and there is that new vintage of Bur- gundy we havent tried. Hum! More or less recoil in that. It depends upon what we are likely to do afterward. Well, we have euchre, whist, pool, and poker for a choice. Or we might Very good, I am with you, said Arkwright, graciously. Anything, rather than go home ! FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. By Alfred Jerome Weston. THE Doctor and I were standing, at the time, in the midst of our be- longings, at the top of a compan- ion - ladder upon the deck of a little steamship lying at anchor in the harbor of Cadiz, and on the point of sailing for Morocco. We had effected our embarka- tion with difficulty, after much spirited debating with the Spanish boatmen who had rowed us out from the quays. The wrangle over, and the bundles and bud- gets safely stowed, our ruffled fur soon resumed its normal position and we were enabled peacefu]ly to drink in the beau- ties of the splendid panorama around us. We had seen it many times before, but never in the early morning during a May sunrise, and the magnificent beauty of the scene startled and kept us silent, as we leaned upon the taifrail, gazing at the lovely transition from . night to day. Around us stretched the black waters of the bay and beyond the inky ocean, while directly before our eyes nestled the Silver City at the extremity of its slender peninsular, al- most a water city. The glow in the VOL. XJJI.19 eastern sky at first gave a ruddy tinge to the picture before us, and seemed~ gently to spread over the dark watera a rich crimson mantle, which, floatingr upon the bosom of the bay, alternately showed black and red with the rhythmic undulation of the swelL But relentless Pho~bus will not check his flying steeds, and, as his flaming chariot nears the horizon, the mantle on the water, grad- ually changing color, with the steadily deepening blue overhead, and the stead- ily increasing white light from the ap- proaching sun, becomes alternately pink and blue, while the white walls of the city become silver and pink. The exqui- site beauty of the picture is enhanced, less gloomily subdued, brighter and more delicately tinted, while the high- lights and outlines become more clearly defined in the now more perfect transpar- ency of the atmosphere. There are but a few moments in which to enjoy this lovely fairy painting, for the rapidly ad- vancing sun is now close to the hori- zon, the pink tint slowly fades away, the eastern sky becomes saffron, the vault Peasants Coming to Town with Produce.

Alfred Jerome Weston Weston, Alfred Jerome From Spanish Light To Moorish Shadow 193-208

FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. By Alfred Jerome Weston. THE Doctor and I were standing, at the time, in the midst of our be- longings, at the top of a compan- ion - ladder upon the deck of a little steamship lying at anchor in the harbor of Cadiz, and on the point of sailing for Morocco. We had effected our embarka- tion with difficulty, after much spirited debating with the Spanish boatmen who had rowed us out from the quays. The wrangle over, and the bundles and bud- gets safely stowed, our ruffled fur soon resumed its normal position and we were enabled peacefu]ly to drink in the beau- ties of the splendid panorama around us. We had seen it many times before, but never in the early morning during a May sunrise, and the magnificent beauty of the scene startled and kept us silent, as we leaned upon the taifrail, gazing at the lovely transition from . night to day. Around us stretched the black waters of the bay and beyond the inky ocean, while directly before our eyes nestled the Silver City at the extremity of its slender peninsular, al- most a water city. The glow in the VOL. XJJI.19 eastern sky at first gave a ruddy tinge to the picture before us, and seemed~ gently to spread over the dark watera a rich crimson mantle, which, floatingr upon the bosom of the bay, alternately showed black and red with the rhythmic undulation of the swelL But relentless Pho~bus will not check his flying steeds, and, as his flaming chariot nears the horizon, the mantle on the water, grad- ually changing color, with the steadily deepening blue overhead, and the stead- ily increasing white light from the ap- proaching sun, becomes alternately pink and blue, while the white walls of the city become silver and pink. The exqui- site beauty of the picture is enhanced, less gloomily subdued, brighter and more delicately tinted, while the high- lights and outlines become more clearly defined in the now more perfect transpar- ency of the atmosphere. There are but a few moments in which to enjoy this lovely fairy painting, for the rapidly ad- vancing sun is now close to the hori- zon, the pink tint slowly fades away, the eastern sky becomes saffron, the vault Peasants Coming to Town with Produce. 194 FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. above a purer blue, and the mantle up- on the bay, chameleon-like, turns, alter- nately blue and gold, to the measured tempo of the sea, as the angle of the surface-water, ever changing, at inter- vals reflects the glittering yellow of the sky. The city, too, for an instant is gilt, when suddenly its steeples and towers catching the first slanting rays of the suns clear white light, the fairy picture vanishes, and the scene becomes human, mortal, but its mortal loveliness, if perhaps more commonplace, is scarce- ly less beautiful. The weird, vapory vis- ion is gone, the radiant, blazing light arouses us from a dream, that is all, and now we gaze upon the superb reality of Nature. The flaming sun-disk seems al- most to leap the horizon, and, shedding his dazzling white splendor over all, lends beauty, bewildering beauty, to the city and the bay. Auburon has given place to Apollo, and the water is no longer enchanted, the city no lou ger be- witched. The zenith has become deep fragrance of Andalusian wild flowers comes out from the land, gently at first, barely ruffling the surface - water into tiny ripples, but presently as it gathers strength from the suns increasing warmth, the miniature waves begin to comb, and a myriad tiny white-horses spring up over the water, hopping and prancing, glittering and sparkling in the ever - increasing brilliancy of the sun- light, until the deep blue of the harbor is shot with toppling little wave-crests. Back of us, almost around us, circles the water-front of Cadiz, the city stretch- ing away in the distance, the long rows of white, terrace - crowned buildings brightly shining in the twofold light, the beautifully limpid atmosphere mak- ing even the details of their structure visible from the ship. Looming high above the city rise the lofty towers and dome of the cathedral, the spires of San Antonio, and the Torre de Tavira; around them cluster the less pretentious buildings adorned with pretty azoteas, Bab-e!-Sok (the Market Gate). azure, gradually fading to a paler blue toward the horizon, where scattered fleecy clouds, gilt - edged, float slowly westward. The bay seems liquid sap- phire, white-dotted with the reflection of the clouds, while a breeze laden with the and sometimes, at the angles, with a turret or a belvedere. Here and there gilt miradores, enclosed with glass, flash back the blinding sun-rays, the bright spots, softened by distance and spark- ling from the white setting of the back- -~- -~. FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. 195 ground, seeming to stud the city with gigantic yellow gems. The belated mail finally arrives, and the steamer, turning her prow seaward, slowly steams ont of the harbor, care- fully picking her way among the van- ons vessels riding at anchor around her. Skimming over the bay in every direc- tion are nnmerons small craft, moving some of them easily and rapidly, others laboriously and slowlyaccording to the conrse they steer, the means of propul- sion, and the amount of their little car- over by the pressure of the freshening breezethe white bone in their teeth exploding from time to time into glitter- ing spray, as the prows strike squarely into the snappy little head ~seas, instead of riding over them. Others are rowed with long, heavy sweeps, sluggishly toil- ing toward the iVinelle against wind and wave bending oars and brawny backs and arms straining to win each foot of distance, while still others, bound down the wind, easily glide along, their rap- idly dipping oars flashing in the sun- goes. A few are under sail, heeled well light and their more fortunate crews ex Sultan and Guards Coming through the Sab-eI-Caaba. 196 FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. changing friendly banter with the toil- ers as they swiftly pass. The whole bay seems peopled with these little vessels and animated by the voices of their crews, as fragments of laughter and chaff, quarrelling and oaths, are borne to us over the surface of the water. In a few moments our own North. Some Frenchman has called it le luxe et la coquetterie de limpren- able. So we bade to Spain farewell, beauti- ful in all, save her bull-fights and boat- men. What had been a smoky outline has now developed into the picturesque View of Tangier from the Harbor. steamer is clear of the harbor and scrambling along at full speed in the ocean swell, rising and falling, as each broad, blue billow gently rolls under her. The beautiful city slowly fades from view, and as at last even its towers, domes, and light-houses become vague and dim, we reluctantly turn away to gaze upon the low - lying, sandy coast and the uprising inland country. Soon Trafalgar Bay comes into view, sterile in natural beauty, but rich in the his- toric interest so beautifully cominem- orated by the great square and lion- guarded column in London, perpetually to remind the British youth of his duty to England. Far away to the left tow- ers the huge gray rock of Gibraltara monster porcupine bristling with two thousand Armstrong quills, grimly guarding an inland ocean and vividly recalling to the passing world the exist- ence of the little vampire island in the coast of greennot aridAfrica, and the steamer soon enters the broad, blu& bay of Tangier. To the left projects into the sea Cape Malabatte (IRas El Menar), to the right Cape Spartel (Ras- Achakkar), a great mass of hard sand- stone, towering nine hundred feet abov& the sea. Viewed from a distance, the white town creeping from the waters edge up the hillsides behind it, pre- sents the appearance of a toy city, its houses resembling cubes of billiard chalk of various sizes, arranged hap- hazard. It is not imposing, nor is it very beautifulonly Oriental and pict-. uresque. A veritable flotilla of small boats, far out in the bay, is already awaiting the steamers arrival at the point where she is expected to anchor; and others, belated ones, are on their way from the shore. The Sultan seems to have abandoned to the watermen ot Tangier the luckless voyagers to his~ DRAWN BY HERBERT GERMAN. ENGRAVED BY W. B. WITTE. Moorish Maidens. 198 FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. realm, and each arriving steamer succes- sively becomes their prey. It is a curious and by no means an agreeable sensation to feel ones self a prey, and especially is it unpleasant when manifestly you are not nearly enough to go round. The ship is already close to the little fleet whose scowling, black-visaged and white - turbaned crews are rending the air with harsh, guttural yells and un- familiar but seemingly round and ef- fective Mohammedan curses. They are all fiercely quarrelling among them- selves, even members of the same crew, and as the steamer veers to let go her anchor, there is a frantic scramble to keep upon her port side, where the companion - ladder is being lowered. Oars become entangled, boats come in- to collision, ribs are punched, fingers pinched, and the yelling and cursing re- doubled. White teeth and white tur- bans, black skins and blacker scowls, a mass of jabbering, hungry, excited apes bent upon securing a pitifully limited number of cocoanutsand, alas, we are the cocoanuts. Propelled by the lazy Tangerine stroke, the boat, in spite of its six stout rowers, moves but slowly toward the little projecting wharf, and ample time is afforded to enjoy the view of the bay and the shore. The foot of the harbor is girt with a long white beach, back of which rise the dunes, also white, and back of these again the brilliant tropical green of the vegetation the deep blue of the sea and the green of the land prettily contrasted and empha- sized by the intervening line of white. The city, shaped like an amphitheatre, lies well to the right, forming a terminus to the beach, its houses, mosques, and fortifications, climbing up and crowning the heights upon which it is built, pre- sent the appearance of a great snow-bank, caught in the depression between the hills and still defying the summer sun. Perched upon the opposite hill, and commanding the city, is the ancient and once formidable alcasaba, its prominent position and its crennellated walls lend- ing much to the picturesqueness of the landscape. The scene is truly Oriental, and were it not for a few European- looking villas scattered here and there, and the foreign flags floating from the various embassies (for Tangier is the p?litico-diplomatic capital of the Em- pire), one might readily fancy himself in some far-off eastern land, thousands of miles away from the civilization of Eu- rope. It is barely five hours since leav- ing Spain, and yet here we suddenly Wails of the City of Tangier. FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. find ourselves in the midst of people totally different from those with whom we break- fastedin race, religion, and civilization. In the morning we were living in the nine- teenth century, surrounded by science, learning, and art, and among a people who, if differing from ourselves in race, still belong to our age and fundamentally are in sympathy with us in aim, religion, and thought. At noon all is changed. White men have become black; trousers have become bur- nooses; hats, turbans; cathe- drals, mosques ; crosses, crescents ; enlightenment, darkness. Civilization has been left behind, and in five little hours, hardly more than one might pass at the opera, our ship has borne us backward along the path of time as many centuries. It is dreamy, weird, fantastic, and the doctor even thought he smelled brimstone and sug- gested that his majesty had been shifting the scenes. Often have we been requested upon the programme to fancy a lapse of five years between the acts, and we have accomplished it, but never have we experienced the sensa tion of so suddenly parting with five centuries. There is much, of course, to remind us of our epochthe villas, the flags, the steamer, ourselvesbut it is far too little to disturb the illusionwe and the rest are merely anachronisms, incongruous and out of place. The city is an absurd relic of mediawal life, and it is difficult to take it seriowly. It must be, in its homely, every-day life, but little changed from what it was one thousand years agofor notwithstand- ing its close proximity to the advancing civilization of Europe, with the indo Camela near the Market-place. .7 199 The Palace of Justice, Prison, Bank, and Chief Mosque, Tangier. * DRAWN BY HERBERT GERMAN. ENGRAVED BY H. W. PECKWELL Soco-Chicothe Main Street of Tangier. FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. 201 lent contentment of the degenerate Mos- lemit has not only declined to be in- fluenced thereby, but, from a total lack of any native inclination to keep abreast of the world, it has failed even to hold its own and is to-day far to leeward of the position it occupied several centu- ries ago. It is truly a Rip Van Winkle among cities, a wonderfully quaint cu- riosity of the past, which would seem more appropriately situated within the walls of some mammoth museum than upon the shores of the Straits of Gibral- tar, gravely ~zuasquerading as a modern city. Arrived at the landing, we at once engaged a guide, who in turn employs a small boy and a diminutive donkey to transport our luggage to the hotel. With dexterous hands the urchin builds over the donkey a pyramid of satchels, rugs, dress-suit cases, hat-boxes, valises, all lashed together, until nothing is visi- ble of the patient little beast but four tiny black hoofs, each one surmounted by six inches of mouse-colored leg. When all is prepared the legs begin to wiggle and our luggage rapidly to move along the narrow wharf to the Custom House upon the shore. The Custom House at Tangier differs radically from the American institution, both in its structure and officers, but the difference is purely physical in both instances, for so soon as we (donkey and all) enter the low archway, under which are squatted grave and ancient Moors upon wooden deew~ns, an exchange of courtesies passes between the guide and the most stately among the officers, and the don- key, seeming to understand the un- uttered conversation, promptly begins to wiggle his legs again, the luggage once more becomes animated and disap- pears through the other end of the arch into the street. The walk from the harbor to the hotel is not a pleasant one, for the day is very warm, and the noon sun is pouring down into the nar- row streets, heating the rough and un- even paving blocks until they burn the oles of ones feet, while the white- washed walls of the houses reflect the scorching heat and dazzling light, and completely shut out the refreshing breeze. So we clamber along up the hilly streets with heads bowed beneath VOL. XIIL20 umbrellas, and with eyes half shut to avoid the painful glare, paying as little heed to objects that are passed as would pedestrians in a heavy rain-storm. Trudging on in silence, hurrying a little in order not to lose sight of the nimble little donkey in front, and urged to in- creased exertion by refreshing visions of a cold bath, we soon arrive at a partic- ular piece of wall with arched entrance and stained-glass door. The donkey has been relieved of his burden, and Arab porters, clad in picturesque liver- ies, are busy transferring it to the hotel office within, through a wide, cool corri- dor, hung upon either side with Moor- ish weapons, ancient and modern, artis- tically arranged like trophies knives with wickedly curved blades, daggers with elaborately ornamented handles and sheaths, rusty scimitars of all sorts, and guns, old flint-locks with absurd- ly long barrels and stocks inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory. At the end of this corridor is a glass - enclosed and covered court, also deliciously cool, furnished with comfortable cane chairs and sofas of generous proportions, and adorned with a profusion of tropical plants in green tubs. From this attrac- tive lounging - place, looking directly down upon the beach and bay two hun- dred feet below, and revelling in the refreshing breeze blowing steadily in from the sea, one soon forgets the or- deal climb through the sweltering alley- streets to reach it. Here of an even- ing, and occasionally of a morning, a wandering band of Moorish musicians will be allowed to enter and dispense from prehistoric instruments alleged music for the entertainment of infidel guests in the adjoining dining-room, reaping in return a small harvest of coppernot for the pleasure they have given, but for the curiosity they have amply satisfied. Here, too, gentlemen assemble to discuss the events of the day or to formulate plans for the mor- row, reclining in the long cane chairs, enjoying their after-dinner coffee and cigars. The late afternoon is cool, and the white stone walls and ragged pavements no longer reflect the scorching heat; the glare, too, is greatly lessened, and one may now look about him without 202 FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. pain. The multitude of narrow wind- ing, criss - cross streets (so called) twisting, turning, and intersecting in labyrinthine confusionare all exactly alike: two long stone walls in which appear from time to time heavy wood- en doors, furnished with worn and an- cient bolts and knockers, and, high up, occasional heavily barred square holes, which serve as windowsnot to pro- vide light and ventilation, for the real windows open upon sunny courts with- in, but to enable the curious among the inhabitants to observe, apparently from a safe distance, what is passing in the street below. Each house has one of these peep-holes and one door, so that only a native Tangerine can dis- tinguish them. So like is street to street and house to house, so uniform the monotonous white upon all sides, that one might readily imagine the en- tire city hewn out from some great limestone quarry. The streets are so paved as to serve the double purpose of thoroughfare and gutterbeing con- siderably lower in the middle than upon the sides, and inasmuch as the street- cleaning department chiefly consists of occasional diluvian rain-falls provid- ed by Allah, there are quantities of de- caying household refuse, mixed with dust and bits of straw, lying about every- where, which give rise to most disa- greeable odors and make locomotion an art. Thus far the city seems almost devoid of life, and only now and then do we have to move aside to allow a pedestrian or donkey to pass by. Here and there in open door-ways are seat- ed Jewish women, sewing or chatting, and we are enabled to catch a glimpse through the hallways, of the neat and pretty courts within, in which the peo- ple really live. Turning a sharp angle, the street comes out upon a miniature square, one corner of which is occu- pied by the city prison. Somewhat lar- ger than the buildings around itand constructed of solid masonry, it has, at one end, a triple arched entrance above a short flight of steps which gives ac- cess to a rectangular corridor, where, sprawled about upon rugs and mats in very unmilitary disorder, are a dozen lazy Moorish soldiers, armed to the teeth. In the middle of the corridor there is a square opening in the wall, several feet in diameterguarded by a ponderous, iron-bound door. For a proper consideration one of the soldiers will withdraw the heavy bolts and allow the visitor to look into a large, oblong apartment, entirely devoid of all furni- ture and empty, save for a score of criminals who flock to the opening, the moment the bolts are withdrawn, to have a word with some one from the outside world, and to gaze upon a new face. The soldier unconcernedly looks on treating the occurreflce precisely as a showman would treat the inspection of his monkey-cage. Among the strangest peculiarities of Tangier, and one that at once forces it- self upon the attention of the new-coiner, is the total absence of any kind of wheeled vehicle. In the entire city (which is an example of all the others in the empire) there is not even a donkey- cart, for the streets are much too nar- row to admit of their use, and transpor- tation of passengers and merchandise is effected upon the backs of donkeys, horses, mules, and camelsaccording to the weight and the distance. There are but few streets into which a loaded cam- el could enter, and not more than three in which he could pass another loaded camel or horse. Some of the smaller streets are so narrow that even the pan- niers of a donkey would scrape upon either side, so that in the city itself the transportation devolves upon donkeys, for the side streets, and upon horses and mules for the main thoroughfares. Camels are rarely seen in the compact part of the town, and are chiefly used like our railway trainsto bring prod- uce in bulk from the country to the city gates, whence it is distributed by the smaller animals, which take the place of our trucks and wagons. The great thoroughfare of Tangier traverses the town from the Bab-el-Marsa (Marine Gate) at one end, to the Bab-el-Sok (Market Gate) at the other. This is the Broadway, and yet it cannot be more than a dozen feet wide, except in one portion, where it bulges into a small square. Upon entering this street one instantly becomes aware of a confused noise, en- tirely unlike the hubbub and din caused by clattering hoofs and rattling wheels. It is an odd mixture of sound, caused by rustling burnooses, shuffling, trail- ing slippers and pattering, unshod hoofs, mingled with the suppressed hum of voices pitched in many keys. Every element of the population is to be seen upon this street of an afternoon Moors, Arabs, Bedouins, Berbers, Ne- groes, and Jews men, women, and children interspersed here and there with Europeans, chiefly Spaniards. There are shoppers and merchants, sight-seers and idlers, buying, selling, walking, riding, working, loafing. Bur- nooses, hailes, gehab, and gabardine sashes, turbans, fezes, cowls, and skull- capsthe red, yellow, blue, white, ap- ple - green, and purple of the various garments softly blending, or sharply contrasting, with the bronze, mahogany, or yellow complexions of the moving throng. lIJpon either side of the street, built out from the houses, are tiny shops from which project clumsy wooden awn- ings; and in the square, roughly con- structed booths. In these shops and booths the retail business of the city is transacted by solemn and sedate Moors, who squat, cross-legged, upon Persian rugs in the midst of their wares, seem- ingly indifferent to all earthly things. Unlike the bazaars, in which trades are grouped in different quarters; here the brass-worker, the armorer, the silver- smith, and embroiderer are all indiscrim- inately intermingled. The customer stands in the street while making his purchases, and is jostled by the passing crowd, and tormented by filthy beggars who clutch at his coat-tails and display nauseating sores, and red holes, once occupied by eyes now burned out in accordance with the law, in expiation of some crime. From time to time a boy. ish voice will shout baleille (make room) as some toddling, overloaded little don- key comes staggering through the street his two panniers bulging out upon either sidewith perhaps a completely shrouded fat woman seated between them. Or the cry may be repeated by a man, in commanding tones this time, as he leads along the crimson-bridled horse or mule of some wealthy Moor, bearing his white-robed, green-turbaned master in the capacious saddle and a closely veiled wife pillion-wise behind. 203 S Here is a Jewish money - changer in skull - cap and gabardine, a little to one side in some less crowded portion of the street, sitting upon a low stool, with his strong-box upon the ground between his knees, waiting for business. And here again, seated upon a chair, a beggar-saint, fantastically dressed in red and white turban and crimson robe girt in at the waist with a long white sash. He is agedninety at leastwizzened, hollow - eyed, emaciated, and ghastly his snowy mustache, beard, and bushy eyebrows protruding from his sickly, haggard features. To bestow upon this holy man (already rich) is to purchase godliness from Allah, and the amount received varies directly with the denom- ination of the coin bestowed. The old gentleman seems exceedingly bored as he sits there like an ancient Ajeeb. Now and then a grave and stately merchant regardless of business hourswill untie his legs, and climbing upon his knees with uncovered feetwith head devout- ly turned to Meccawill solemnly per- form his gymnastic orisons, careless of customers and the gaze of the world. Everything is in keeping with the sur- roundingsbut all is burlesque, hyper- bolic parody of serious, earnest real life; and as we pick our way back to the hotel through the dismal, tortuous little streetsfollowing close in Selims wakean indescribable and distinctly unpleasant feeling of complete separa- tion from the actual world, of existing beyond our own lives, and of utter lone- liness, takes p& ssessiou of us. The bur- lesque seems a mocking tragedyour brains..and bodies are fagged and our minds oppressed with an unaccountable gloom, which is only dispelled, upon our arrival at the hotel, by the sight of cheery European faces, and the comfort- ing odor of French cookery, reminiscent of home and friends. Tangerine roosters crow all night and Tangerine cats do not differ from ours. Visions of donkeys, beggars, pe- ris, saints Aladdins, Ali Babas, cam- els, turbans, monstrous roosters and mammoth cats, haunt the spirit of our dreams, until we are aroused from slumber by the squealing, shrieking, squeaking, screaming, rasping, clashing, and booming of some twenty Moorish FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. 204 FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. instrumentshideously discordant with the accompanying guttural drone of human voices and with each otherthe time sharply accentuated by the inter- mittent, rattling crash of cymbalsthe most offensive deformity of sound. It is a Moorish wedding procession, the music a wedding marchand Scum, in order that it shall not escape unheard, comesquite unnecessarilyto awaken us, but finds us already perched upon the bureau on tip-toe, vainly struggling to bring our eyes to a level with the lofty window - sill. The music in the hotel office the previous evening, played upon curiously shaped guitars and vio- lins covered with snake - skins, was a dream of melodious harmony compared with this horrid din. Every portion of Tangier is replete with interest, and yet the sights, so- called, are few. It is the life, customs, costumes which absorb us, and the medheval atmosphere which pervades all things, seems herein spite of gay- est sunlight, laughing sea, and brilliant skiesto cast an oppressive shadow of bygone days, of distrust and dread upon our own confident and happy century. Nuremberg is counterfeit, or nearly so, and besides Hans Sachs is dead. In Cairo we have polo, balls, races, Italian opera, garden-parties, tennis, and Eng- lish soldiery. In Constantinople, we have French bouffe, French shops, rail- ways, universities, caf6s-chantants and horse - cars. Not so in Morocco no frivolities of these sorts for men who live to-day the life of the distant past, merely en route to the life hereafter to which their thoughts and activities seem to have flown on before them. They do not concern themselves with mere human existence, all sorrow, all vanity, all pain. Death has no terror, no sadness. Allah is Greats or Allah is Bountiful that is all- Let us exist, meditate, and pray until He shall deem us worthy to behold the light of His countenance. Such men cannot create civilization, but it will soon be forced upon their countryif not upon themselvesby conquering (?) Will it follow Egypt, or Algeria, or Abyssinia? The Sok, the wholesale business centre of the city, where caravans arrive and whence they depart, the Great Market, lies just without the ancient walls, and is entered from the main street through the Bab-el-Sok. It con- sists of a large rectangular field en- closed upon three sides by the city walls and some fuore inure houses; the fourth is open, making an enormous entrance and exit from and to the caravan roads leading to the interior. The soil is dark, either of oozy, filthy mud, mixed and mixed again with every kind of foul matter, or of equally disgusting friable clay, according to the locality; for grass has no chance for life under the tread of countless hoofs and slippered or naked feet. The place is filled with men and women of every class and race, all pro- miscuously mingled togetherpeddlers, merchants, story-tellers, water-carriers, snake - charmers, jugglers, fortune-tell- ers, camel-drivers, barbers, and idlers. Roundabout, everywhere are ill-smelling, mangy, moth-eaten camels, some laden, some not, but nearly all of them wearing their curiously woven trappings to which their drivers attach the freight they bear; some are standing, some kneel- ing, others are lying down or stretched out, and all of them are sleepy and dis- mally chew their cud with expressions indicative of unutterable ennui. Then there are dirty little donkeys with long coats covered with mud or filled with dustsome contentedly idle, others re- luctantly busy, but philosophers all of them. Then there are saddle-horses and pack-horses, saddle-mules and pack- mules, and dogs and chickens, foragers both; and cautious cats, usually asleep upon the tops of booths or upon the walls, waiting for night to come, but sometimes, under favorable circumstan- ces, venturesome ones warily foraging, too. Here are a dozen squatting women, of various ages, enveloped in their white ha.ulcs, and picturesquly grouped. Be- hind them are conversing several young Jews in blue and black gabardines, pale, sallow, and round-shouldered, but with the eager, keen intelligence in their brilliant black eyes which contrasts so sharply with the passive, indifferent, almost vacant expression of the Moor. Beyond is a knot of tall Reefians, power- ful, wiry-looking men, with brutal, for- bidding faces and coldly proud and fearless eyes, which at once attract and FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. 205 repel. They are proud of their ances- try, claiming pure descent from the old Berber race, and as they stand toge- ther, draped in the hooded gehab, their absurd coiffure, the head close-shaven, save for a single slender lock, is by no means sufficient to make them ridic- ulous; and the dignified erectness of their carriage and their almost threaten- ing demeanor startlingly emphasize the cringing bearing and the alert, hunted expression of the Jewish young men near by. Yonder is a story-teller con- spicuously attired, and surrounded by a crowd of listeners who are complete- ly absorbed in the narrative of his ex- traordinary adventures. Probably no one believes the monstrous fictions of the daring deeds he has accomplished, but they seem to accept every word with child-like credulity, and gaze open- mouthed as the historian, punctuating his harsh and guttural Maghreb by pounding a drum, reaches some parti- cularly thrilling climax. Close by, there is an opposition entertainment in pro- gress, apparently of the same kind, but upon a much larger scale. This is said to be a circus, though an American might readily mistake it. The audience is collected in a large circle several rows deep, the first two rows sitting or squat- ting,. the rest standing. In the open space within are two performers upon whom falls the entire burden of the en- tertainment, which consists first, of a short history of themselves and of the wonderful successes they have met with before distinguished audiences else- where; then they begin with various acrobatic performancesturning somer- saultsstanding upon their own heads and upon each others and the like; then they play tag, tripping each other and constantly tumbling heels over head and thenda capo. The audience is only moderately enthusiastic, but it is certainly not in the least exacting; the reigning melancholy of the faces is from time to time dispelled, and the features of the adults become distorted into grim smiles, while the youngsters manifest their delight by hearty laughter and applause. The performers are wily and invariably select such favorable mo- ments to pass the hat. But it is not all Champs Elys6es. In other portions of the large square more serious business is carried on. Bales of merchandise are being moved, camels are being unloaded and donkeys loaded, merchants are mak- ing inspections, and men on horseback are picking their way hither and thither through the crowd, and the cry Ba- leuk resounds upon all sides. Scat- tered through the throng are water sellers carrying upon their backs great leaky skins flabbily bulging with water, and ringing small bells or tinkling glasses to attract attention. Here and there, too, are barbers who ply their trade in the open air, and upon market- days grow wealthy upon the uncouth country visitors. Their office is of a double nature, for, as in the old days with us, they bleed as well as shave. In shaving they use no lather, only water, and the customer sitting on the ground in front of them, with keen razors they deftly remove his beard or hair. In bleeding, they make an incision at the base of the skull, cutting down to the bone. Along the walls are construct- ed ramshackle booths, in some of which are sold curious weapons, ancient and modern, second - hand and new; in others, goods of colored leather, em- broidered with gay silk and metal thread, pouches, cushions, and slippers; in others again, tobacco and tobacco pipes, icief and icief pipes with terra- cotta bowls and plain wooden stems, or with bowls of elaborate Turkish pattern and stems gorgeously ornamented with gilt and beads. Some of these little structures are used as restaurants where one may eat eggs, bread, or .small bits of meat roasted upon an iron spit over a charcoal brazier, with perhaps some cows milk or asses milk, but generally with water or coffee for drinkables. The service is not good, for one must stand in the mud outside the edifice and eat from a counter within it. Some- times he may be given a spoon, if the food be of a liquid nature, otherwise his fingers must suffice, for the meat is cut into suitably small pieces by the restaur- ateur before it is cooked, so that indivi- dual knives and forks are dispensed with, and napkins are wanting too. In addition to these humble eating-places there are numerous cook-houses where one may dine still more economically by 206 FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. purchasing the raw meat, eggs, or what- ever is to be eaten, from the dealer, and having it cooked for a pittance at one of these establishments. Returning along the dunes and beach one afternoon, after a muleback ride to the ruins of ancient Tingis, when with- in about a mile of the town, Selim, who had been silently riding ahead, sudden- ly turned, and pointing toward the city, laconically exclaimed Powder Play. Following the direction indicated, we perceive a score of horsemen career- ing down the beach like mad, their horses scampering about like young dogs just unchained. In a moment they are close to usthey seem glued to their horses, so easily and graceful- ly do they ridenow leaning far over to one side, now throwing themselves backward, flat upon the horses croup discharging their long, old - fashioned guns before them, behind them, or into the air; now standing erect in the stir- rups, brandishing the ungainly weapons above their heads or tossing them into the air and grasping them again as they fall. Helter-skelter, pell-mell, in devil - catch - the - hindmost confusion their horses with outstretched necks and straining nerves, darting forward, lightly leaping gullies and obstructions, or galloping in the shallow water at the edge of the surf, their beating hoofs dashing it into spray. Suddenly halt- ing, turning, swerving, and off and away again like a startled flock of wild geese the long, white burnooses of the riders fluttering violently in the wind. This is play. What must be their work in heat of battle and hatred of war? Tangier at nightnot evening, but night, after midnight! It is our last day in the city, and Selim has employed it in making necessary arrangements, and in preparing a surprise for us. Two Arabs have been retained as lan- tern bearersfor there are no street lamps of any kindnot even the dim, flickering affairs of the villages in Spain, and the houses are so constructed that no single ray from within can penetrate the street. After nightfall the whole city is wrapped in total darknessun- less it be of a moonlight nightand the little narrow streets seem ghostly and dead, so startling is the stillness, so unearthly and vault - like the faint white outlines of the walls. There seems to be a moist chill in the air, al- though the night is warm and dry, and one experiences the slightly disagree- able alertness of the faculties and senses which is apt to be felt in passing a lonely graveyard late at night when the snapping of a twig or the cry c~f some night-bird will excite unpleasant sensations, perhaps even suspicions. Tangier tonight seems a deserted city no longer the abode of men, but in- habitated only by Djinns and Genii, owls and bats. The swaying lanterns flashing their unsteady, yellow light from beneath ones feet along the white walls of the low houses and the black wall of the gloom beyond, seem only to emphasize and exaggerate the dark- ling desolation around us. Streets fa- miliar by daylight are strangers now, and the white burnooses of the Moors and our own white flannels jar un- pleasantly upon the nerves. Tramping along the echoing, tangled little streets, for the first time in Tangier we feel really cold; and it is with a grateful sensation of relief, that we see the lan- teru-bearers come to a halt before the arched entrance to a vine - covered ar- bor leading, through a small yard, to a house, from the open doorway of which cheery lights burst forthand sounds, too, strongly suggestive of the Wed- ding March which had astonished us a few mornings before. Within, the room is devoid of furniture except for rugs of various sizes and designs, with which both floor and walls are com- pletely covered, and the atmosphere is heavy and fragrant with the spicy aroma of burning Icief and steaming coffee. Upon the floor of this native caf6 are squatted, cross-legged, a dozen Moors half stupefied by the narcotic effect of the icief they have smoked. Mter a deal of coaching from Scum, we man- age to seat ourselves upon our own feet, which promptly retaliate by going to sleep, but notwithstanding the infidel positions we are compelled to assume in deference to these rebellious mem- bers, the coffee and icief pipes are ac- complished in manner truly Oriental. The musicians, ranged along the wall on the opposite side of the room, begin 4 FROM SPANISH LIGHT TO MOORISH SHADOW. 207 some wild, barbaric melody, which at least is in harmony with the black faces and the primitive, almost savage, sim- plicity of the surroundings. An hour later, after exchanging many salaams with our sleepy fellow-revellers, and preceded by the lanterns, we go out into the little cheerless streets once more and soon strike into the narrow- est and most wretchedly paved ones in the city. Upon the uneven stones, Moors and negroes, closely wrapped in woollen burnooses, lie sleeping, some of them near the walls, many of them diagonally athwart the street, making it imperative for us carefully to pick our way, in order to avoid treading up- on unexpected arms and fingers. Here and there a worn out, cringing dog will sleepily gaze through half-closed eyelids at the passing lanterns and then resume his slumbers. A more creepy, ghoulish scene it would be difficult to imagine. These corpse-like sleepers, wrapped apparently in their winding sheets, strongly suggest unburied bod- ies and Asiatic cholera. Arrived at a certain corner, Selim calls another halt, and giving some brief directions in Arabic to the lantern- bearers, and taking one of the lanterns in his own hand, and extinguishing the other, bids us follow him. A short dis- tance from the corner he comes to a house and raps softly upon the door, which is promptly opened, and leads into a narrow, dimly lighted hallway. Selim is not a devout Mussulman, nor a devout anything else, and he had no business to bring us there; but he did, and, if his own statement be trust- worthy, he was at great pains to do it. At the end of the hallway there is a comparatively large apartment, piled at one end with cushions and pillows. Two large lamps, shaded with pink tis- sue-paper and shedding a soft rose- tinted light, are suspended from the ceiling at either end of the room; other- wise it is bare. Ushered into this curi- ous chamber, we comfortably ensconce ourselves upon the luxurious cushions and await the denouement, while Selim respectfully sits on the floor contemplat- ing our prospective astonishment with evident satisfaction. We have not long to wait, for presently an elderly Jewess enters and courteously nodding at the cushions, seats herself on the floor, which apparently was a signal for Selim to de- part, for he immediately leaves the room, just as three magnificent Jewish girls, clad like Bluebeards wives, enter. The venerable lady suddenly became de trop, but she persisted in ig- noring the fact, and the girls begin their slow, graceful dance at the farther end of the room, themselves supplying the music by softly singing, in perfect harmony and in accurate time, some sweet, wavering Hebrew melody, which seemed to have been especially composed to fit the slow, hesitating, gliding move- ments of the dance. The rhythm of sound and motion is accurately main- tained by the measured clapping of hands. The loose trousers gathered at the ankle, the bare feet incased in re- trouss6 slippers, the short gauze kilts, the small, close - fitting jackets, sleeve- less and exposing the arms, and the long filmy and perfectly transparent silk veilsthrough which sparkled the Ichol- darkened, Jewish eyes, softened and made gentle by the pink light lend perhaps an exaggerated glamour to the scene. The dance itself is a series of graceful poses rapidly succeeding one another, and so naturally evolving the one from the other, and so prettily joined by the long airy veils floating and intertwining above and around the dancers, as to form a perfect unity. Suddenly to our amazement (not at the fact, but at the dexterous manner in which it was accomplished) one after another their gay outergarments begin to fall behind them as they dance, gently as petals from an overblown rose or bright feathers from tropical birds, until they dance in the pale, pink light clad in the now rapidly flut- tering gray silk veils, whose serpentine doublings at intervals blur the mov- ing figures behind them. An instant, and they vanish behind a hanging rug concealing an unsuspected exit, and are gone. The dance ended and having again collected our little escort, we hasten back to the hotel to snatch a few hours sleep before leaving this land of shadow, to join the great P. and 0. Indiaman due at Gibraltar upon the morrow. STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. By Octave Thanet. VI. HARRY LOSSING. HE note-book of Mr. Horatio Armorer, presi- dent of our street rail- ways, contained a page of interest to some peo- ple in our town, on the occasion of his last visit. He wrote it while the train creaked over the river, and the porter of his Pullman car was brushing all the dust that had been distributed on the pas- sengers clothing, into the main aisle. If you had seen him writing it (with a stubby little pencil that he occasion- ally brightened with the tip of his tongue), you would not have dreamed that he was more profoundly disturbed than he had been in years. Nor would the page itself have much enlightened you. See abt road JiJiD See L See E ~ liii tea set See abt L. Translated into long-hand, this reads: See about the street-car road, Mars- ton (the superintendent) and Dane (the lawyer). See Lossing, see Esther and Maggie, and remember about tea-set. See about Lossing. His memoranda written, he slipped the book in his pocket, reflecting cyni- cally, Theres habit! Ive no need of writing that. Its not pleasant enough to forget! Thirty odd years ago, Horatio Armor- erthey called him iRaish, thenhad left the town to seek his fortune in Chicago. It was his day-dream to wrestle a hundred thousand dollars out of the worlds tight fists, and return to live in pomp on Brady Street hill! He should drive a buggy with two horses, and his wife should keep two girls. Long ago, the hundred thousand limit had been reached and passed, next the million; and still he did not return. His father, the Presbyterian minister, left his parish, or, to be exact, was gent- ly propelled out of his parish by the disaffected, the family had a new home; and the son, struggling to help them out of his scanty resources, went to the new parish and not to the old. He grew rich, he established his brothers and sisters in prosperity, he erected costly monuments and a memorial church to his parents (they were be- yond any other gifts from him); he married, and lavished his money on three daughters; but the home of his youth neither saw him nor his money until Margaret Ellis bought a house on Brady Street, far up town, where she could have all the grass that she wanted. Mrs. Ellis was a widow and rich. Not a millionaire like her brother, but the possessor of a handsome property. She was the best-natured woman in the world, and never guessed how hard her neighbors found it to forgive her for always calling their town of thirty thousand souls, the country. She said that she had pined for years to live in the country, and have horses, and a Jersey cow and chickens, and a neat pig. All of which modest cravings she gratified on her little estate; and the gardener was often seen with a scowl and the garden hose, keeping the pig neat. It was later that Mr. Armorer had bought the street railways, they having had a troublous history and being for sale cheap. Nobody that knows Ar- morer as a business man, would back his sentiment by so much as an old shoe; yet it was sentiment, and not a good bargain, that had enticed the fi- nancier. Once engaged, the instincts of a shrewd trader prompted him to turn it into a good bargain, anyhow. His fancy was pleased by a vision of a return to the home of his childhood and his struggling youth, as a greater per-

Octave Thanet Thanet, Octave Stories Of A Western Town. Vi. Harry Lossing 208-223

STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. By Octave Thanet. VI. HARRY LOSSING. HE note-book of Mr. Horatio Armorer, presi- dent of our street rail- ways, contained a page of interest to some peo- ple in our town, on the occasion of his last visit. He wrote it while the train creaked over the river, and the porter of his Pullman car was brushing all the dust that had been distributed on the pas- sengers clothing, into the main aisle. If you had seen him writing it (with a stubby little pencil that he occasion- ally brightened with the tip of his tongue), you would not have dreamed that he was more profoundly disturbed than he had been in years. Nor would the page itself have much enlightened you. See abt road JiJiD See L See E ~ liii tea set See abt L. Translated into long-hand, this reads: See about the street-car road, Mars- ton (the superintendent) and Dane (the lawyer). See Lossing, see Esther and Maggie, and remember about tea-set. See about Lossing. His memoranda written, he slipped the book in his pocket, reflecting cyni- cally, Theres habit! Ive no need of writing that. Its not pleasant enough to forget! Thirty odd years ago, Horatio Armor- erthey called him iRaish, thenhad left the town to seek his fortune in Chicago. It was his day-dream to wrestle a hundred thousand dollars out of the worlds tight fists, and return to live in pomp on Brady Street hill! He should drive a buggy with two horses, and his wife should keep two girls. Long ago, the hundred thousand limit had been reached and passed, next the million; and still he did not return. His father, the Presbyterian minister, left his parish, or, to be exact, was gent- ly propelled out of his parish by the disaffected, the family had a new home; and the son, struggling to help them out of his scanty resources, went to the new parish and not to the old. He grew rich, he established his brothers and sisters in prosperity, he erected costly monuments and a memorial church to his parents (they were be- yond any other gifts from him); he married, and lavished his money on three daughters; but the home of his youth neither saw him nor his money until Margaret Ellis bought a house on Brady Street, far up town, where she could have all the grass that she wanted. Mrs. Ellis was a widow and rich. Not a millionaire like her brother, but the possessor of a handsome property. She was the best-natured woman in the world, and never guessed how hard her neighbors found it to forgive her for always calling their town of thirty thousand souls, the country. She said that she had pined for years to live in the country, and have horses, and a Jersey cow and chickens, and a neat pig. All of which modest cravings she gratified on her little estate; and the gardener was often seen with a scowl and the garden hose, keeping the pig neat. It was later that Mr. Armorer had bought the street railways, they having had a troublous history and being for sale cheap. Nobody that knows Ar- morer as a business man, would back his sentiment by so much as an old shoe; yet it was sentiment, and not a good bargain, that had enticed the fi- nancier. Once engaged, the instincts of a shrewd trader prompted him to turn it into a good bargain, anyhow. His fancy was pleased by a vision of a return to the home of his childhood and his struggling youth, as a greater per- STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. 209 sonage than his hopes had ever dared promise. But, in the event, there was little enough gratification for his vanity. Not since his wifes death had he been so harassed and anxious; for he came not in order to view his new property, but because his sister had written him her suspicions that Harry Lossing wanted to marry his youngest daughter. Armorer arrived in the early dawn. Early as it was, a handsome victoria, with horses sleeker of skin, and harness heavier and brighter than one is used to meet outside the great cities, had been in waiting for twenty minutes; while for that space of time a pretty girl had paced up and down the plat- form. The keenest observer among the crowd, airing its meek impatience on the platform, did not detect any sign of anxiety in her behavior. She walked erect, with a step that left a clean-cut footprint in the dust, as girls are trained to walk nowadays. Her tailor-made gown of fine blue serge had not a wrinkle. It was so simple that only a fashionable woman could guess anywhere near the awful sum total which that plain skirt, that short jacket, and that severe waistcoat had once made on a ruled sheet of paper. When she turned her face toward the low, red station-house and the people, it looked gentle, and the least in the world sad. She had one of those pale, clear olive skins that will easily grow pale; it was pale to-day. Her black hair was fine as spun silk; the coil un- der her hat-brim shone as she moved. The fine hair, the soft, transparent skin, and the beautiful marking of her brows were responsible for an air of fragile daintiness in her person, just as her almond-shaped, liquid dark eyes and unsmiling mouth made her look sad. It was a most attractive face, in all its moods; sometimes it was a beautiful face; yet it did not have a single per- fect feature except the mouth, which at least so Harry Lossing told his mothermight have been stolen from the Venus of Milo. Even the mouth, some critics called too small for her nose; but it is as easy to call her nose too large for her mouth. The instant she turned her back on the bustle of the station, all the lines in this face seemed to waver and the eyes to brighten. Finally, when th~ train rolled up to the platform and a young-looking elderly man swung him- self nimbly off the steps, the color flared up in her cheeks, only to sink as sud- denly, like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Mr. Armorer put his two arms and his umbrella and travelling-bag about the charming shape in blue, ~t the same time exclaiming, Youre a good girl to come out so early, Essie! Hows Aunt Meg? Oh, very welL She would have come too, but she hasnt come back from training. Training? Yes, dear, she has a regular trainer, like John L. Sullivan, you know. She drives out to the park with Eliza and me, and walks and runs races, and does gymnastics. She has lost ten pounds. Armorer wagged his head with a grin: I dare say. I thought so when you began. Meg is always moaning and groaning because she isnt a sylph! She will make her cooks life a burden for about two months and lose ten pounds, and then she will revel in ice- cream! Last time, she was raving about Dr. Salisbury and living on beef- steak sausages, spending a fortune starving herself. She had Dr. Salisburys pamphlet; but Cardigan told her it was a long way out; so she said she hated to have it do no one any good, and she gave it to Maria, one of the maids, who is al- ways fretting because she is so thin. But the thing was to cure fat peo- ple ! Precisely, Esther laughed a little low laugh, at which her fathers eyes shone; but you see she told Martha to exactly reverse the advice and eat everything that was injurious to stout people, and it would be just right for her. I perceive, said Armorer, dryly; very ingenious and feminine scheme. But who is Cardigan? Shuey Cardigan? He is the train- er. He is a fireman in a furniture shop, now; but he used to be the box- ing teacher for some Harvard men; 210 STORILS OP A WESTERN TOWN. and he was a distinguished pugilist, once. He said to me, modestly, I dont suppose you will have seen my name in the Police Gazette, miss? But he really is a very sober, decent man, notwithstanding. Your Aunt Meg always was picking up queer birds! Pray, who introduced this decent pugilist? Esther was getting into the carri- age; her face was turned from him, but he could see the pink deepen in her ear and the oval of her cheek. She an- swered that it was a friend of theirs, Mr. Lossing. As if the name had struck them both dumb, neither spoke for a few momerts. Armorer bit a sigh in two. Essie, said he, I guess it is no use to sidetrack the subject. You know why I came here, dont you? Aunt Meg told me what she wrote to you. I knew she would. She had com- punctions of conscience letting him hang round you, until she told me; and then she had awful gripes because she had told, and had to confess to you! He continued in a different tone: Essie, I have missed your mother a long while, and nobody knows how that kind of missing hurts; but it seems to me I never missed her as I do to-day. I need her to advise me about you, Es- sie. It is like this: I dont want to be a stern parent any more than you want to elope on a rope ladder. We have got to look at this thing together, my dear little girl, and try to to trust each other. Dont you think, papa, said Esther, smiling rather tremulously, that we had better wait, before we have all these solemn preparations, until we know surely whether Mr. Lossing wants me Dont you know surely? He has never said anything of of thatkind. Oh, he is in love with you fast enough, growled Armorer; but a smile of intense relief brightened his face. Now, you see, my dear, all I know about this young man, except that he wants my daughterwhich you will admit is not likely to prejudice me in his favor, is that he is mayor of this town and has a furniture store A manufactory; it is a very large business! Ml right, manufactory, then; all the same he is not a brilliant match for my daughter, not such a husband as your sisters have. Esthers lip quivered and her color rose again; but she did not speak. Still I will say that I think a fellow who can make his own fortune is better than a man with twice that fortune made for him. My dear, if Lossing has the right stuff in him and he is a real good fellow, I shant make you go into a decline by objecting; but you see it is a big shock to me, and you must let me get used to it, and let me size the young man up in my own way. There. is another thing, Esther; I am going to Europe Thursday, that will give me just a day in Chicago if I go to-morrow, and I wish you would come with me. Will you mind? Either she changed her seat or she started at the proposaL But how could she say that she wanted to stay in America with a man who had not said a formal word of love to her? I can get ready, I think, papa, said Esther. They drove on. He felt a crawling pain in his heart, for he loved his daugh- ter Esther as he had loved no other child of his; and he knew that he had hurt her. Naturally, he grew the more angry at the impertinent young man who was the cause of the flitting; for the whole European plan was cooked up after the receipt of Mrs. Elliss let. ter. They were on the very street down which he used to walk (for it takes the line of the hills) when he was a poor boy, a struggling, ferociously ambitious young man. He looked at the changed rows of buildings, and other thoughts came uppermost for a moment. It was here fathers church used to stand; its gone, now, he said. It was a wood church, painted a kind of gray; mother had a bonnet the same color, and she used to say she matched the church. I bought it with the very first money I earned. Part of it came from weeding and the weather was warm, and I can feel the way my back would sting and creak, now! I would want to stop, often, but I thought of mother in church with that bonnet, STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. 211 and I kept on! Theres the place where Seeds, the grocer that used to trust us, had his store; it was his children had the scarlet fever, and mother went to nurse them. My! but how dismal it was at home! We always got more whippings when mother was away. Your grandfather was a good man, too honest for this world, and he loved everyone of his seven children; but he brought us up to fear him and the Lord. We feared him the most, be- cause the Lord couldnt whip us! He never whipped us when we did any- thing, but waited until next day, that he might not punish in anger ; so we had all the night to anticipate it. Did I ever tell you of the time he caught me in a lie? I was lame for a week after it. He never caught me in another lie. I think he was cruel; I cant help it, papa, cried Esther, with whom this was an old argument, still it did good, that time! Oh, no, he wasnt cruel, my dear, said Armorer with a queer smile that seemed to take only one-half of his face; he was too sure of his interpre- tation of the Scripture, that was alL Why, that man just slaved to educate us children; hed have gone to the stake rejoicing to have made sure that we should be saved. And of the whole seven only one is a church member. Is that the road? They could see a car swinging past, on a parallel street, its bent pole hitch- ing along the trolley-wire. Pretty scrubby-looking cars, com- mented Armorer; but get our new ordinance through the council, we can save enough to afford some fine new cars. Has Lossing said anything to you about the ordinance and our peti- tion to be allowed to leave off the con- ductors? He hasnt said anything, but I read about it in the papers. Is it so very important that it should be passed? Saving money is always important, my dear, said Armorer, seriously. * The horses turned again. They were now opposite a fair lawn and a house of wood and stone built after the old colonial pattern, as modern architects see it. Esther pointed, saying: Aunt Megs, papa; isnt it pretty? Very handsome, very fine, said the financier, who knew nothing about ar- chitecture except its exceeding ex- pense. Esther, Ive a notion; if that young man of yours has brains and is fond of you, he ought to be able to get my ordinance through his little eight by ten city council. There is our chance to see what stuff he is made of! Oh, he has a great deal of influ- ence, said Esther; he can do it, un- less unless he thinks the ordinance would be bad for the city, you know. Confound the modern way of edu- cating girls! thought Armorer. Now, it would be enough for Esthers mother to know that anything was for my in- terests; it wouldnt have to help all outdoors, too! But instead of enlarging on this point, he went into a sketch of the im- provements the road could make with the money saved by the change, and was waxing eloquent when a lady of a pleasant and comely face, and a trig though not slender figure, advanced to greet them. It was after breakfast (and the scene was the neat pigs pen, where Armorer was displaying his ignorance of swine) that he found his first chance to talk with his sister alone. Oh, first, Sis, said he, ~\bout your birthday, to-day; I telegraphed to Tiffanys for that sil- ver service, you know, that you liked, so you neednt think theres a mistake when it comes. Oh, IRaish, that gorgeous thing! I must kiss you, if Daniel does see me! Oh, thats all right, said Armorer, hastily, and began to talk of the pig. Suddenly, without looking up he dropped into the pig-pen the remark: Im very much obliged to you for writing me, Meg. I dont know whether to feel more like a virtuous sister or a villainous aunt, sighed Mrs. Ellis ; things seemed to be getting on so rapidly that it didnt seem right, Esther visiting me and all, not to give you a hint; still, I am sure that nothing has been said, and it is horrid for Esther, perfectly horrid, discussing her proposals th~t havent been proposed! 212 STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. 1 dont want them ever to be pro- posed, said Armorer, gloomily. I know you always said you didnt want Esther to marry; but I thought if she fell in love with the right man we know that marriage is a very hap- py estate, sometimes, Horatio! She sighed again. In her ease it was only the memory of happiness, for Colonel Ellis had been dead these twelve years; but his widow mourned him stilL If you marry the right one, maybe, answered Armorer, grudgingly; but see here, Meg, Esther is different from the other girls; they got married when Jenny was alive to look after them, and I knew the men, and they were both big matches, you know. Then, too, I was so busy making money while the other girls grew up that I hadnt time to get real well acquainted with them. I dont think they ever kissed me, ex- cept when I gave them a check. But Esther and I he drummed with his fingers on the boards, and his thin, keen face wore a look that would have amazed his business acquaintances you remember when her mother died, Meg? Only fifteen, and how she took hold of things! And we have been to- gether ever since, and she makes me think of her grandmother and her mother both. Shes never had a wish I knew that I havent grantedwhy, d it! Ive bought my clothes to please her Thats why you are become so well- dressed, Horatio; I wondered how you came to spruce up so! interrupted Mrs. Ellis. It has been so blamed lonesome whenever she went to visit you, but yet I wouldnt say a word because I knew what a good time she had; but if I had known that there was a con- founded, long-legged, sniffy young idiot all that while trying to steal my daugh- ter away from me ! In an access of wrath at the idea Armorer wrenched off the picket that he clutched, at which he laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets. Why, Meg, the papers and maga- zines are always howling that women wont marry, cried he, with a fresh sense of grievance; now, two of my girls have married, thats enough, there was no reason for me to expect any more of them would! There isnt one d bit of need for Esther to marry! But if she loves the young fellow and he loves her, wont you let them be happy? He wont make her happy.~~ He is a very good fellow, truly and really, IRaish. And he comes of a good family I dont care for his family; and as to his being moral and all that, I know several young fellows that could skin him alive in a bargain that are moral, as you please. I have been a moral man, myself. But the trouble with this Lossing (I told Esther I didnt know anything about him, but I do), the trou- ble with him is that he is chock full of all kinds of principles! Just as father was. Dont you remember how he lost parish after parish because he couldnt smooth over the big men in them? Lossing is every bit as pig-headed. I am not going to have my daughter lead the kind of life my mother did. I want a son-in-law who aint going to think himself so much better than I am, and be rowing me for my way of doing business. If Esther must marry Id like her to marry a man with a head on him that I can take into busi- ness, and who will be willing to live with the old man. This Lossing has got his notions of making a sort of Highland chief affair of the labor question, and we should get along about as well as the Kilkenny cats! Mrs. Ellis knew more than Esther about Armorers business methods, having the advantage of her husbands point of view; and Colonel Ellis had kept the army standard of honor as well as the army ignorance of business. To counterbalance, she knew more than anyone alive what a good son and brother Horatio had always been. But she could not restrain a smile at the picture of the partnership. Precisely, you see yourself, says Armorer, Meg hesitating you dont suppose it would be any use to offer Esther a cool hundred thousand to promise to bounce this young fellow? Horatio, no! cries Mrs. Ellis, toss- ing her pretty gray head indignantly; youd insult her ! 4 STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. 213 Take it the same way, eh? Well, perhaps; Essie has high-toned notions. Thats all right, it is the thing for women. Mother had them too. Look here, Meg, Ill tell you, I want to see if this young fellow has any sense! We have an ordinance that we want passed. If he will get his council to pass it, that will show he can put his grand theories into his pockets sometimes; and I will give him a show with Esther. If he doesnt care enough for my girl to ob- lige her father, even if he doesnt please a lot of carping roosters that want the earth for their town and would like a street railway to be run to accommo- date them and lose money for the stockholders; well then, you cant blame me if I dont want him! Now, will you do one thing for me, Meg, to help me out? I dont want Lossing to persuade Esther to commit herself; you know how, when she was a little mite, if Es- ther gave her word she kept it. I want you to promise me you wont let Esther be alone one second with young Loss- ing. She is going to - morrow, but theres your whist - party to - night; I suppose hes coming? And I want you to promise you wont let him have our address. If he treats me square, he wont need to ask you for it. Well? He buttoned up his coat and folded his arms, waiting. Mrs. Effiss sympathy had gone out to the young people as naturally as water runs down hill; for she is of a romantic temperament, though she doesnt dare to be weighed. But she re- membered the silver service, the coffee- pot, the tea-pot, the tray for spoons, the creamer, the hot - water kettle, the sugar-bowl, all on a rich salver, splen- did, dazzling; what rank ingratitude it would be to oppose her generous broth- er! Rather sadly she answered, but she did answer: Ill do that much for you, Raish, but I feel were risking Esthers happiness, and I can only keep the letter of my promise. Thats all I ask, my dear, said Ar- morer, taking out a little shabby note-. book from his breast - pocket, and scratching out a line. The line effaced read, See E M tea-set. The silver service was a good muz- zle, he thought. He went away for an interview with the corporation law- yer and the superintendent of the road, leaving Mrs. Ellis in a distraction of conscience that made her the wonder of her servants that morning, during all the preparations for the whist-party. She might have felt more remorseful had she known her brothers real plan. He knew enough of Lossing to be as- sured that he would not yield about the ordinance which he firmly believed to be a dangerous one for the city. He expected, he counted on the mayor re- fusing his proffers. He hoped that Esther would feel the sympathy which women give, without question general- ly, to the business plans of those near and dear to them, taking it for granted that the plans are right because they will advantage those so near and dear. That was the beautiful and proper way that Jenny had always reasoned; why should Jennys daughter do otherwise? When Harry Lossing should oppose her father and refuse to please him and to win her, mustnt any high - spirited woman feN hurt? Certainly she must; and he would take care to whisk her off to Europe before the young man had a chance to make his peace! Yes, sir, says Armorer, to his only confidant, you never were a domestic conspira- tor before, Horatio, but you have got it down fine! You would do for Gabor- iau Gaboriaus novels being the only fiction that ever Armorer read. Never- theless, his conscience pricked him al- most as sharply as his sisters pricked her. Consciences are queer things ; like certain crustaceans, they grow shells in spots; and proof against moral artil- lery in one part, they may be soft as a babys cheek in another. Armorers con- science had two sides, business and do- mestic; people abused him for a busi- ness buccaneer, at the same time his private life was pure, and he was a most tender husband and father. He had never deceived Esther before in her life. Once he had ridden all night in a freight-car to keep a promise that he had made the child. It hurt him to be hoodwinking her now. But he was too angry and too frightened to cry back. The interview with the lawyer did not take any long time, but he spent two hours with the superintendent of 214 STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. the roa, who pronounced him a little nice fellow with no airs about him. Asked a power of questions about Har- ry Lossing; guess there is something in that story about Lossing going to marry his daughter! Marston drove him to Lossings office and left him there. He was on the ground and Marston, lifting the whip to touch the horse, when he asked: Say, before you gois there any danger in leaving off the conduct- ors? Marston was raised on mules, and he could not overcome a vehement dis- trust of electricity. Well, said he, I guess you want the cold facts. The children are almighty thick down on Third Street, and children are always trying to see how near they can come to being killed, you know, sir; and then, the old women like to come and stand on the track and ask questions of the motoneer on the other track, so that the car coming down has a chance to catch em. The two together keep the con- ductors on the jump! - Is that so? said Armorer, mus- ingly; well, I guess youd better close with that insurance man and get the papers made out before we run the new way. If we ever do run ! muttered the superintendent to himself as he drove away. Armorer ran his sharp eye over the buildings of the Lossing Art Furniture Manufacturing Company, from the ugly square brick box that was the nucleus the egg so to speakfrom which the great concern had been hatched, to the handsome new structures with their great arched windows and red mortar. Pretty property, very pretty proper- ty, thought Armorer; wonder if that story Marston tells is true! The story was to the effect that a few weeks before his last sickness the older Lossing had taken his son to look at the buildings, and said, Harry, this will all be yours before long. It is a comfort to me to think that every workman I have is the better, not the worse, off for my own- ing it; theres no blood or dirt on my money; and I leave it to you to keep it clean and to take care of the men as well as the business. Now, wasnt he a d fool! said Armorer, cheerfully, taking out his note- book to mark, See abt road MD. And he went in. Harry greeted him with exceeding cordiality and a fine blush. Armorer explained that he had come to speak to him about the pro- posed street - car ordinances; he (Ar- morer) always liked to deal with prin- cipals and without formality; now, couldnt they come, representing the city and the company, to some satis- factory compromise? Thereupon he plunged into the statistics of the earn- ings and expenses of the road (with the aid of his note - book), and made the absolute necessity of retrenchment plain. Meanwhile, as he talked he studied the attentive listener before him; and Harry, on his part, made quite as good use of his eyes. Armorer saw a tall, athletic, fair young man, very carefully, almost foppishly dressed, with bright, steady blue eyes and a firm chin, but a smile under his mustache like a childs; it was so sunny and so quick. Harry saw a neat little figure in a perfectly fitting gray check travelling suit, with a rose in the buttonhole of the coat lapel. Armorer wore no jewelry except a gold ring on the little finger of his right hand, from which he had taken the glove the better to write. Harry knew that it was his dead wifes wedding-ring; and saw it with a little moving of the heart. The face that he saw was pale but not sickly, delicate and keen. A silky brown mustache shot with gray and a Vandyke beard hid either the strength or the weakness of mouth and chin. He looked at Harry with almond-shaped, pensive dark eyes, so like the eyes that had shone on Harrys waking and sleep- ing dreams for months that the young fellow felt his heart rise again. Armorer ended by asking Harry (in his most winning manner) to help him pull the ordinance out of the fire. It would be, he said, impressively, a favor he should not forget! And you must know, Mr. Armorer, said Harry, in a dismal tone at which the president chuckled within, that there is no man whose favor I would do so much to win! Well, heres your chance ! said Armorer. STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. 215 Harry swung round in his chair, his clenched fists on his knee. He was frowning with eagerness, and his eyes were like blue steeL See here, Mr. Armorer, said he, I am frank with you. I want to please you, because I want to ask you to let me marry your daughter. But I cant please you, because I am mayor of this town, and I dont dare to let you dis- miss the conductors. I dont dare, thats the point. We have had four children killed on this road since elec- tricity was put in. We have had forty killed on one street railway I know; what of it? Do you want to give up electricity because it kills children? No, but look here! the conductors lessen the risk. A lady I know, only yesterday, had a little boy going from the kindergarten home, nice little fel- low only five years old She ought to have sent a nurse with a child five years old, a baby! cried Armorer, warmly. That lady, answered Harry, quiet- ly, goes without any servant at all in order to keep her two children at the kindergarten; and the boys elder sis- ter was ill at home. The boy got on the car, and when he got off at the crossing above his house, he started to run across; the other train - car was coming, the little fellow didnt notice, and ran to cross; he stumbled and fell right in the path of the coming car! Where was the conductor? He didnt seem much good! They had left off the conductor on that line. Well, did they run over the boy? Why havent I been informed of the ac- cident? There was no accident. A man on the front platform saw the boy fall, made a flying leap off the moving car backward, fell, but scrambled up and pulled the boy off the track. Ah, it was sickening; I thought we were both gone! Oh, you were the man? 0 I was the man; and dont you see, Mr. Armorer, why I feel strongly on the subject? If the conductor had been on, there wouldnt have b~e~ ~ny occa- sion for a~y accident. Well, sir, you may be assured that we will take precautions against any such accidents. It is more for our in- terest than anyones to guard against them. And I have explained to you the necessity of cutting down our ex- pense list. That is just it, you think you have to risk our lives to cut down expenses; but we get all the risk and none of the benefits. I cant see my way clear to helping you, sir; I wish I could. Then there is nothing more to say, Mr. Lossing, said Armorer, coldly. Im sorry a mere sentiment that has no real foundation should stand in the way of our arranging a deal that would be for the advantages of both the city and our road. He rose. Harry rose also, but lifted his hand to stop him. Pardon me, there is something else; I wouldnt mention it, but I hear you are going to leave to- morrow and go abroad withMiss Ar- morer. I am conscious I havent in- troduced myself very favorably, by refusing you a favor when I want to ask the greatest one possible; but I hope, sir, you will not think the less of a man because he is not willing to sac- rifice the interests of the people who trust him, to please anyone. II hope you will not object to my asking Miss Armorer to marry me, concluded Har- ry, very hot and shaky, and forgetting the beginning of his sentences before he came to the end. Does my daughter love you, do I understand, Mr. Lossing? I dont know, sir. I wish I did. Well, Mr. Lossing, said Armorer, wishing that something in the young mans confusion would not remind him of the awful moment when he asked old Forrester for his Jenny, I am afraid I can do nothing for you. If you have too nice a conscience to oblige me, I am afraid it will be too nice to let you get on in the world. Good- morning. Stop a minute, said Harry; if it is only my ability to get on in the world that is the trouble, I think It is your love for my daughter, said Armorer; if you dont love her enough to give up a sentimental notion for her to win her, I dont see but you 216 STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. must lose her. I bid you good-morn- ing, sir. Not quite yet, sir Harry jumped before the door; you give me the al- ternative of being what I call dishonor- able or losing the woman I love! He pronounced the last word with a little effort and his lips closed sharply as his teeth shut under them. Well, I de- cline the alternative. I shall try to do my duty and get the wife I want, both. Well, you give me fair warning, dont you? said Armorer. Harry held out his hand, saying, I am sorry that I detained you. I didnt mean to be rude. There was some- thing boyish and simple about the ac- tion and the tone, and Armorer laughed. As Harry attended him through the outer office to the door, he compli- mented the shops. Miss Armorer and Mrs. Ellis have promised to give me the pleasure of showing them to them this afternoon,~~ said Harry; cant I show them and part of our city to you, also? It has changed a good deal since you left it. The remark took Armorer off his balance; for a rejected suitor this young man certainly had an even mind. But he had all the helplessness of the average American with regard to his daughters amusements. The humor in the situation took him; and it can- not be denied he began to have a vivid curiosity about Harry. In less time than it takes to read it, his mind had swung round the circle of these vari- ous points of view, and he had blandly accepted Harrys invitation. But he mopped a warm and fur ~owed brow, outside, and drew a prodigious sigh as he opened the note - book in his hand and crossed out, See L. That young fellow aint all conscience, said he, not by a long shot. He found Mrs. Ellis very apologetic about the Lossing engagement. It was made through the telephone; Esther had been anxious to have her father meet Lossing; Lossing was to drive them there, and later show Mr. Armor- er the town. Mr. Lossing is a very clever young man, very, said Armorer, gravely, as he went out to smoke his cigar after lun- cheon. He wished he had stayed, how- ever, when he returned to find that a visitor had called, and that this visitor was the mother of the little boy that Harry Lossing had saved from the car. The two women gave him the accident in full, and were lavish of harrowing detail, including the mothers feelings. So you see, IRaish, urged Mrs. Ellis, timidly, there is some reason for op- position to the ordinance. Esther had red cheeks and her eyes shone, but she had not spoken. Her father put his arm around her waist and kissed her hair. And what did you say, Essie, he asked, gently, to all the criticisms? I told her I thought you would find some way to protect the children even if the conductors were taken off; you didnt enjoy the slaughter of children any more than anyone else. I guess we can fix it. Here is your young man.~~ Harry drove a pair of spirited horses. He drove well, and looked both hand- some and happy. Did you know that ladythe moth- er of the boy that wasnt run over was coming to see my sister? said Armorer, on the way. I did, said Harry, I sent her; I thought she could explain the reason why I shall have to oppose the bill, better than I. Armorer made no reply. At the shops he kept his eye on Har- ry. Harry seemed to know most of his workmen, and had a nod or a word for all the older men. He stopped several moments to talk with one old German who complained of everything, but looked after Harry with a smile, nodding his head. That man, Lied- ers, is our best workman, you cant get any better work in the country, said he. I want you to see an armoire that he has carved, it is up in our exhi- bition room.~~ Armorer said, You seem to get on very well with your working people, Mr. Lossing. I think we generally get on well with them, and they do well themselves in these small Western towns. For one thing, we havent much organization to fight, and for another thing, the indi- vidual workman ha~ a better chance to STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. 217 rise. That man, Lieders, whom you furniture in a haunted house, toward saw, is worth a good many thousand the two gentlewomen. Immediately, a dollars ; my father invested his savings short but powerfully built luau, whose for him. red face beamed above his dusty shoul You are one of the philanthropists, ders like a full moon with a mustache, arent you, Mr. Lossing, who are trying emerged, and waved his hand at the to elevate the laboring classes? sideboard. Not a bit of it, sir. I shall never I could tackle the two of them, beg- try to elevate the laboring classes; it is ging your pardon, ladies. too big a contract. But I try as hard as Thats Cardigan, explained Har- I know how to have every man who has ry, Miss Armorer may have told you worked for Harry Lossing the better about him. Oh, Shuey! for it. I dont concern myself with any Cardigan approached and was pre- other laboring men. sented. He brought both his heels Just then a murmur of exelama- together and bowed solemnly, bending tions came from Mrs. Ellis and Esther, his head at the same time. whom the superintendent was pilot- Pleased to meet you, sir, said ing through the shops. Oh, no, it is Shuey. Then he assumed an attitude too heavy; oh, dont do it, Mr. Cardi- of military attention. gaul Oh, we can see it perfectly Take us up in the elevator, will you, well from here! Please dont, you will Shucy? said Harry. Step in, Mr. break yourself somewhere! Mrs. Ellis Armorer, please, we will go and see the shrieked this; but the shrieks turned reproductions of the antique; we have to a murmur of admiration as a huge a room upstairs. carved sideboard came bobbing and Mr. Armorer stepped in, Shuey fol- wobbling, like an intoxicated piece of lowing; and then, before Hhrry could VOL. XIII.21 Keeping the pig neatPage 208. 218 STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. enter it, the elevator shot upward and And thats true, too, aequieseed stuck! Shuey. Forthwith he did lift up his Whats the matter? cried Armor- voice in a loud wailing: Ohh, Jim- er. my! Ohh, Jimmy Ryan! Shuey was tugging at the wire rope. Jimmy might have been in Chicago He called in tones that seemed to come for any response he made; though Ar- from a panting chest: Take a pull at morer shouted with Shuey; and at it yourself, sir! Can you move it? every pause the whirr of the machinery Armorer grasped the rope vicious- mocked the shouters. Indescribable ly; Shuey was on the seat pulling from moans and gargles with a continuous above. Were stuck, sir, fast! malignant hiss floated up to them from Cant you get down either? the rebel steam below, as from a vol- Divil a bit, saving your presence, cano considering eruption. Theyll be sir. Do ye think like the water-works bound to need the elevator some time could be busted? if they dont need us, and thats one Cant you make somebody hear? comfort! said Shucy, philosophically. panted Armorer. Dont you think if we pulled on her Well, you see theres a deal of noise we could get her up to the next floor, of the machinery, said Shuey, scratch- by degrees? Now then! ing his chin with a thoughtful air, Armorer gave a dash and Shucy let and they expect weve gone up. out his muscles in a giant tug. The Best try, anyhow. This infernal elevator responded by an astonishing machine may take a notion to drop! leap that carried them past three or four said Armorer. floors! One old German who complained of everything.Pae 216. 219 STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. Stop her! stop her! bawled Shuey, but in spite of Armorers pulling him- self purple in the face, the elevator did not stop until it bumped with a crash against the joists of the roof. Well, do you suppose were stuck here? said Armorer. Well, sir, Ill try. Say, dont be exerting yourself violent. It strikes me shes for all the world like the wimmen, in exthremes, sir, in exthremes! And it wouldnt be noways so pleasant to go riproaring that gait down cellar! Slow and easy, sir, let me manage her. Hi! shes working. In fact; by slow degrees and much puffing, Shucy got the erratic box to the next floor, where, disregarding Shucys protestations that he could make her mind! Mr. Armorer got out, and they left the elevator to its f~te. It was a long way, through many rooms, downstairs. Shucy would have beguiled the way by describing the rooms, but Armorer was in a raging hurry and urged his guide over the ground. Once they were delayed by a bundle of stuff in front of a door; and after Shucy had laboriously rolled the great roll away, he made a misstep and tumbled over, rolliri g it back, to a titter- ing accompaniment from the sewing- Mr. AroTorer got out, and they left the elevator to its fate DRAWN BY A. B. FROST. Mrs. Ellis was kind enough to put her fingers in her ears and turn her backPage 222. STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. 221 girls in the room. But he picked himself up in perfect good temper and kicked the roll ten yards. Girls is silly things, said the philosopher Shuey, but being born that way it aint to be expected otherwise! He had the friendly freedom of his class in the West. He praised Mrs. Elliss gymnastics, and urged Armorer to stay over a morning train and see a real pretty boxing match between Mr. Lossing and himself. Oh, he boxes too, does he? said Armorer. And why on earth should he groan? inquired Shuey. He does that, sir. Didnt Mrs. Ellis ever tell you about the time at the circus? She was there herself, with three children she borrowed and an unreasonable gyurl, with a terrible big screech in her and no sense. Yes, sir, Mr. Lossing he is mighty diver with his hands! There come a yell of Lion loose! lion loose! at that circus, just as the folks was all crowding out at the end of it, and them that had gone into the menagerie tent came a - tumbling and howling back, and them that was in the circus tent waiting for the concert (which never aint worth waiting for, be- tween you and me !) was a-scrambling off them seats, making a noise like thunder; and all fighting and pushing and bellow- ing to get out! I was there with my wife and making for the seats that the fools quit, sos to get under and crawl out under the canvas, when I see Mrs. Ellis holding two of the children, and that fool girl let the other go and I grabbed it. Oh, save the baby! save one, anyhow, cries my wifethe wom- an is a tinder-hearted crechure! And just then I seen an old lady tumble over on the benches, with her gray hair stringing out of her black bonnet. The crowd was wild, hitting and screaming and not caring for anything, and I see a big jack of a man come plunging down right spang on that old lady! His foot was right in the air over her face! ~ Lord, it turned me sick. I yelled. But that minnit I seen an arm shoot out and that fellow shot off as slick! it was Mr. Lossing. He parted that crowd, hitting right and left, and he got up to us and hauled a child from Mrs. Ellis and put VOL. XIII.22 it on the seats, all the while shouting: Keep your seats! its all right! its all over! stand back! I turned and floored a feller that was too pressing, and hollered it was all right too. And some more people hollered too. You see, there is just a minnit at such times when it is a toss up whether folks will quiet down and begin to laugh, or get scared into wild beasts and crush and kill each other. And Mr. Lossing he caught the minnit! The circus folks came up and the police, and it was all over. Well, just look here, sir; theres our folks coming out of the elevator! They were just landing; and Mrs. Ellis wanted to know where he had gone. We run away from ye, shure, said Shuey, grinning; and he related the adventure. Armorer fell back with Mrs. Ellis. Did you stay with Esther every minute? said he. Mrs. Ellis nodded. She opened her lips to speak, then closed them and walked ahead to Harry Lossing. Armorer lookedsus- picion of a dozen kinds gnawing him and insinuating that the three all seemed agitated, from Harry to Esther, and then to Shuey. But he kept hia thoughts to himself and was very agree- able the remainder of the afternoon. He heard Harry tell Mrs. Ellis that. the city council would meet that even- ing; before, however, Armorer could feel exultant he added, but may I come late? He is certainly the coolest beggar, Armorer snarled, but he is sharp as a~ niggers razor, confound him! Naturally this remark was a confi- dential one to himself. He thought it more times than one during the evening, and by consequence played trumps with equal disregard of the laws of the noble game of whist and his partners feelings. He found a few, a very few elderly people who remem- bered his parent, and they will never believe ill of Horatio Armorer, who talked so simply and with so much feeling of old times, and who is going to give a memorial window in the new Presbyterian church. He was begin- ning to think with some interest of supper, the usual dinner of the family having been sacrificed to the demands 222 STORIES OF A WESTERN TOWN. of state; then he saw Harry Lossing. The young mayors blonde head was bowing before his sisters black velvet. He caught Armorers eye and followed him out to the lawn and the shadows and the gay lanterns. He looked ani- mated. Evening dress was becoming to him. One of my daughters mar- ried a prince, but I am hanged if he looked it like this fellow, thought Ar- morer; but then he was only an Ital- ian. I suppose the council did not pass the ordinance? your committee reported against it? he said, quite amiably to Harry. I wish you could understand how much pain it has given me to oppose you, Mr. Armorer, said Harry, blush- ing. I dont doubt it, under the circum- stances, Mr. Lossing. Armorer spoke with suave politeness, but there was a ~ynical gleam in his eye. But Esther understands, says Harry. Esther! repeats Armorer, with an indescribable intonation. You spoke. to her this afternoon? For a man with such high-toned ideas as you car- ry, I think you took a pretty mean ad- vantage of your guests! You will remember I gave you fair warning, Mr. Armorer. It was while I was in the elevator, of course. I guessed it was a put-up job; how did you manage it? Harry smiled outright; he is one who cannot keep either his dog or his joke tied up. It was Shuey did it, said he, he pulled the opposite way from you, and he has tremendous strength; but he says you were a handful for him. You seem to have taken the town into your confidence, said Armorer, bitterly, though he had a sneaking in- clination to laugh, himself; do you need all your workmen to help you court your girl ? Id take the whole United States into my confidence rather than lose her, sir, answered Harry, steadily. Armorer turned on his heel ab- ruptly; it was to conceal a smile. How about my sister? did you pro- pose before her? But I dont suppose a little thing like that would stop you. I had to speak; Miss Armorer goes away to-morrow. Mrs. Ellis was kind enough to put her fingers in her ears and turn her back. And what did my daughter say? I asked her only to give me the chance to show her how I loved her, and she has, God bless her! I dont pretend Im worthy of her, Mr. Ar- morer, but I have lived a decent life, and Ill try hard to live a better one for her trust in me. Im glad there is one thing on which we are agreed, jeered Armorer, but you are more modest than you were this noon. I think it was considerably like bragging, sending that woman to tell of your heroic feats! Oh, I can brag when it is necessary, said Harry, serenely; what would the West be but for bragging? And what do you intend to do if I take your girl to Europe? Europe is not very far, said Harry. Armorer was a quick thinker, but he had never thought more quickly in his life. This young fellow had beaten him. There was no doubt of it. He might have principles, but he declined to let his principles hamper him. There was something about Harrys waiving aside defeat so lightly, and so swiftly snatch- ing at every chance to forward his will, that accorded with Armorers own tem- perament. Tell me, Mr. Armorer, said Harry, suddenly; in my place wouldnt you have done the same thing? Armorer no longer checked his sense of humor. No, Mr. Lossing, he an- swered, sedately, I should have re- spected the old gentlemans wishes and voted any way he pleased. He held out his hand. I guess Esther thinks you are the coming young man of the century; and to be honest, I like you a great deal better than I expected to this morning. Im not cut out for a cruel father, Mr. Lossing; for one thing, I havent the time for it; for another thing, I cant bear to have my little girl cry. I guess I shall have to go to Europe without Esther. Shant we go in to the ladies now? Harry wrung the presidents hand, crying that he should never regret his kindness. IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOR IN ROME. 223 See that Esther never regrets it, that will be better, said Armorer, with a touch of real and deep feeling. Then, as Harry sprang up the steps like a boy, he took out the note-book, and smiling a smile in which many emo- tions were blended, he ran a black line through See abt L. IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. By Frederic Crowninshield. SECOND PAPER. 1VL~x 20, 1891.To-day I made one of my frequent pilgrimages to the Sistine Chapel and Raphaels Stauze, more particularly to note the decorative ef- fects and scale of the figures; yet not being in an unreceptive frame of mind, I garnered a goodly store of new sen- sations and ideas. Entering by the bronze gate, I passed along Berninis majestic gallery up to the Sistine. What impresses in Rome is the ampli- tude of the architecture, the stateliness of enclosed space. The architect has neither been awed by the value of land per square foot, nor by the inertia of stone, nor by the costliness of labor. Everything is on a generous, monumen- tal scale. The architectural vistas de- light the imaginative eye. Wandering up this endless corridor one dreams of Miltonian art. And how good, yet sim- ple, is the pavement! Alternate lozenges of red terra-cotta and cool gray stone, 9 the whole intersected by larger motives of creamy trav~rtine. From the monumental point of view there is no better field than the Sistine Chapel for a comparative study of the work by the great frescoists who flour- ished toward the close of the fifteenth century and the new idea as repre- sented by Michael Angelo. But be- fore making any critical comparisons, or decorative observations, one fact must be noted that often materially mitigates the harshness of our strict- ures in weighing the mural work of this epoch. When judging the artistic en- semble of the Sistine, as well as the majority of large decorative Roman in- tenors, it must be borne in mind that we are not dealing with a homogeneous band of artists, working out, in friend- ly rivalry, a preconcerted scheme. Suc- ceeding patrons and artists showed but little regard for the works of their prede- cessors. Everyone strove for his own glorification, so that the wall became the palestra where an artist could exhib- it his bravura, rather than contribute to the perfection of the whole. A certain unity obtained in the Sistine Chapel un- til the advent of Michael Angelo, the ar- tists being constrained to work in well- Stucco from the Ruins of a Roman Villa Excavated in the Farnesina Gardens.

Frederick Crowninshield Crowninshield, Frederick Impressions Of A Decorator In Rome - II. 223-237

IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOR IN ROME. 223 See that Esther never regrets it, that will be better, said Armorer, with a touch of real and deep feeling. Then, as Harry sprang up the steps like a boy, he took out the note-book, and smiling a smile in which many emo- tions were blended, he ran a black line through See abt L. IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. By Frederic Crowninshield. SECOND PAPER. 1VL~x 20, 1891.To-day I made one of my frequent pilgrimages to the Sistine Chapel and Raphaels Stauze, more particularly to note the decorative ef- fects and scale of the figures; yet not being in an unreceptive frame of mind, I garnered a goodly store of new sen- sations and ideas. Entering by the bronze gate, I passed along Berninis majestic gallery up to the Sistine. What impresses in Rome is the ampli- tude of the architecture, the stateliness of enclosed space. The architect has neither been awed by the value of land per square foot, nor by the inertia of stone, nor by the costliness of labor. Everything is on a generous, monumen- tal scale. The architectural vistas de- light the imaginative eye. Wandering up this endless corridor one dreams of Miltonian art. And how good, yet sim- ple, is the pavement! Alternate lozenges of red terra-cotta and cool gray stone, 9 the whole intersected by larger motives of creamy trav~rtine. From the monumental point of view there is no better field than the Sistine Chapel for a comparative study of the work by the great frescoists who flour- ished toward the close of the fifteenth century and the new idea as repre- sented by Michael Angelo. But be- fore making any critical comparisons, or decorative observations, one fact must be noted that often materially mitigates the harshness of our strict- ures in weighing the mural work of this epoch. When judging the artistic en- semble of the Sistine, as well as the majority of large decorative Roman in- tenors, it must be borne in mind that we are not dealing with a homogeneous band of artists, working out, in friend- ly rivalry, a preconcerted scheme. Suc- ceeding patrons and artists showed but little regard for the works of their prede- cessors. Everyone strove for his own glorification, so that the wall became the palestra where an artist could exhib- it his bravura, rather than contribute to the perfection of the whole. A certain unity obtained in the Sistine Chapel un- til the advent of Michael Angelo, the ar- tists being constrained to work in well- Stucco from the Ruins of a Roman Villa Excavated in the Farnesina Gardens. 224 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOR IN ROME. defined compartments. Their style, too, had the harmony of contemporane- ity. But the godlike, impulsive, devil- may-take-the-rest Florentine consider- ably disturbed the decorative equilib- rium. One more general observation must be offered before descending to particularization, namely, the predom- inant and often excessive use of the figure. In the best decorative days of the Renaissance (by the best days I mean the latter part of the fifteenth century), the pictures were severely framed by architectural members, highly ornamented with delicate classic details, arabesques, or symmetrically disposed motives from nature. If the figure oc- curs in these borders it differs either in scale or color from the enclosed compo- sition. There is no confusion. Each is well separated from the other. From a good decorative point of view, figure subjects were, even in these times, of- ten too liberally dispensed on both wall and ceiling. Frequently one feels that either would gain were some architect- ural, or contrasting scheme, adopted for the other. In justification, however, of this liberal use of the picture it should be remembered that a prince or pontiff had to be immortalized, a lesson incul- cated, or a story told; that the brush was the vehicle of expression rather than the pen; that the audience addressed was in the main unlettered; and finally that moral often outweighed artistic considerations. When the decadence set in after Raphaels death, all restraint was thrown off, and the abuse of the figure was shocking. Dados, walls, ceil- ings, everything was be-sprinkledno, be - splashed with a chaos of agitated arms, legs, heads, and torsos, almost in- variably too big in scale. Nearly everyone interested in such matters knows that the Sistine Chapel is a long, narrow, and lofty vaulted hall, lighted on either side by six round- headed windows.* Corresponding to the base of these windows a heavy string-course, support- ing an iron balustrade, runs round three sides of the chapel, pretty nearly divid- ing the walls into two equal portions. * 131 feet 6 inches long by 45 feet 2~ inches wide, east end; 43 feet 23, inches wide, west, or Last Judgment end, and probably over 60 feet high. Each of these portions is again nearly equally subdivided by projecting mould- ings. All above the upper moulding, which corresponds to the spring of the arched windows, including the vault, belongs to Michael Angelo. The second quarter, . which is interrupted on the sides by the windows, is covered with portrait frescos of the popes, by Botti- cdli. The third quarter consists of a beautiful girdle of twelve pictures (not including the two on the eastern wall, which are inferior works of a later epoch), executed by the elite of the quattrocento. Of equal length, they are well separated by richiy frescoed pilas- ters with capitals in relief, which are repeated in the divisions immediately above and below. This latter, or the fourth and lowest quarter, is now paint- ed in imitation of drapery where for- merly hung on gala days the celebrat- ed tapestries of Raphael. The western wall, with the exception of a low dado, is entirely covered by Michael Ange- los Last Judgment, which discords with everything else, and completely destroys the decorative unity of the chapeL Time and smoke have largely contributed to render it less nocuous; but in eliminating the element of artistic personality, one cannot but regret, for harmonys sake, the destruction of Pc- ruginos frescos that formerly occupied this post of honor. The pavement is of opus Alexandrinuln, the higher portion, near the entrance, being separated from the body of the chapel by an exqui- sitely wrought marble screen. Though the great Florentines Last Judgment strikes a discord in the general harmony, it is not so with his ceiling. In spite of adverse criticisms, to me it is not only superbly decorative in itself, but its grander forms contrast pleasingly with the more compact and delicate fres- cos of the quattrocentisti below, and from which it is not only isolated by a projecting moulding but also by the technique. As Michael Angelo was never known to care a bajocco either for the work, or the feelings of a rival, he can scarcely be credited with this pleas- ing effect of opposition. Whatever might have been beneath he would doubtless have painted the same ceil- ing. In jotting down the days experi N IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 225 ences I had purposed to refrain as much as possible from purely pictorial appre- ciations, yet really I cannot help assert.. ing that Michael Angelos vault, in spite of some patent defects, is the greatest initiated by Mantegna and Melozzo da Forlisuggested would be a better term, for they used it with the greatest reservedeveloped by Correggio and grotesquely abused by the seventeenth work of art that has ever been produced. The vault is distributed into compart- ments of various shapes and sizes, by means of a simulated architecture, with which each picture is firmly framed. This architecture is not an accumulation of violently foreshortened fancies, hav- ing a single vanishing point, and conse- quently a single point of view (a system that culminated with padre Pozzi, 1642 1709), but each half of the nine great sections which span the vault has an in- dependent vanishing point, as have also the pictures therein enclosed. Of what the Italians call the di sotto in su businessthat is, the effort to produce on the spectator below the illusion of figures soaring abovethere is but very little. This a~rial foreshortening was and eighteenth century frescoists. Were Michael Angelos pictures, or the iso- lated figures, detached from the ceiling, and hung upon the wall they would not offend perspectively, with the possible exception of the Jonah, a creation im- mensely admired by Buonarottis fol- lowers, and I may add, unfortunately; for, with our post factum knowledge we cannot but see in its bold and skilful foreshortenings the germs of those ex- aggerations which in later days acceler- ated the decadence. The general tone of the vault is very pleasant. Of course it is much grayer now than when freshly painted, yet it must always have been light and airy. The buon fresco~ pro- cess often gives such a plein air effect, that one is frequently struck by the Stucco-reliefs in the so-called Tomb of the Valerli, Via Latins. [Probably eccond century AD.] 226 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. modernity of feeling in these old mural paintings. Taking into consideration the lack of precedent and boldness of the experiment, we must congratulate Michael Angelo on the scale of his fig- ures. In the earlier frescos, if one may hazard a generalization, the scale for lofty mural figures was too small. Sub- sequently it became too large. One might almost determine the epoch of a fresco by the scale alone. Decorative and intellectual lucidity demanded a diversified scale in the various compart- ments of the ceiling, thus the prophets are larger than the figures in the great central compartments, these again than those in the smaller central sections, et cetera. Following in the old ruts, he made his figures in the background of the Deluge too small. But this was his first and last error, unless we except the unfortunate Jonah, who seems to me de- cidedly too large. The Adam in the panel of the Creation is, according to Wilson, who measured it, ten feet high, and those adorable young demi-gods at the corners of the central pictures are apparently of the same size; while the prophets and sibyls if erect would aver- age about eighteen feet. The scale of the figures in the zone of quattrocento frescos is much smaller. Those in the immediate foreground may be life-size, though they appear a trifle less. Con- sidering their height from the ground and the importance then attached to biblical illustration, they are too small. This scale-error has fortunately contrib- uted considerably to the general deco- rative beauty of the chapel and to the enhancement by contrast of Michael Angelos ceiling, for, there being a very great number of figures, diminishing in size as they recede from the foreground, as well as many opulent accessories, and the tone of the landscapes being bluish- green, the compact, rich effect of tapes- try is produced. Peruginos Christ giving the Keys to Peters must be ex- cepted. This nobly conceived and deco- rative fresco is pitched in a lighter key than the others, while the scene takes place on an open, spacious piazza with architectural motives in the background. It is one of the few creations of the epoch which manifest a feeling for space, a quality so highly prized by the men of to-day. llJnfortunately it makes a hole in the tapestried line of pictures. But as this tapestry effect was entirely unpremeditated we can scarcely blame Perugino. Dom. Ghirlandajo and Sig- norelli are here as usual very monu- mental. Botticelli is a bit too dramatic and agitated for the wall. As I glanced at Michael Angelos stupendous figures on leaving the chapel, the thought struck me that Milton must have seen them when in Rome, and hence all sorts of suggestive comparisons till I reached the Stanze. For years I have duly admired and lauded these lovely, rhythmical creations of the sweet-souled Raphael; and to- day, perhaps more than ever, did hom- age to the Mass of Bolsena, the Par- nassus, and Jurisprudence. And now, without remorse, or the accusa- tion of presumption, I can give vent to an offensive thought or two. Were there ever such degrees of excellence as in these transition days of the Renaissance, such juxtapositions of the stupendous and the second rateI was on the point of writing the ridiculous! Even the divine Raphael nods occasionally, and by the side of some godlike, imperish- able form limus a commonplace figure.. And what brutality of constructors workmanship! Note the curves of the arches in the Incendio del Borgo, and Segnatura. They are so false, that the painters have abandoned all attempt to make their designs fit. Everybody seems to have been in a hurry. Popes were impatient and selfish, caring naught for the monumental undertakings of their predecessors or successors. The marvel is that the decorative pictures of this time, when painters conceived and executed their great frescos on the spur of the moment, should have been immortal models for all succeeding generations. Perchance the very haste, necessitated by the impetuosity of pa- trons, and the mechanical exigencies of the fresco process, may account for the inspired energy and rhythmic swing. It is sometimes embarrassing, in the Stauze of Raphael, to deter- mine what is the masters work and what the pupils. Many of the short-. comings may be set down to the incom- petence of the latter. The greater part IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 227 of the Segnatura, on which he worked for three years, is by Raphael, and dec- oratively speaking it is by far the best room. At that time, he had not emanci- pated himself entirely from quattro- cento influence, and was masquerading less in Michael Angelos toggery, a fact that enters largely into its decorative pre-eminence. Notwithstanding the rav- ages of time and vandalism of Bour- bons soldiers in 1527, this room is ex- ceedingly beautiful. Ceiling, walls, and opus Alexandrinum, pavement form a very harmonious ensemble. The ceiling is resplendent with gold and color, and the pictures resonant with Raphaelesque grace. The scale of the four principal figures in the circular compositions is very happy, being apparently life-size. The same correctness of scale is ob- served in the large frescos on the side- walls, and below on the dado. In the latter the size of the figures has been greatly diminished, and browns or grisaille substituted for color, thus separating sharply the lower part of the wall from the pictures above, and avoid- ing a feeling of overloaded confusion. Possibly, had the figure been altogether omitted from the dado, there would have been a decorative gain. Now, if you walk quickly from this stanza into that of Heliodorus, you will at once experience the sensation of having en- tered a smaller room, though actually it is a trifle larger. This sensation I verified by questioning a lay compan- ion. The feeling of diminution is en- tirely caused by the increment of scale, and especially by that of the dado, on which are painted eleven large carya- tides and four statues in grisaille. The ceiling of this room is not a suc- cess. It is an older work, probably by Baldassare Peruzzi, vamped up by Ra- phaeL In the Incendio stanza the scale is still unhappier. The figures of the mural compositions are frequently over life - size, as are also the mono- chromes on the dado. The room being relatively small (about thirtyeight feet by twenty-eight) and the pictures just 9 above the level of the eye, there is no warrant for the increment of scale, un- less it be the ambition to cope with Michael Angelos Sistine vault. As be- fore remarked, this illogical expansion of scale for some time kept pace with the incoming years. Peruginos ceil- ing in this stanza is pretty much all that escaped the general destruction of frescos executed by the older men, to make room for Raphael and his schooL It was spared by the pupil out of re- spect to the master. Let us be grate- ful. It is very beautiful, beautiful be- cause so simple. The arrises of the groined vault are emphasized by rich Renaissance borders, and in each of the four triangular spaces is inscribed a circle inclosing a sacred subject; the remainder of the field being filled with graceful arabesques. It is less rich than the Segnatura ceiling (of which the ornament, and decorative distribu- tion, are said to be by Sodoma), but on the other hand it is less confused. The scale of Raphaels figures on the Seg- natura vault is happier. Here they are a trifle too small. Passing through the Sala dei Chia- roscuria chamber of decorative hor- rors by the successors of Sanzioone enters the chapel of Nicholas V., covered with frescos illustrating the lives of Saints Lawrence and Stephen, by Bea- to Angelico, in 1447. These paintings are remarkably well preserved. Their stories are clearly and sweetly told the calm figures, scarcely ruffled by the breath of dramatic action, form a re- poseful contrast to the fluttering, melo- dramatic forms of Yasari over the altar, and the stilted productions of the pre- ceding hall. June 27, 1891.At noon I went to the Vatican by appointment to meet Count Vespigniani, who did the honors of the Borgia apartment, now closed to the public, preparatory to its conversion into a museum under the intelligent patronage of Leo XIII. The books and book-cases had just been removed, re- vealing beneath the vaults and lunettes, rich with gold and precious ultrama- rine, chilly, white surfaces. The walls have been whitewashed, perhaps, for less than half a century. Beneath the coat of white there are traces here and there of ornamental painting, but as yet no figure work. The beautiful marble frieze that girdles every stanza has also been bedaubed with whitewash, which is to be carefully removed both 228 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOR IN ROME. from frieze and wall, under the super- vision of Professor Seitz. Fragments of the ancient pavement are still extant, though time has worn away the glaze on most of the tiles. Those that re- main intact have been carefully copied by Vespignianis assistants, and are to be reproduced in Naples. From these and other data new pavements are to be constructed that will, as nearly as possible, be facsimiles of the old. An atmosphere of mystery has always shrouded these rooms, which have been so jealously guarded that a prolonged study of their pictorial riches has been very difficult, and, without much red- tape, or influence, next to impossible. Shortly they will be open to the pub- lic. At the present moment ingress is more difficult than ever. Inasmuch as my guide was a man of many affairs, I could do little more than get a good im- pression of the whole. Even for this glimpse I am very grateful; for the apartment is absolutely unique and of a decorative gorgeousness impossible to exaggerate, a sort of Aladdins cave, not barbaric, but composed and controlled by Renaissance genius. We entered by the spacious Hall of the Guards, decorated by Pierino del Vaga and Giovanni da Udine, containing a rich chimney piece by Sansovino, or his schooL Passing through this saloon we found ourselves in one of the three stimptuous chambers decorated by Pin- turicchio, which are the chief attractions of the apartment. The rooms are situ- ated beneath the Stauze of Raphael, to which, I conjecture, they correspond in size. Each room is divided in its centre by an archpresumably to give greater strength to the story aboveof which the supporting pilasters project but slightly from the walL The vaults on either side are groined. The ceiling of the first room is not dissimilar in composition to Peruginos in the In- cendio del Borgo. The arrises formed by the intersection of the arches are ornamented with the rope pattern in gilded relief. Circular compositions are inscribed in the triangles, of which the ground is deep blue enlivened with gold arabesques. The lunettes on the wall below the ceiling and above the frieze are frescoed with incidents from the life of the Virgin. It is not within the scope of these notes to describe the pictures. The mere assertion that they are exquisite specimens of lljmbrian art must suffice. The scale of the figures, considering their moderate height from the pavement, is felicitousthose in the foreground being just under life-size. The tapestry-like tonality of the jaint- ings is very agreeable, and contrasts happily with the blue - gold vault, on which red has been sparingly used. Gilded relief, both on the ceiling and accessories of the pictures, has been freely employed. Tapestries are said to have hung below the frieze of this stanza. If the imagination can also supply the gay, lustrous, tiled pave- ment, the spectator will form a correct idea of its former splendor. Perhaps the actual condition of vault and fres- cos is to the practised eye, the eye that can pardon the blemishes of time, more agreeable than they ever were. When fresh, the blue of the ceiling must have been a trifle harsh. To-day it is low-toned and quiet. The frescos, too, have been glazed with the lovely patina of age. These paintings were, I believe, restored in the latter part of the sixteenth century, though the res- torations must have been very slight. Constable Bourbons hirelings made sad havoc of the apartment, but the ceiling and paintings escaped their van- dalisms. This stanza is less gorgeous than the remaining two. On the other hand, while sufficiently splendid, it is more temperate and in better taste. These remaining rooms, the first illus- trating events in the lives of St. Cather- ine of Alexandria and other saints, the second representing the Liberal Arts, are sumptuous to an excessive degree. The use of gilded and painted basso- relievo is pushed to an extreme. Nor is this relief confined to the vault and decorative portions, where the golden Borgia bulls gleam conspicuously. It is employed also in combination with the mural paintings. Architectural ac- cessories, flowers of the field, and even draperies of the figures, are raised from the ground and vibrate with pigment and metal. The sky of some of the pict- ures is nothing but a mass of thickly- set golden studs. Since this last visit to 0 cc General View of the Sistine Chapel, facing the Last Judgment. ENGRAVED BY S. 0. PUTNAM. 230 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. iRQme, Pinturicchio has risen vastly in After locking the Borgia apartment, my estimation. Not only has he proved Vespigniani, who with his colossal keys himself an admirable artist in these seemed to be a sort of vicarious St. Pc- Borgia rooms (where the ultra splen or ter, took me into the old library of Six- may have been enforced), but likewise tus IV., now used as a store - room, to in the church of S. Maria dcl Popolo show me the remnants of the glazed- he shows himself a great decorative and tiled pavements, which are being care- religious painter. His beautiful fres- fully copied. Not only is there a great coed vault in the choir, admirably pre- variety of tiles in each chamber, but served, is a masterpiece of ornamental the variety is still further emphasized distribution, not to mention its love- by the diversified arrange~ cut of tiles ly tones and refined sentiment, with having the same design. With the cx- which, too, his altar-piece, the Nativ- ception of the pavements the rooms are ity, in the della Rovere Chapel, is re- not decoratively interesting. The white plete. walls are in part covered with rude Odious as they are, comparisons are paintings, probably in tempera, as unavoidable in Rome. The remains of they have scaled considerably. antiquity and the derived renaissance are juxtaposed. Willy nilly we compare. MUSEO NAZIONALE. As I thought of the little painted tomb on the Via Latina, which probably dates November 26, 1890May 21, 1891. from the second century AD., I said to This is a new museum, established in the myself: Eliminating the pictorial dc- Baths of Diocletian, partly composed of ment, and considering purely the deco- antiques from the Museo Kircheriano Christ giving the Keys to St. Peter fresco hy Perugino, Sistine Chepel. rative, neither the sumptuous Borgia and other collections, and partly of the rooms, no the Stauze of Raphael, nor more recent finds, such as the lovely / the exuberant fancies of the Villas Ma- headless and armless statue discovered dama and Papa Giulio, can quite cope three years ago in Neros Villa at Sn- with this relic of antiquity for pure, biaco (attributed with reason by some reserved, yet gay and unfettered loveli- to the age of Scopas), the formidable ness. bronze athletes, excavated in 1885 on IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 231 One of the Angels by Melozzo da Forli [14381494], now in the Sacristy of St. Peters. (Those frescos were formerly in the Church of SS. Apostoli.) the site of Aurelians Temple of the their treatment, are sufficiently naturalis- Sun, the Bacehus fished up from the tic to do credit to a modern realist. The Tibers bed, and the incomparably deco- ground floor of the museum, including rative stucehi from the Roman resi- Michael Angelos beautiful cloister, with deuce unearthed in the Faruesina gar- its one hundred IDoric columns, inclos- dens during the works on the Tiber ing an attractive garden filled with an- embankment in 1879 80. Executed tiquities, grouped about the famous free - hand on the wet plaster (into cypresses, is not yet open to the public. which marble dust largely entered as One of the galleries contains the fres- an ingredient), here with a bold telling cos from the same Teverine house in incision, there with an equally bold low which the stucehi were found. Lanci- relief, they are marvels of elegant com- ani tells me that they were executed in position, liberty of invention, and re- the Augustan age, certainly not later finement of detail. They offer the char- than the reign of Tiberius. Many years acteristics of the best classic times, have elapsed since I last saw the Porn- and indeed of all times, namely, freedom peiau frescos, and it is therefore with a of thought and hand, guided, not re- certain diffidence that I make compari- strained, by the lawful exigencies of sons, yet trusting to somewhat fallacious architectural conditions. Some of the memory these Teverine frescos seem motives in these stucehi, as xvell as to me, as a whole, superior to those of 232 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORA TOP IN ROME. Pompeii, both in artistic conception and delicacy of handling; and this is nat- ural, seeing that the latter place was relatively unimportant. Unfortunately the Roman frescos are not so well pre- served, the conditions being less favor- able. Those of the southern town were incased in the absorbing pumice and ashes of Vesuvius, rarely moistened by rain during the summer months, while the Farnesina frescos were constantly exposed to the waters of the Tiber. Their general decorative scheme can easily be deciphered, while portions are almost as fresh as the day they were painted. In one room black is used for the ground of the wall, with great effect. Graceful colonnettes intersect it at reg- ular intervals from which depend pale green garlands of vine - leaves, their graceful curves breaking the rectangu- lar monotony. Above is the usual frieze o~ igure~. ~Yiese Ligures are very smaY~i as well as the ornament, but the vine- leaves are about the size of nature. The scale of the frescos is much smaller than those of the house on the Pala- tine, popularly called the House of Livia, of which the architectural mo- tives are unusually large considering the modest dimensions of the rooms. In this patrician abode on the imperial hill one hardly finds the expected pic- torial superiority, though no one can withhold his praise from the magni- ficent inter-columnar festoons of fruits and flowers in the room on the right. In contrasting these mural paintings with modern work, it should be remem- bered that they were painted free-hand and au premier coup, frequently without a pictorial background, on a previously prepared monochrome field, that per- mitted no corrections of outline. The drawing of the figures was similar to that on the painted vases, which nec- essarily admitted of no after-thoughts. The artist first drew them in with a firm Yme, oIAen ~incorrec~, bu~ a~ways eTkgant, and then filled the inclosed space with color, which in mural com- positions generally encroach- ed upon and covered the line. In the Teverine frescos, where the superficial color has been washed off in places, this preliminary outline is distinctly visible. It is also partially visible in the Pala- tine pictures, where the color has remained firm. It must not be supposed that these figure compositions are mere- ly outlined fiat-tints. On the contrary, they are thoroughly modelled, and some of them evince an aerial perspective worthy of modern art. Relying, perhaps, too much on the testimony of others, and the opportunity of per- sonal investigation being de- nied me, I have hitherto ac- cepted all these antique mural paintings as buon fresco. Donner, after careful investi- gations at Pompeii, authori- tatively pronounced the dec- orative pictures there to be frescos, and very likely they are; for not having examined them technically I have no right to dis- pute his verdict. Yet this much it is w Colored Stucco-ornament Villa Madama. IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 233 safe to maintain, that unless the inves- tigator meet with a virgin wall-painting or fragment thereof, the result of his ob- servations is next to nil. A careful ex- amination of the Palatine frescos re- vealed to me no fresco-joints, nor did those of the Teverine villa. But they have been so tampered with by the re- storers, and scarred by time, that no un- biassed mind would be willing to as- severate that such joints did not exist. * This photograph by Alniari distinctly shows and, owing to the angle of incidence of the rays of light, ex- aggerates the indentations made by passing the style over the outlines of the cartoon when it was applied to the soft, wet plaster, for the purpose of transferring its forms to the wall. This was the usual, though not in- Innumerable coats of varnish on the Palatine paintings, and a preservative coat of some lustrous preparation on the Teverine frescos, render any superficial analysis of their technique out of the question. The same is true of pretty much all the well-known mural paint- in gs of antiquity, if not alL It used to be the custom at Pompeii to cover the paintings with a preparation of wax. Whether or not that custom still variable, method in Raphaels time. It was very expe- ditious and enabled the painter to work freely without losing his original outline by the superposition of colors. Another method of transferrence, and one much used for delicate work, was to prick the lines of the cartoon with a large pin, or needle, and then pounce it, i.e., pass a Heads of Two Disciples of Plato from Raphaels fresco The School of Athess. IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 234 The 3t. ter. and St. Andrew; fresco by Dom. Ghirlandajo. obtains I cannot say. At various times nor uniformly on the same work; and and in various places I have found bits at all events was quite a different of antique mural paintings that were method from that of the Renaissance. certainly virgin. The color on many The antique plaster was considerably of these was easily removed by the com- thicker and more compact than that of bination of water and gentle friction the latter, and retained its moisture not violent enough to disturb the su- longerfor several days probably, as perficial particles of plaster. On others against one day. The artist likely the color remained intact. Especial- worked on it a buon fresco till ly was the color soluble on the applied the plaster lost its moisture, and the ornaments, the ground remaining firm, crust of carbonate of lime ceased to though frequently the ground yielded form. He then finished a tempera. too. It should be stated parenthetical- Tempera was also used in the first in- ly that superficial insolubility is the test stance on dry plaster, and doubtless on of buon, or true fresco on wet plas- older walls that were to be repainted. ter. By this process the colors applied One cannot dismiss the lovely frescos with a medium of pure water, are pro- and stucchi of the Teverine villa, with- tected when dry by a film of carbonate out expressing the regret that we do of lime which is not dissolved by water. not see them under their original con- On the Teverine frescos, which were ditions, a~ we see, for instance, those of much exposed to moisture, the ap- the tombs on the Via Latina, or the plied figures and ornaments have in room in Livias villa at Prima Porta. places been washed away where the May 25, 1891.Drove to Livias villa ground has remained fast. Hence I am at Prima Porta with Lanciani and S. An forced to believe that while the fresco invigorating fresh day; trees and mead- process was unquestionably employed, ows glistening with yesterdays rain. as Vitruvius hints, and tradition con- Packed like sardines with our sketching firms, it was neither universally used impedimenta in a botte driven by a self- small bag of black powder over its surface. when the forms of the draperies, etc., with a sharp instrument af- cartoon is removed black dots, corresponding to the pin- ter the cartoon had been removed. Never having de- holes, will be visible on the wall. According to wilson, tected any marks of the style on the classic frescos, I Michael Angelo pounced the heads of his figures on the infer that the ancients either pounced their cartoons or Sistine vault, but emphasized at times the muscles and worked free-hand on the wall without any. IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. 235 assertive bottaro and propelled by a strenuous little black nag, we bowled out of the Porta Pia, over Monte Parioli by the new road to Ponte Molle, then turning to the right we continued on our way by the modern Via Flaminia till we reached the precipitous tufa hills. Here we stopped for a moment and clambered up the steep slopes to take a glimpse of certain caverns on the face of the cliff above, which a closer inspec- tion proved to be carefully plastered, offering material for future investiga- tions. Then we moved on again. What light-bedrenched meadows! Here and there in the foreground the ruins of an unrecorded tomb (which Lanciani duly jotted down on his chart), accentuated the pale mowed grass. Lines of delicate willows shimmered on the plain of the gleaming Tiber, beyond which rose low green hills, and still farther the pale blue mountainsall saturated with ring- ing light. We came to a halt at Prima Porta, nine miles from the Campido- glio, and then ascended the eminence on which Livias villa is perched. It com- mands a fine view of Soracte, the terri- tory of Veii, Monte Gennaro, the Alban hills, the valley of the Tiber, and Fide- nat (now Castel Giubilco). The interest of the villa centres in the so-called din- ing-room, where the admirable statue of Augustus, now in the Vatican, was discovered in 1863. The room is oblong, with a barrel vault. But little of the original ceiling remains, the rest being reconstructed, though not redecorated. Whether fragments were found to justi- fy the apertures in the vault, and at eith- er extremity, we could not say, but they certainly were interesting The deco- ration of the ceiling is not dissimilar in treatment to that of the painted tomb on the Via Latina, namely, low stucco relief combined with color, of which the predominating tones are blue and whiteif white can be called a tone with touches of red, et cetera. Unfor- tunately very little of the ancient deco- ration has been preserved. Below the spring of the arch the walls have re Stucco from the Roman Villa in the Farnenina Gardena. 236 IMPRESSIONS OF A DECORATOR IN ROME. mained intact, and are very novel in their pictorial treatment, being quite different from those of the Teverine house, or the Palatine buildings. It is that sort of decorative painting which Vitruvius regrets, while berating the grotesque and impossible architectural forms then in vogueforms that were very charming all the same if one may be permitted to differ from so august an authority. The four walls are covered with a continuous subject, representing a luxuriant Roman garden, inclosed by a low trellis, in front of which there is a gravel walk. Within the inclosure there is a great variety of flowers, shrubs, and trees that almost mask the pale- blue sky of which but a strip is vis- ible above, while white doves and gay plumed birds flit hither and thither. A fringe of cloth depends from the cornice, painted to represent the edge of an awning. The general tone of the picture is bluish-green, heightened and enlivened by the brilliant oranges, the rich pomegranates, the vivid flowers, and bright birds. The a~rial perspective is good. As compared with the trellis and other objects in the immediate fore- ground, the fruits and flowers are exag- gerated in scale, a realistic loss, but a decorative gain. Before speaking of the technique, it should be stated that the walls at the time of their discovery were covered with a protective varnishprob- ably a preparation of wax. At present the paintings are somewhat clouded by an efilorescence of white mould that can be removed by friction with a damp cloth. The execution is free and broad, though every object is sufficiently de- tailed to declare itself. While the treat- ment of the whole is anything but im- pressionistic, being analytic rather than Poetry fresco by Raphael on the Ceiling of the Stanza Della Segnatura. SHALL I COMPLAIN? 237 synthetic, the handling of certain bits, such as the fruit-laden branches of the orange and pomegranate trees is very modern. These are vigorously painted with considerable impasto, of which the modem coat of wax prevented an analysis. If it be legitimate to haz- ard an opinion, I should say that the medium was tempera. In a neigh- boring room I picked up a fragment of painted ornament among the rubbish, of which the color quickly yielded to friction with the moistened finger. The decoration of this country room seemed to me very successful, especially seeing that the apertures were so high, and so guarded by stone, or wood lattices that the painted nature within could never be seen simultaneously with nature her- self without. Lanciani thinks that the floor of the villa must have been de- pressed a few feet below the level of the ground. This precaution, together with the additional safeguards of mosaic pave- ments and thick walls, must have warded off the excessive heat of a summers sun. After a modest lunch of omelette, ham, and peas, cheese with large vicious-look- ing raw beans in the pod (L. ate of them plentifully) for dessert, shared in the society of a gendarme, the pari~h priest (big with a wasp-bite), a sportsman, and two coachmen, we trudged down to the plain of the Tiber with our sketching traps. Here we made an aquarelle of the ancient Fidena~, rising suddenly from those fields where Roman and Tus- can pommelled each other in the days of yore, and then surrendered ourselves to our alert little nag and bottaro, both of them doubly strenuous after their wine and fodderyes, both of them; for the horse, too, was addicted to alcohoL SHALL I COMPLAIN? By Louise Chandler Moulton. SHALL I complain because the feast is oer, And all the banquet lights have ceased to shine? For Joy that was, and is no longer mine; For Love that came and went, and comes no more; For Hopes and Dreams that left my open door; Shall I, who hold the Past in fee, repine? . Nay! there are those who never quaffed Lifes wine That were the nublest fate one might deplore. To sit alone and dream, at set of sun, When all the world is vague with coming night To hear old voices whisper, sweet and low, And see dear faces steal back, one by one, And thrill anew to each long-past delight Shall I complain, who still this Bliss may know? VOL. XIIL24

Louise Chandler Moulton Moulton, Louise Chandler Shall I Complain? 237-238

SHALL I COMPLAIN? 237 synthetic, the handling of certain bits, such as the fruit-laden branches of the orange and pomegranate trees is very modern. These are vigorously painted with considerable impasto, of which the modem coat of wax prevented an analysis. If it be legitimate to haz- ard an opinion, I should say that the medium was tempera. In a neigh- boring room I picked up a fragment of painted ornament among the rubbish, of which the color quickly yielded to friction with the moistened finger. The decoration of this country room seemed to me very successful, especially seeing that the apertures were so high, and so guarded by stone, or wood lattices that the painted nature within could never be seen simultaneously with nature her- self without. Lanciani thinks that the floor of the villa must have been de- pressed a few feet below the level of the ground. This precaution, together with the additional safeguards of mosaic pave- ments and thick walls, must have warded off the excessive heat of a summers sun. After a modest lunch of omelette, ham, and peas, cheese with large vicious-look- ing raw beans in the pod (L. ate of them plentifully) for dessert, shared in the society of a gendarme, the pari~h priest (big with a wasp-bite), a sportsman, and two coachmen, we trudged down to the plain of the Tiber with our sketching traps. Here we made an aquarelle of the ancient Fidena~, rising suddenly from those fields where Roman and Tus- can pommelled each other in the days of yore, and then surrendered ourselves to our alert little nag and bottaro, both of them doubly strenuous after their wine and fodderyes, both of them; for the horse, too, was addicted to alcohoL SHALL I COMPLAIN? By Louise Chandler Moulton. SHALL I complain because the feast is oer, And all the banquet lights have ceased to shine? For Joy that was, and is no longer mine; For Love that came and went, and comes no more; For Hopes and Dreams that left my open door; Shall I, who hold the Past in fee, repine? . Nay! there are those who never quaffed Lifes wine That were the nublest fate one might deplore. To sit alone and dream, at set of sun, When all the world is vague with coming night To hear old voices whisper, sweet and low, And see dear faces steal back, one by one, And thrill anew to each long-past delight Shall I complain, who still this Bliss may know? VOL. XIIL24 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. A MEMORY OF THE MIND OF A CHILD. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. CHAPTER V. ISLLNGT0N SQUARE. was one of those rather interesting places which one finds in all large English townsplaces which have seen better days. They are only inter- esting on this ac- count. Their early picturesqueness has usually been destroyed by the fact that a railroad has forced its way into their neighbor hood, or factories, and their accompanying cottages for operatives have sprung up around them. Both these things had happened to Isling- ton Square, and only the fact that it was an enclosed space shut in by a large and quite imposing iron gateway, aid- ed it to retain its atmosphere of faded gentility. Such places are often full of story, though they have no air of ro- mance about them. The people who live in them have themselves usually seen better days. They are oftenest wid- owed ladies with small incomes, and Un- widowed gentlemen with large families people who not having been used to cramped quarters, are glad to find houses of good size at a reduced rent. Some of the houses in the Square were quite stately in proportion, and in their better days must have been fine enough places. But that halcyon period was far in the past. Islington Hallthe most imposing structurewas a Select Seminary for young ladies and gentle- men; its companion house stood empty and deserted, as also did several others of the largest ones, probably because the widowed ladies and unwidowed gentle- men could not afford the corps of ser- vants which would have been necessary to keep them in order. In the centre of the Square was a Lamp Post. I write it with capital letters because it was not an ordinary lamp post. It was a very big one, and had a solid base of stone which all the children thought had been put there for a seat. Four or five little girls could sit on it, and four or five little girls usually did when the day was fine. Ah! the things which were talked over under the Lamp Post, the secrets that were whispered, and the wrongs that were discussed! In the winter, when the gas was lighted at four oclock, there could be no more delightfully secluded spot for friendly conversation than the stone base of the lamp which cast its yellow light from above. Was it worldly pride and haughtiness of spirit which gave rise, in the little girls who lived in the Square, to a sense of exclusiveness which caused them to resent an outside little girls entering the iron gates and sitting on the Lamp Post. They always spoke of it as sit- ting on the Lamp Post. Who is that sitting on the Lamp Post? would be said, disapprovingly. She is not a Square girl, we dont want Street children sitting on our Lamp Post. Street children were those who lived in the streets surrounding the Square, and as they were in most cases not desirable young persons, they were not considered eligible for the society of Square children and the Lamp Post. When the Small Person was introduced to her first copy of the stories of Hans Christian Andersen, she found a sketch which had a special charm for her. It was called The Old Street Lamp, and it seemed to be the story of the Lamp in the middle of the Square. It seemed to explain a feeling of affection she had always had for ita feeling that it was not quite an inanimate object. She had played about it and sat on the stone, and had seen it lighted so often that she loved it, though she had never said so even to herself. She slept in a front 4

Frances Hodgson Burnett Burnett, Frances Hodgson The One I Knew The Best Of All: A Memory Of The Mind Of A Child 238-255

THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. A MEMORY OF THE MIND OF A CHILD. By Frances Hodgson Burnett. CHAPTER V. ISLLNGT0N SQUARE. was one of those rather interesting places which one finds in all large English townsplaces which have seen better days. They are only inter- esting on this ac- count. Their early picturesqueness has usually been destroyed by the fact that a railroad has forced its way into their neighbor hood, or factories, and their accompanying cottages for operatives have sprung up around them. Both these things had happened to Isling- ton Square, and only the fact that it was an enclosed space shut in by a large and quite imposing iron gateway, aid- ed it to retain its atmosphere of faded gentility. Such places are often full of story, though they have no air of ro- mance about them. The people who live in them have themselves usually seen better days. They are oftenest wid- owed ladies with small incomes, and Un- widowed gentlemen with large families people who not having been used to cramped quarters, are glad to find houses of good size at a reduced rent. Some of the houses in the Square were quite stately in proportion, and in their better days must have been fine enough places. But that halcyon period was far in the past. Islington Hallthe most imposing structurewas a Select Seminary for young ladies and gentle- men; its companion house stood empty and deserted, as also did several others of the largest ones, probably because the widowed ladies and unwidowed gentle- men could not afford the corps of ser- vants which would have been necessary to keep them in order. In the centre of the Square was a Lamp Post. I write it with capital letters because it was not an ordinary lamp post. It was a very big one, and had a solid base of stone which all the children thought had been put there for a seat. Four or five little girls could sit on it, and four or five little girls usually did when the day was fine. Ah! the things which were talked over under the Lamp Post, the secrets that were whispered, and the wrongs that were discussed! In the winter, when the gas was lighted at four oclock, there could be no more delightfully secluded spot for friendly conversation than the stone base of the lamp which cast its yellow light from above. Was it worldly pride and haughtiness of spirit which gave rise, in the little girls who lived in the Square, to a sense of exclusiveness which caused them to resent an outside little girls entering the iron gates and sitting on the Lamp Post. They always spoke of it as sit- ting on the Lamp Post. Who is that sitting on the Lamp Post? would be said, disapprovingly. She is not a Square girl, we dont want Street children sitting on our Lamp Post. Street children were those who lived in the streets surrounding the Square, and as they were in most cases not desirable young persons, they were not considered eligible for the society of Square children and the Lamp Post. When the Small Person was introduced to her first copy of the stories of Hans Christian Andersen, she found a sketch which had a special charm for her. It was called The Old Street Lamp, and it seemed to be the story of the Lamp in the middle of the Square. It seemed to explain a feeling of affection she had always had for ita feeling that it was not quite an inanimate object. She had played about it and sat on the stone, and had seen it lighted so often that she loved it, though she had never said so even to herself. She slept in a front 4 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 239 room with her mamma, in the very four- post bed which had been a feature in the first remembered episode of her life. Her house exactly faced the Lamp Post, and at night its light shone in at her bedroom window and made a bright patch on the wall. She used to lie and think about things by the gleam of it, and somehow she never felt quite alone. She would have missed it very much if it had not watched over her. At that time street lamps were not light- ed in an instant by a magic wand. A lamplighter came with a ladder over his shoulder. Replaced the ladder against the post and ran up it with what seemed astonishing rapidity, and after lighting the gas ran down again, shouldered his ladder, and walked off. How the Small Person adored the novel called The Lamplighter; how familiar the friendly lamp seemed to her, and how she loved old Uncle True! Was there ever such a lovable old man were there ever sufferings that moved one to such tears as Gertys? The Street children, as I have said, were not considered desirable compan- ions for the Square children. The Square was at that time a sort of oasis in the midst of small thoroughfares and back streets, where factory operatives lived and where the broadest Lancashire dialect throve. It was difficult enough to preserve to children any purity of enunciation in a neighborhood of broad- est vowels, and as manner of speech is in England a mark of breeding, associa- tion with the Street children was not en- couraged. But the Small Person adored Street children. She adored above all things the dialect they spoke, and the queer things they said. To stray into a for- bidden back street and lure a dirty little factory child into conversation was a de- light. To stand at the iron gateway at twelve oclock and see the factory people streaming past, and hear the young women in tied-back aprons and with shawls over their heads, shouting friendly or derisive chaff to the young men and boys in corduroys, was as good as a playin fact a great deal better than most plays. She learned to speak the dialect as well as any of them, though it was a furtively indulged in accomplishment. She had two or three clever little girl friends who were fluent in it, and who used it with a rich sense of humor. They used to tell each other stories in it, and carry on animated conversations without losing a shade of its flavor. They said, Wilt tha and Wheer art goin, and Sithee lass, and Eh! tha young besom, tha! with an easy familiarity which they did not display in the matter of geography. There was a very dirty little boy whose family lived rent free, as care - takers in one of the deserted big houses, and this dirty little boy was a fount of joy. He had a disreputable old grandfather who was perennially drunk, and to draw forth from Tommy, in broadest Lan- cashire dialect, a cheerfully realistic de- scription of Granfeyther in his cups, was an entertainment not to be de- spised. Granfeythers weakness was re- garded by Tommy in the light of an amiable solecism, and his philosophical good spirits over the matter presented a point of view picturesquely novel to the Small Person and her friends. Eh! tha should heer my Granfeyther sweer when hes drunk, Tommy would re- mark with an air of triumph suggesting a decent family pride. Tha shouldst just heer him. Tha never heerd nothin bike ittha didnt! with an evident sense of the limited opportunities of good society. It was the habit of the Small Person to sit upon the floor before one of the drawing - room windows each evening, and learn her lessons for the next day; and on one of these occasions she saw a creature who somehow puzzled and interested her intensely, though she could not have explained why. It was part of an unwritten law that people who did not occupy houses in the Square should not come into it, unless they had business. This pos- sibly arose from the fact that it was not a thoroughfare, and there was really no reason why outsiders should pass the iron gates. When they did they were always regarded with curiosity until cue knew what they wanted. This limitation, in fact, gave the gravelled enclosure sur- rounded by factories and small streets~ 240 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. something the social atmosphere of a tiny, rather gossipy, country town. Each household knew the other, and had a knowledge of its affairs only limited by the characteristics and curi- osities of the members. So, on this particular evening, when the Small Person, hearing voices, looked up from her geography to see a group of stranger children gathered about the Lamp Post, she put her elbows on the window sill and her cheeks on her hands, and looked out at them with in- terest. They were evidently not only Street children, but they were Back Street children, a race more exciting to re- gard as objects, because their customs and language were, as it were, exotic. Back Street children always spoke the dialect, and the adult members of their families almost invariably worked in the factoriesoften, indeed, the chil- dren worked there themselves. In that locality the atmosphere of the foyer was frequently of a lively nature, generally the heads of the families evinced a marked partiality for beer, and spent their leisure moments in consuming pots of it at th Public. This not uncommonly resulted in argument of a spirited nature, entered into, quite probably, in the street, carried on in- coherently, but with vigor, on the door- steps, and settledwith the fire irons or portable domestic articlesin the home circle. Frequently these differences of opinion were terminated with the assist- ance of one or more policemen; and while the discussions were being car- ried on the street was always filled with a mob of delighted and eagerly sym- pathetic neighbors. Feeling always ran high among the ladies, who usual- ly stood and regarded the scene with arms akimbo. A noice chap he is! it would be said sometimes. He broke th beer jug ower er ed two week sin, an now hes give her a graidely black eye. He out to be put ith the Lock-ups. Or No wonder he gies her a hidin. Her spends all his wage at th Black Pig i beer. She wus drunk o Thurs- day, an drunk o Friday, an now shes gettin ready fur Saturday neet. A row in Islington Court! or, A row in Back Sydney Street. Man beat- ing his wife with a shovel ! was a cry which thrilled the bolder juvenile spirits of the Square with awsome de- light. There were even fair little per- sons who hovered shudderingly about the big gates, or even passed them, in the shocked hope of seeing a policeman march by with somebody in custody. And the strangers gathered about the Lamp Post were of this world. They were half a dozen girls or more. Most of them factory girls in print frocks, covered by the big coarse linen apron, which was tied all the way down the back to confine their skirts, and keep them from being caught by the machinery. They had no bonnets on, and they wore clogs on their feet. They were all the ordinary type of small factory girl all but one. Why did the Small Person find her eyes fixed upon that one, and following her movements? She was bigger than the others, and seemed more mature, though a child could not have explained why. She was dressed exactly as they were print frock, tied-back apron, clogs, and bare head, and she held a coarse blue worsted stocking, which she was knit- ting as she talked. It did not occur to the Small Person that she was beauti- fuL At that age beauty meant to her something with pink cheeks and spark- ling blue or black eyes, and sweetly curled hair, and a charming frock. Not a strange-looking, colorless factory girl, knitting a worsted stocking and wear- ing wooden clogs. Certainly not. And yet at that girl she stared, quite forgetting her geography. The other girls were the ordinary rough lot, talking loudly, bouncing about and pushing each other. But this one was not playing at all. She stood or moved about a little, with a rather measured movement, knitting all the time her blue worsted stocking. She was about sixteen, but of rather massive and somehow majestic mould. The Small Person would have said she was big and slow, if she had been trying to describe her. She had a clear, colorless face, deep, large gray eyes, slender, but strong, straight black brows, and a rather square chin with a -4 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 241 cleft in it. Her hair was dark and had a slight large wave, it was thick and drawn into a heavy knot on the nape of her neck, which was fine and full like a pillar, and held her head in a peculiar stately way. The Small Person, as she watched her, came to the decision that there was something the matter with her. What is it? she said, mentally, with a puzzled and impressed feeling. Shes not a bit like the others. She does not look like a Back Street girl at all, though she has got clogs on. Some- how shes different. That was it. She was different. That was why one could not return to ones geography while one could watch her. Her companions seemed to appeal to her as if she were a sort of power and influence. She seemed to control them when they made too much noise, though she went on knitting her stocking. The windows were closed, and it was not possible to hear what was said, but oc- casional loudly spoken dialect words or phrases reached the Small Person. The group did not stay long, and when it went the one who was different led it, and the looker-on watched her out of sight, and pondered a moment or so with her nose flattened against the glass, before she went back to her geography. One evening the next week, at about the same time, the same group appeared again. The Small Person was again on the floor with her lessons on her knee, the factory girls were still laughing and boisterous, and the one who was differ- ent was again knitting. The Small Person shuffled all her books off her knee and let them drop in a heap on the carpet. She put her elbows on the window-sill again, and gave herself up to absorbed contemplation. That the other girls shouted and gig- gled was not interesting, but it was in- teresting to see how, in the midst of the giggles and shouts, the big one seemed a stately, self - contained creature who belonged to another world. Somehow she seemed strangely to suggest a story which one could not read, and of which one could not guess at the plot. When she grew older and knew more of people and lives and characters, the Small Person guessed that she was a storythis strong, pale creature with the stately head and square-cleft chin. She was that saddest story of all, which is beauty and fineness and power a splendid human thing born into a world to which she does not belong by any kinship, and in which she must stand alone and struggle in silence and suffer. This was what was the matter with her, this was why a ten-year-old child, bear- ing in her own breast a thermometer of the emotions, dropped her lesson-books to look at her, and gazed restless and dissatisfied because she could not ex- plain to herself why this one was dif- ferent. This evening the group did not leave the place as they had done before. Some girl, turning round toward the entrance, caught sight of an approach- ing figure, and hastily, and evidently in some consternation, elbowed a compan- ion. Then they all looked. A man was coming toward theman ill-looking brute in corduroys, with his hands in his pockets and a moleskin cap pulled over his brows. He slouched forward as if he were in a bad temper. Heres thy feyther ! cried one of the girls. And she said it to the one who was knitting. She looked at the ad- vancing man and went on knitting as if nothing was occurring. The Small Per- son would have given all her lesson- booksparticularly the arithmeticto know what he had come for. She knew the kind of man. He usually drank a great deal of beer and danced on his wife in his clogs when depressed or ir- ritated. Sometimes he punsed her to death if he had been greatly annoyed, and females were rather afraid of him. But the girl with the deep eyes and straight black brows evidently was not. She was also evidently used to him. He went up to her and addressed her with paternal blasphemy. He seemed to be ordering her to go home. He growled and bullied her, and threatened her with his fist. The Small Person had a horrible fear that he would knock her down and kick her, as was the custom of his class. She felt she could not bear it, and had a wild idea of dashing out somewhere for a pollceman. 242 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OP ALL. But the girl was different. She looked him straight in the brutal face and went on knitting. Then she turned and walked slowly put of the Square. He walked behind her, threatening her at intervals with his fist and his lifted clog. Dom tha brazent impidence! the Small Person heard him say once. But the girl walked calmly before him without a word or a hurried move- ment. She went on knitting the stock- ing until she turned the corner and disappeared for the last time from the Small Persons sympathetic gaze. She also disappeared from her life, for the little girl never saw her again. But she th6ught of her often and pon- dered her over, and felt her a power and a mystery. Not until she had giv- en some contemplative thought to van- otis antique marbles, and had wondered what was the matter with the Venus of Nib, did it dawn upon her mind that in this girl in the clogs and apron she had seen and been overpowered by Beauty such as goddesses were wor- shipped for, and strength such as should belong to one who ruled. She always wanted to know what happened after- ward, but there was no end to the story that she ever saw. So it was that some years later she wrote a beginning, a middle, and an end herself. She made the factory operative a Pit girl, and she called her Joan Lowrie. There was such food for the imagina- tion in thus living surrounded by the lives of streets full of people who be- longed to another world than ones own a world whose customs, manners, and language were wholly foreign in one sensewhere even children got up be- fore daylight and went to their work in the big, whirring, oil-smelling factories where there was a possibility of beiiy caught by the machinery and carried afterward to the Infirmary, followed by a staring, pitying crowd a broken, bleeding heap of human suffering lying decently covered on a stretcher. Such accidents were such horrors that to a child mind they seemed always impend- ing, though their occurrence was not frequent. But the mere possibility of them made one regard these people who lived among the ghastly wheels with awe. On the same floor with the Nursery was a room where the governess slept, presiding over an extra bed which con- tained two little girls. There was a period when for some reason the Small Person was one of them. The window of this room, which was at the back, looked down upon the back of the row of cottages in which operatives lived. When one glanced downward it was easy to see into their tiny kitchens and watch them prepare their breakfasts, and eat them too, if one were curious. Imagine, then, the interest of waking very early one dark winters s morning and seeing a light reflected on the ceil- ing of the Nursery bedroom from some- where far below. The Small Person did this once, and after watching a little, discovered that not only the light and the window itself were reflected, but two figures which seemed to pass before it or stand near it. It was too exciting to watch alone, so she spoke to her sister, who slept at her side. Edith! she whispered, cautiously, for fear of disturbing the governess, Edith, do wake up. I want to show you something. The prospect of being shown something in what appeared to be the middle of the night, was a thing to break any slumbers. Edith turned and rubbed her eyes. What is it? she asked, sleepily. Its a man and a woman, whispered the Small Person, half under the bed- clothes, Back Street people in their kitchen. You can see them on our ceiling. This ceiling; just look. Edith looked. Back Street people always awakened curiosity. So we can, she said, with a care- fully smothered giggle. There the woman is now! Shes got something in her hand,~~ said the Small Person. It looks like a loaf. Its a piece of something, whispered Edith. It must be a loaf, said the Small Person. Theyre factory people, and the mans wife must be getting his breakfast before he goes to work. I wonder what poor people have for breakfast, -4 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OP ALL. 243 Theres the man! exclaimed Edith, with so much animation that the gov- erness turned in her sleep. Hush, warned the Small Person; shell wake up and scold us for mak- ing a noise. The man is washing his face on the dresser, said Edith, in more discreet tones. We can see what they do when they are near the window. I can see him rubbing and wiggling his head. So can I, said the Small Person. Isnt it fun? I hope the roller-towel is near the window. The little whispers, cautious as they were, penetrated the drowsy ears of the governess. She half awakened. Children, she said, what are you whispering about? Dont be so naughty. Go to sleep! All very well for a sleepy governess, but for two little persons awake at four oclock, and with front seats at a Back Street panorama on their own bedroom ceiling, ridicu- lously out of the question. Ah, the charm of it! The sense of mystery and unusualness. It seemed the middle of the night. In all the bedrooms through the house, everyone was asleepthe servants, the brothers, mamma, the very Doll had had her wire pulled and her wax eyelids drawn down. Being awake had the charms of nursery guilt in it. It was naughty to be awake, and it was breaking rules to talk. But how could one go to sleep with the rest when the Back Street woman was awake and getting her husbands breakfast. Ones own ceiling reflected it and seemed to include one in the family circle. If they had a fight, whispered Edith, we could see it. There was no end of speculation to be indulged in. What each figure was really doing when it was near enough to the window to be reflected, what it did when it moved away out of the range of reflection, and what it was possible they said to each other, were all things to be excitedly guessed at, and to endanger the repose of the governess. Edith, you are a naughty girl, she said. Frances, I shall speak to your mamma. Edith would not be whisper- ing if you were not with her. Go to sleep this instant ! ~ As if going to sleep was a thing done by touching an electric button. How they longed to creep out of bed, and peep through the window down in- to the Back Street peoples kitchen it- self. But that was out of the question. Neither of them would have dared such an insubordinationthat first morning, at least. But there were other such mornings. It became a habit to waken at that de- lightful and uncanny hour, just for the pleasure of lying awake and watching the Woman and the Man. That was what they called them. They never knew what their names were, or any- thing about them, except what was re- flected during that early breakfast hour upon the ceiling. But the Small Person was privately attached to them, and continually tried to imagine what they said. She had a fancy that they were a decent couple, who were rather fond of each other, and it was a great comfort to her that they never had a fight. CHKPTEII Vi A CONFIDENCE BETRAYED. Is the age of seven years an age of special development, or an age which at- tracts incidents interesting, and having an effect on life, and the formation of character? As I look back I remember so many things which seemed to happen to the Small Person when she was sev- en years old. She was seven, or there- abouts, when she discovered the Secr6- taire; seven when she began to learn the Lancashire dialect, and study Back Street people; seven when she first saw Death, with solemn, asking eyes, and awe in her soul; seven when she wrote her first inarticulate story, which was a poem; and seven when she was first brought face to face with the enormity of a betrayed confidence. Thank God, she did not quite realize what had happened to her, and that her innocence gave every reason for hope disappointed, but the true one, that she had been trifled with and deceived; and thank Heaven, also, that the point in- volved was not one cruel enough to leave a deep wound. In fact, though 244 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. it was quite a serious matter with her, she was more mystified and disappoint- ed than hurt, and for some time did not realize that she had been the subject of one of maturitys jokes. She had a passion for babies. She seldom pretended that the Doll was a baby, but a babya new babywas an object of rapturous delight to her. She liked them very new, indeedquite red, and with little lace caps on, and dispro- portionately long clothes. She never found them so delightful as when they wore long clothes. When their frocks were made short, and one could see their little red or white shoes kicking, the bloom seemed to have gone off they were no longer real babies. But when the nurse seemed to be obliged to move them carefully lest they should fall into minute fragments, when their mouths always opened when one kissed them, and when they were fragrant of warm flannel, warm milk, and violet powder, they were the loves of her yearning little soul. There were one or two ladies in the Square who were given to new babies, and when one of their number honored the neighborhood, the Small Person was always one of the first to hear of it. Did you know, it would be said by some little individual, that Mrs. Rob- erts has got a new baby? Then joy would reign unconfined in the Small Persons breast. The Doll would be given a days holiday. Her sawdust interior somehow seemed such an evident thing. She would be left in her chair to stare, while her proprietor hovered about the Roberts house, and walked with friends past it, looking up at the windows, and discussing, with bat- ed breath, as to whether the new baby was a girl or a boy. I think she had a predilection for girls, feeling somehow that they tended to long clothes for the greater length of time. Then some day, having had her hair neatly curled, and a clean tucker put in her frock, she would repair to the Rob- erts establishment, stand on her tip- toes, cautiously ring the bell, and await with beating heart the arrival of the housemaid, to whom she would say, with the utmost politeness of which she was capable: If you please, Mammas compli- ments, and how is Mrs. RobertsAnd if she is as well as can be expected, do you think I might see the new baby? And then if fortune favored her, which it usually did, she would be led up the staircase and into a shaded room, which seemed pervaded by a solemn but beautiful stillness which made her feel as if she wanted to be a good little girl always. And Mrs. Roberts, who perhaps was not really a specially handsome person at all, but who looked somehow rather angelic, would hold out her hand and say gently: How do you do, my dear? Have you come to see the new baby? And she would answer, in a voice full of respectful emotion: Yes, if you please, Mrs. Roberts. Mamma said I might ask you if I could see itif you are as well as can be ex- pectedand I may only stay a few min- utes for fear I should bother you. Give my regards to your Mamma, love, and say I am getting on very nice- ly, and the baby is a little boy. Nurse will let you look at him. Oh, to stand beside that lovely bundle and look down at it reverently, as it lay upon the nurses knee! Reverence and adoration mingled with awe were the pervading emotions in her small mind. Reverence for Mrs. Roberts and awe of a stately mystery in the shaded room, which made it feel rather like a church, reverence for the Nurse who knew all about new babies, reverence for the new baby, whose newness made him seem such a potentate, and adorationpure, deep adoration of him as a Baby. As years before she had known thoughts which even her mind could not have known words to frame, so in these days I well remember that she felt emotions her child-thoughts eduld give no shape to, and which were still feelings which deeply moved her. She was only a child, who had been kept a child by those who loved her, who had been treated always as a child, and who was not in any sense old beyond her brief years. And yet my memory brings clearly to me that by the atmos- phere of these shaded rooms she was moved and awed as she was by the at- THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 245 mosphere of other rooms shaded by blinds drawn downand by the mys- tery of another stillnessa more awful stillnessa colder one, in which people always stood weeping as they looked down at Something which was not a life beginning, but a lifes end. She was too much a little girl to know then that before the shaded stillness of both chambers the human nature of her stood hushed and reverent, con- fronting Mystery, and the Unanswered Question before which ages have stood hushed just as she did, just as she did though she was only seven years old. She knew no less than all the world. If the nurse was a kind one she was allowed to look at the babys feet, and perhaps to kiss them. Such tiny feet, and so pink and tender, and so given to curling up and squirming! Arent they weenty, she would say, clasping her hands, and isnt he beautiful! Oh, I wish he was mine! The unbiassed opinion of maturer years leads me to a tardy conviction that the new babies were not beautiful, that they were painfully creased and griev- ously red, and had frequently a weird air of eld combined with annoyance; that they had no hair and no noses, and no individuality except to the Mrs. Rob- erts of the occasion, who saw in them the gifts and graces of the gods. (This being the lovely boon of Nature, whom all women of earth may kneel and bless that she, in some strange, gentle mo- ment, has given them this thing.) But it was the serious belief of the Small Person that a new baby was al- ways Beautiful, and she could not pos- sibly have understood the creature who insinuated, even with the most cautious and diplomatic mildness, that it was not. No, that would have been striking at the foundations of the universe. And there were Nurses who let her hold the new baby. She was so careful and so full of tender respect that I think anyone might have trusted hereven with twins. When she sat on a low chair and held the white draperied, faintly W - moving bundle which was a new-born human thing, she was an unformed, yearning Mother- creature, her little breast as warm with brooding instincts as a small bird-mother covering her first nest. She did not know thisshe was too youngbut it was true. She was walking slowly round the Square one lovely Summer evening, just after tea (Nursery breakfasts were at eight, dinners at one, tea at six), and she had as her companion the little girl who was known as her Best Friend. One had a best Doll, a best frock, and a best friend. Her best friend was a very sensitive, shy little girl with lovely brown velvet eyes. Her name was An- nie, and their souls were one. As they walked they saw at length a respectable elderly person dressed in black, and carrying something in her arms. It was something white and with long drapery depending from it. She was walking slowly up and down as if taking the air. There is a lady with a baby, ex- claimed the Small Person. And it looks like a new one.~~ It is a new one, said Annie. She isn,t a Square lady, I wonder who she is. It was not easy to telL She was no one they knew, and yet there she was walking quietly up and down, giving a promenade to a new baby. There was no doubt about the matter, she must be approached. They eyed her wistfully askance, and then looked at each other with the same thought in their eyes. Would she think we were rude if we spoke to her? suggested the Small Person, almost in a whisper. Oh, we dont know her, said the little Best Friend. She might think it very rude. Do you think she would? said the Small Person. She looks kind, ex- amining her with anxiety. Let us walk past her, said the Best Friend. So they walked past her slow- ly, respectfully regarding the new baby. The elderly lady who carried it did not look vicious, in fact, she looked amia- ble, and after they had walked past her twice she began to smile at them. This was so encouraging that they slackened their pace and the Best Friend gave the companion of her soul a little nudge with her elbow. Lets ask her, she said. You do it. 246 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. No, you. I darent. I darent, either. Oh, do. Its a perfectly new one. Oh, you do it. See, how nice she looks. They were quite near her, and just at that juncture she smiled again so encouragingly that the Small Person stopped before her. If you please, she said, isnt that a new baby? She felt herself quite red in the face at her temerity, and there was no doubt an honest imploring in her eyes, for the lady smiled again. Yes, she answered. Do you want to look at it? Oh, yes, please, they both chimed at once. We do so love them. The babys face was covered with a white lace veil. The lady bent toward them, and lifting it, revealed the charms beneath. There, she said. And they gasped with joy and cried together: Oh, isnt it a beaubful one! though it was exactly like all the others, hav- ing neither hair, features, nor complex- ion. Is it a very new one? they asked. How new? And their hearts were rejoiced with the information that it was as new as could possibly be com- patible with its being allowed to breathe the air of Heaven. In reflecting upon the conduct of this elderly person who was probably a sort of superior monthly nurseI have always felt obliged to class her with the jocular Park policeman who, in the buoyancy of his spirits, caused the blood of the Small Person to congeal in her infancy by the sprightly information that she would be taken to prison if she fell on the grass through the back of the seat. This lady also regarded the innocence of tender years as an amusing thing. Though howwith the adoring velvet eyes of the Best Friend fixed trustingly on her, and with the round face of the Small Person burning with excited de- light as she talkedit was quite possi- ble to play her comedy with entire com- posure, I do not find it easy to explain. Are you so very fond of babies? she inquired. We love them better than anything in the world. Better than dolls? Oh, thousands better! exclaimed the Small Person. But dolls dont cry, said the stranger. If I had a baby, the Small Person protested, it wouldnt cry, because I should take such care of it. Would you like a baby of your own? I feel sure the round face must have become scarlet. I would give worlds and worlds for one ! with a lavishness quite unbiassed by the limits of possession. The stranger was allowing the friends to walk slowly by her, one on either side. In this way there seemed to be established some relationship with the baby. Would you like me to give you this one? she asked, quite seriously. Give it to me? breathless. Oh, you couldnt. I think I could, if you would be sure to take care of it. Oh, oh! with rapturous incredul- ity. But its mamma wouldnt let you! Yes, I think she would, said the lady, with reflective composure. You see, she has enough of them! The Small Person gasped! Enough of new babies? There was a riotous splendor in such a suggestion which seemed incredible. She could not help being guilty of the rudeness of regard- ing the strange lady, in private, with doubt. She was capable of believing almost anything elsebut not that. Ah! she sighed, youyoure making fun of me. No, replied this unprincipled elder- ly person, I am not at all. They are very tiresome when there are a great many of them. She spoke as if they were fleas. What would you do with this one if I gave it to you? At this thrilling suggestion the Small Person quite lost her head. I would wash it every morning, she said, her words tumbling over each other in her desire to prove her fitness THE ONE I KNEW THE REST OF ALL. 247 for the boon. I would wash it in warm water in a little bath and with a big soft sponge and Windsor soap and I would puff it all over with pow- derand dress it and undress itand put it to sleep and walk it about the roomand trot it on my kneesand give it milk. It takes a great deal of milk, said the wicked elderly person, who was rev- elling in an orgy of jocular crime. I would ask Mamma to let me take it from the milkman. Im sure she would, I would give it as much as it wanted, and it would sleep with me, and I would buy it a rattle, and I see you know how to take care of it, said the respectable criminal. You shall have it! But can its Mamma spare it? asked the small victim, fearfully. Are you sure she could spare it? Oh, yes, she can spare it. Of course I must take it back to her to-night and tell her you want it and I have prom- ~sed it to you; but to-morrow evening you can have it. Since the dawning of the Childrens Century, young things have become much better able to defend themselves, in the sense of being less easily imposed on. I believe that only an English child, and a child brought up in the Eng- lish nursery of that period, could have been sufficiently unsophisticated to be- lieve this Machiavelian Monthly Nurse. In that day ones private reverence for and confidence in the grown-up person were things which dominated existence. A grown - up person represented such knowledge and dignity and power. People who could crush you to the earth by telling you that you were a rude little girl, or an impertinent child, and who could send you to bed, or give you extra lessons, or deprive you of your pudding at dinner, wore an air of omnipotence. To suggest that a grown-up person a grown-up lady or gentleman, could tell a story, would have been sheer iconoclasm. And to doubt the veracity of a respectable elderly person entrusted with a new baby would have been worse than sacri- legious. The two friends did not leave her side until she left the Square to take the baby home, and when she went all details had been arranged between them, and Heaven itself seemed to have opened. The next evening, at precisely a quar- ter-past seven, the two were to go to the corner of a certain street, and there they would find the elderly person with the new baby and a bundle of its clothes, which were to be handed over with cere- mony to the new proprietor. It was to the Small Person the baby was to be given, though in the glow of generous joy and affection it was an un- derstood thing between them that the Best Friend was to be a partner in the blissful enterprise. How did they live through the next day? How did they learn their lessons? How could they pin themselves down to geography and grammar and the multi- plication table? The Small Persons brain reeled, and new babies swam be- fore her eyes. She felt as if the wooden form she sat on were a species of throne. Momentarily she had been brought down to earth by the fact that, when she had gone to her Mamma, glowing and exalted from the interview with the elderly person, she had found herself confronting doubt as to the seriousness of that ladys intentions. My dear child, said her Mamma, smiling at her radiant little counte- nance, she did not mean it! she was only joking! Oh, no! the Small Person insisted. She was quite in earnest, Mamma! She really was! She did not laugh the least bit. And she was such a nice lady and the baby was such a beautiful little new one! I asked her if she was laugh- ing at me, and she said, No, she was not. And I asked her if the babys mamma could spare it, and she said she thought she could, because she had enough of them. She was such a kind lady. Somehow she felt that her Mamma and the governess were not convinced, but she was too much excited and there was too much exaltation in her mood to allow of her being really discouraged, at least until after the fateful hour of appointment. Before that hour arrived she and her friend were at the corner of the street which had been named. Its rather a common street, isnt it, 248 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. the two said to each other. It was funny that she should tell us to come to a back street. That baby could not live here, of course, and neither could she. I wonder why she didnt bring it back into the Square.~~ It was decidedly a back streetbeing a sort of continuation of the one whose row of cottages the Small Person could see from the Nursery window. It was out of the question that the baby could belong to such a neighborhood. The houses were factory peoples cottages the kind of houses where domestic dif- ferences were settled with the fire-irons. The two children walked up and down, talking in excited under-tones. Perhaps she had mentioned this street because it was near the Square; perhaps she lived on the Crescent, which was not far off; perhaps she was afraid it would be troublesome to carry the baby and the bundle at the same time, and this corner was nearer than the Square itself. They walked up and down in earnest faith. Nothing would have induced them to lose sight of the corner for a second. They confined themselves and their promenade to a distance of about ten yards. They went backward and forward like squirrels in a cage. Every ten minutes they consulted to- gether as to who could pluck up the courage to ask some passer-by the time. The passers-by were all back strect people. Sometimes they did not know the time, but at last the children found out that the quarter-past seven was passed. Perhaps the baby was asleep, said one of them. And she had to wait un- til it wakened up before she could put on its bonnet and cloak. So they walked up and down again. Mamma said she wasnt in earnest, said the Small Person; but she was, wasnt she, Annie? Oh! yes, said Annie. She didnt laugh the least bit when she talked. The house at the corner is a little nicer than the others, the Small Per- son suggested. Perhaps it is very nice inside. Do you think she might live there? If she did we could knock at the door and tell her we are here. But the house was really not possible. She must live somewhere elsewith that baby. It seemed as if they had walked for hours, and talked for months, and reasoned for years, when they were startled by the booming, regular sound of a church clock. Thats St. Philips bell, exclaimed the Small Person. What is it strik- ing? They stood still and counted. One - two - three - four-five-six-seven- eight. The two friends looked at each other blankly. Do you think, they exclaimed, si- multaneously, she isnt coming? Butbut she said she would, said the Small Person, with desperate hope- fulness. If she didnt come it would be a story! Yes, said the Best Friend, she would have told a story! This seemed an infamy impossible and disrespectful to contemplate. It was so impossible that they braced themselves and began to walk up and down again. Perhaps they had made some mistakethere had been some misunderstanding about the time the cornerthe streetanything but the honorable intentions of the elderly person. They tried to comfort each other to be sustained. They talked, they walked, they watcheduntil St. Philips clock boomed half-past eight. Their bedtime was really eight oclock. They had stayed out half an hour beyond it. They dare stay no longer. They stopped their walk on the fated corner itself and looked into each others eyes. She hasnt come! they said, uncon- scious of the obviousness of the remark. She said she would, repeated the Small Person. It must be the wrong corner, said the Best Friend. It must be, replied the Small Per- son, desolately. Or the babys mam- ma couldnt spare it. It was such a beautiful babyperhaps she could not! And the lady did not like to come and tell us, said the Best Friend. Perhaps we shall see her in the Square again some time. Perhaps we shall, said the Small THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 249 Person, dolefully. Its too late to stay out any longer. Let us go home. They went home sadder but not much wiser little girls. They did not realize that the respectable elderly person had had a delightful, relatable joke at the expense of their innocent little mater- nal souls. Evening after evening they walked the Square together watching. But they never saw the new baby again, or the sardonic elderly female who carried it. It is only a thing not far away from Paradisenot yet acclimatized to earth who can so trustingly believe and be so far befooled. CHAPTER VII. THE SEcRfTMRE. I woxurn why it was called the Secr6- taire? Perhaps it had resources the Small Person never kncw of. It looked like a large old-fashioned mahogany book-case, with a big drawer which formed a ledge, and with a cupboard below. Until she was seven or eight years old she did not discover the Secr6taire. She knew that it existed, of course, but she did not know what its values were. She used to look at its rows and rows of books and sigh, because she knew they were grown-up books and she thought there was nothing in them which could interest her. They were such substantially bound and serious - looking books. No one could have suspected them of containing storiesat least, no inexperienced in- spector. There were rows of volumes called The Eucyclopa~dia, rows of stout volumes of Blaclewoods Magazine, a row of poets, a row of miscellaneous things with unprepossessing bindings, and two rows of exceedingly ugly brown books, which might easily have been suspected of being arithmetics, only that it was of course incredible that any hu- man creature, however lost, could have guilty of the unseemly brutality of been uying arithmetics by the dozen. The Small Person used to look at them sometimes with hopeless, hungry eyes. It seemed so horribly wicked that there should be shelves of booksshelves full of themwhich offered nothing to a starving creature. She was a starving creature in those days, with a positively wolfish appetite for books, though no one knew about it or understood the anguish of its guawings. It must be plainly stated that her longings were not for improving books. The culti- vation she gained in those days was gained quite unconsciously, through the workings of a sort of rabies with which she had been infected from birth. At three years old she had begun a life-long chase after the Story. She may have begun it earlier, but my clear recollec- tions seem to date from Herod, the King, to whom her third year introduced her through the medium of the speckled Testament. In those days, I think, the Childrens Century had not begun. Children were not regarded as embryo intellects, whose growth it is the pleasure and duty of intelligent maturity to foster and pro- tect. Morals and manners were attended to, desperate efforts were made to con- quer their natural disinclination to wash their hands and faces, it was a time- honored custom to tell them to make less noise, and I think everybody knelt down in his night -gown and said his prayers every night and morning. I wish I knew who was the originator of the nursery verse which was a kind of creed: Speak when youre spoken to, Come when youre called, Shut the door after you, And do as youre told. The rhyme and metre were, perhaps, not faultless, but the sentiments were without a flaw. A perfectly normal child knew what happened in its own nursery and the nurseries of its cousins and juvenile friends; it knew something of the ro- mances of Mrs. Barbauld and Miss Edgeworth, and the adventures related in Peter Parleys Annual Religious aunts possibly gave it horrible little books containing memoirs of dreadful children who died early of complicated diseases, whose lingering developments they enlivened by giving unlimited moral advice and instruction to their parents and immediate relatives, seem- ing, figuratively speaking, to implore 250 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. them to go and do likewise, and per- ishing to appropriate texts. The Small Person suffered keen private pangs of conscience, and thought she was a wicked child, because she did not like those books and had a vague feeling of disbe- lief in the children. It seemed probable that she might be sent to perdition and devoured by fire and brimstone because of this irreligious indifference, but she could not overcome it. But I am afraid the Small Person was not a normal child. Still she really could not help it, and she has been sufficiently punished, poor thing, even while she has been un- duly rewarded. She happened to be born, as a clever but revoltingly candid and practical medical man once told her, with a cerebral tumor of the Imagina- tion. Little girls did not revel in sumptu- ous libraries then. Books were birth- day or Christmas presents, and were read and re-read, and lent to other little girls as a great favor. The Small Persons chase after the Story was thought to assume the pro- portions of a crime. Have you any books you could lend me? she always ended by asking a new acquaintance. That child has a book again ! she used to hear annoyed voices exclaim, when being sent up or down stairs, on some errand, she found something to read on the way, and fell through the tempter. It was so positively unavoid- able and inevitable, that one should for- get and sink down on the stairs some- where to tear the contents out of the heart of a few pages, and it was so hor- rible, and made ones heart leap and thump so guiltily, when one heard the voice, and realized how bad, and idle, and thoughtless, and disobedient one was. It was like being conquered by a craving for drink or opium. It was be- ing a story-maniac. It made her rude, too, and it was an awful thing to be rude! She was a well-mannered enough child, but when she went to play with a friend in a strange nursery, or sitting-room, how was it possible to resist just looking at a book lying on a table? Figure to yourself a beautiful, violently crimson, or purple, or green book, ornamented with gorgeous, flaring designs in gilt, and with a seductive title in gilt letters on the back, and imagine how it could be possible that it should not fill ones veins with fever. If people had just understood and had allowed her to take such books and gallop through them without restraint. (She always galloped through her books, she could not read them with reasonable calmness.) But it was rude to want to read when people wanted to talk or play with you, and so one could only breath- lessly lift a corner of a leaf and devour half a dozen words during some mo- mentary relief from the other persons eye. And it was torment. And not- withstanding her sufferings, she knew that it was her fate to be frequently dis- cussed among her friends as a little girl who was rude enough to read when she comes to see you. As she did not develop with years into an entirely unintelligent or un- thinking person, there may lie a shade of encouragement to anxious parents in the fact that she was not conscious of any thirst for improving reading. She wanted stories---any kind of stories every kindanything from a romance to a newspaper anecdote. She was a simple, omnivorous creature. She had no precocious views about her mind or her intellectual condition. She reflected no more on her mind than she did on her plump legs and armsnot so much, because they were frequently made red and smarting by the English east winds and it did not occur to her that she had an intellectual condition. She went to school because all little girls did, and she learned her lessons because only in that manner could she obtain release at twelve in the morning and four in the afternoon. She seemed always to know how to read, and spelling had no diffi- culties for her; she rather liked geogra- phy, she thought grammar dull, and she abhorred arithmetic. Roman and Gre- cian and English history, up to the times of the Georges, she was very fond of. They were the Story she was in chase of. Gods and goddesses, legends and wars, Druids and ancient Britons, painted blue, worshipping in their groves, and fighting with their clubs and spears THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. 251 against the splendid Romans in their chariotsthese fed the wolf which gnawed her innocent vitals. The poor, half-savage Briton, walking in wonder through the marvellous city of his cap- tors, and saying mournfully, How could you who have all this splendor wish to conquer and take from me such a poor country as mine this touched her heart. Boadicea the Queen was some- how a wild, beautiful, majestic figure Canute upon the sea - shore, command- ing the sea to recede, provided the dra- maand Alfred, wandering in the for- est, and burning the cakes in the neat- herds hut, was comedy and tragedy at once, as his kinghood stood rebuked be- fore the scolding woman, ignorant of his power. Henry the Eighth, Elizabeth and Bloody Mary, Richard Co~ur de Lion, Richard the Third, and the poor little Princes in the Towerone could read their stories again and again; but where the Georges began romance seemed to fade away, and the Small Person was guilty of the base treason of being very slightly interested in the reign of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen. I dont care about the coal and cot- ton reigns, she said. They are not interesting. Nbthing happens. Lem- pril~res Classical Dictionary was a treasure to be clutched at any moment to keep in a convenient corner of the desk, so that, when one put ones head under the lid to look for pens or pencils, one could snatch just one scrap of a legend about a god or goddess changed into something as a punishment or to escape somebody or other. Remembering these ill-satisfied hun- gers, her own childhood being a thing of the past, and the childhood of young things of her own~ waiting for its future, she gave them books as she gave them food, and found it worthy of note that, having literature as daily bread and all within reach before them, they chose the improving things of their own free will. It interested her to ponder on the question of whether it was because they were never starving and ravenous, or that instruction of to - day is made interesting, or whether they were by nature more intelligent than herself. It was an indescribably dreary day when she discovered the gold mine in the Secr6taire. I have a theory that no one can really know how dreary a rainy day can be until they have spent one in an English manufacturing town. She did not live at Seedley at that time, and as in her recollections of the Back Gar- den of Eden the sun always seemed to have been shining on roses and apple- blossoms, in Islington Square it seemed always to be raining on stone pavements and slate roofs shining with the wet. One did not judge of the weather by looking at the sky. The sky was gene- rally gray when it was not filled with dirty but beautiful woolly-white clouds, with small patches of deep blue be- tween. It was the custom to judge what was happening by looking at the slates on the roofs. There seemed to be such lots of slates to look out at when one went to a window. The slates are quite wet ! was the awful sentence which doomed to despair many a plan of pleasure. They were always wet on the days when one was to be taken somewhere to do something in- teresting. Everything was wet on the day when she found the gold mine. When she went to the Nursery window (the Nur- sery being a back room on the third story) she looked down on the flags of wet back yardsher own back yard and those of the neighbors. Manchester back yards are never beautiful or en- livening, but when the flagstones are dark and shining, when moisture makes dingier the always dingy whitewashed walls, and the rain splashes on their coping, they wear an aspect to discour- age the soul. The back yards of th~e houses of the Square were divided by a long flagged passage from the back yards of the smaller houses in what was called a back street. From the Nur- sery one looked down on their roofs and chimneys and was provided with a de- pressing area of wet slates. It was not a cheering outlook. The view from the Sitting - room was no more inspiring and was more limit- ed. It was on the ground floor and at the back also, and only saw the wet flag- stones. She tried it and retired. The drawing - room looked out on a large square expanse of gravel enclosed by 252 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. houses whose smoke-grimed faces stared at one with blank, wet window eyes which made one low - spirited beyond compare. She tried that also, and breaking down under it, crept upstairs. It was in a room above the drawing- room that the Secr6taire had its place, and it was on turning in despair from the window there, that her eye fell upon its rows of uninviting-looking books. Before that particular window there was a chair, and it was a habit of hers to go and kneel by it with her elbows on its seat and her chin on her hands while she looked at the clouds. This was because through all her ear- lier years she had a queer sense of near- ness to the sky and of companionship with the clouds when she looked up at them. When they were fleecy and beau- tiful and floated in the blue, she imag- ined them part of a wonderful country, and fancied herself running and climb- ing over them. When there was only a dull lead - colored expanse, she used to talk to it in a whisper, expostulating, arguing, imploring. And this she did that day. Oh! she whispered, do open and let me see some blue, please do! If you please. You can do it if you like. You might do it! I would do it for you if I was a sky. Just a piece of blue and some sunjust an island of blue! Do! Do! Do! But it would not and did not. The rain came drizzling down and the slates became wetter and wetter. It was dead- lydeadly dull. The Nursery Sofa, the Green Arm- chair, the very Doll itself seemed to have the life taken out of them. The Doll sat in her chair in the Nursery and glared in a glassy-eyed way into space. She was nobody at all but a Doll. Mary Queen of Scots, Evangeline, and the Aztec royalties seemed myriads of miles away from her. They were in the Fourth Dimension of Space. She was stuffed with sawdust, her nose was a blunt dab of wax, her arms were green kid, her legs dangled, her toes turned in, and she wore an idiotic wig. How could a Small Person pretend with a thing like that ! And the slates were wetwetwet ! She rose from her kneeling posture before the chair and wandered across the room toward the Secr6taire, to stare up at the books. I wish I had something to read ! she said, wofully. I wish there was something for me to read in the Secr6- taire. But they are just a lot of fat, grown-up books. The bound volumes of Blaclewoods Magazine always seemed specially an- noying to her, because there were bits of red in the binding which might have suggested liveliness. But Blackwoods Magazine! What a title! Not a hope of a story in that. At that period cheer- fulness in binding seemed to promise something, and the title did the rest. But she had reached the climax of childish ennui. Something must be done to help her to endure it. She stared for a few moments, and then went to another part of the room for a chair. It must have been heavy for her, because English chairs of ma- hogany were not trifles. She dragged, or pulled, or carried it over to the Sec- r6taire. She climbed on it, and from there climbed on to the ledge, which seemed at a serious enough distance from the floor. Her short legs hung dangling as she sat, and she was very con- scious that she should tumble off if she were not careful. But at last she man- aged to open one of the glass doors, and then, with the aid of cautious move- ment, the other one. And then she be- gan to examine the books. There were a fewjust a fewwith lively bindings, and of course these were the first she took down. There was one in most al- luring pale blue and gold. It was called, The Keepsake, ~r The Gar- land, or The Floral Tribute, or some- thing of that order. When she opened it she found it contained verses and pictures. The verses were beautifully printed plaints about ladies eyes and peoples hearts. There were references to marble brows, and snowybosoms, and ruby lips, but somehow these charms seemed to ramble aimlessly through the lines, and never collect themselves together and form a person one could be interested or see a story in. The Small Person feverishly chased the Story through pages of them, but she never came within hailing distance of it. Even the pictures did not seem THE ONE I KNEkV~THE BEST OF ALL. 253 real. They were engravings of wonder- ful ladies with smooth shoulders, from which rather boisterous zephyrs seemed to be snatching airily flying scarves. They all had large eyes, high foreheads, exceedingly arched eyebrows, and ring- lets, and the gentleman who wrote the verses about them mentioned an ardent wish to touch his lute in their praise. Their Christian names were always writ- ten under them, and nobody ever was guilty of anything less Byronic than Leonora, or Zulieka, or Haidee, or lone, or Irene. This seemed quite natural to the Small Person, as it would really have been impossible to imagine any- one of them being called Jane, or Sa- rah, or Mary Anne. They did not look like it. But, also, they did not look like a story. The Small Person simply hated them as she realized what fraudulent pre- tences they were. They filled her with loathing and rage. She was capable of strange, silent, un- controllable rages over certain things. The baffled chase after the Story was one of them. She felt red and hot when she thrust back the blue and gold book into its place. You are a Beast! she muttered. A BeastBeastBeast! You look as if you were something to readand youre nothing! It would have been a pleasure to her to kick the Keepsake all over the room, and dance on it. But it was her Mam- mas book. The next pretty binding contained something of the same kind. It enclosed the Countess of Blessing- ton, the Hon. Mrs. Norton, and L. E. L. The first two ladies did not interest her, because they looked too much like the Eudoras and Irenes, but somehow L. E. L. caused her to pause. It seemed curious that a young lady should be called L. E. L., but there was something attractive in her picture. She was a slender little young lady in a white muslin frock and a very big belt and buckle, and there was something soft and prettily dreamy in her small face. The Small Person did not know why she looked like a real creature, and made one feel vaguely sad, but it was very thrilling to discover later that she was like Alice Benboltthat she also had VOL. XIH.25 been part of a sort of storyand that, like Alice, she lay under the stone. It was when she had been put back on the shelf that the Small Person was driven to take down a volume of Black- woods. I wonder how much depended upon her taking down that particular vol- ume. I am more than inclined to think that it was absolutely necessary that she should have things to read. I am also aware that no one knew how fierce her childish longings were, and it would have occurred to nobody about her that she had any longings unfulfilled at all, unless it was a desire for more sweeties than would have been good for her. The kindly, gentle people who loved her and took care of her, thought Peter Parleys Annual enough for any little boy or girl. Why not? It was the juvenile litera- ture provided for that day, and many children throve on it. She was not an intellectually fevered-looking Small Per- son at all. She was a plump, red-cheeked little girl, who played vigorously, and had a perfect appetite for oatmeal por- ridge, roast mutton, and rice pudding. And yet I can imagine that, under some circumstances, a small, imperfect, growing thing, devoured by some rage of hunger it cannot reason about or understand, and which is forever unsat- isfied, might, through its cravings, de- velop some physical fever which might end by stilling the ever-working brain. But this may only be the fancy of an imaginative mind. The Blaclewood was a big book and heavy. She opened it on her knee and it opened at a Story! She knew it was a story, because there were so many short lines. That meant conversationshe called it ta].king. If you saw solid blocks of printed lines, it was not very promising, but if you saw short lines and broken spaces, that meant talking and you had your Story. Why do I remember no more of that story than that it was about a desolate moorland with an unused, half-forgot- ten well on it, and that a gentleman 254 THE ONE I KNEW THE BEST OF ALL. (who cannot have been a very interest- ing character, as he is not remembered clearly) being considered superfluous by somebody, was disposed of and thrown into it in the r6le of a Body. It was his body which was interesting, and not himself, and my impression is that the story was not specially fascinatingbut it was a Story, and if there was one in the fat volumes there must be others and the explorer looked with gloating eyes at the rows of fat volumestwo whole rows of them! She took down others, and opening them, saw with joy more talking. There were stories in all of themsome which seemed to be continued from month to month. There was a long one called The Diary of a Physician, another called Ten Thousand a Year this last, she gathered in a few glances, contained the history of a person called Tittlebat Titmouse and was about a beautiful Kate Aubrey, and her virtuous but unfortunate familyand about a certain Lady Ceciliaand, oh! the rapt- ure of it! Her cheeks grew hotter and hotter, she read fast and furiously. She forgot that she was perched on the ledge, and that her legs dangled, and that she might fall. She was perched in Para- diseshe had no legsshe could not fall. No one could fall from a Secr6- taire filled with books, which might all of them contain Stories! Before long she climbed up and knelt upon the ledge so that she could be face to face with her treasures, and reach even to the upper shelves. With beat- ing heart she took down volumes that were not Blaclcwoods, in the wild hope that even they might contain riches also. She was an excitable creature, and her hands trembled as she opened them. Across a lifetime I remember that her breath came quickly, and she had a queer feeling in her chest. There were books full of poetry, and, oh, Heaven, the poems seemed to be stories too! There was a thing about an Ancient Mariner with a glittering eye, another about St. Agness Eve, another about a Scotch gentleman called Marmion, others about some Fire Worshippers, a Pen at the gate of Eden, a Veiled Prophet, a Corsair, and a splendid long one about a young man whose name was Don Juan. And then a very stout book with plays in it, in queer old- fashioned English. Plays were stories. There were stories about persons called Othello, The Merchant of Venice,~~ Two Gentlemen of Verona, Romeo and Juliet, and a world of others. She gasped with joy. It would take months to finish them! It was so tragic to finish a book. I wish I had something to read, she used to say often. Where is that book I saw you with yesterday? Ive finished it, she used to answer, rather sheepishly, because she knew they would reply, Then you cant have read it prop- erly. You couldnt have finished it in such a short time. You must skip. Read it again. Who wanted to read a thing again when a hunger for novelty was in them? The top row of the shelves looked so unpromising that she was almost afraid to spoil the happiness by touching the books. They looked ancient and very like arithmetics. They were bound in ugly grayish boards with a strip of brown down the back. She pulled herself up to read the titles. They all seemed to belong to one edition. The one her eyes seized on first was quite a shabby one. The Fair Maid of Perth, she read. Waverley Novels. Novels were stories! The Fair Maid of Perth. She snatched it from its place, she sat on the ledge once more with her feet dangling. The Fair Maid of Perth. And all the rest were like it! Why, one might read forever / Were the slates still wet? Was the gravelled Square still sopping? Did the flagged pavement still shine? Was the Doll still staring in her chair nothing but a Sawdust Thing? She knew nothing about any of them. Her feet dangled, her small face burned, she bounded to Perth with the Fair Maid. How long afterward a certain big bell rang, she did not know. She did not hear it. She heard nothing 9 256 HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST. turning to his labors. If your lord- ship will refer to my despatch of the 2d ult. For many nights the Grand Hippo- drome filled its tent to overflowing, and the rupees rolled thickly into the cof- fers of M. Jaboulet. The trick horses fired their pistols and found their handkerchiefs; the young French la- dies burst night by night through pa- per hoops; the elephants paraded, the trained poodles performed their evolu- tions, and the whole city rejoiced in the circus as the only spot where apprehen- sion might be forgotten. And the lieu- tenant-governor, whose telegraph was cut, and his outlet for penmanship blocked by armed thousands, and yet who would sit for hours at his desk in a sort of catalepsy, pen in hand and blank reams before him, went to the circus, for the moral effect, and sat beneath the trophy of French and Eng- lish bunting. He gazed upon it all with vacant eyes and a deathly mask. When the brown troops had been turned out of the citadel by one of those transformation scene parades that can- not be thought of without a catch at the heart, a tension of fear, uncertain- ty, and exasperation fell npon everyone; the streets were patrolled nightly by volunteers, and supernumeraries were enrolled and armed. The day of the circus was over, and debt settled like dew upon M. Jabonlet and his belong- ings. The government now owned the trained elephants, which carried water all day up to the fort, the poodles were mortgaged, and a brown gentleman in a linen ephod (like the Infant Samuel) bought the giraffes, with an eye to Brit- ish beef. If I can keep my orses I shally be locky, said Jaboulet, with fatalistic calm. To save expense the circus people gave up their various lodgings and lived in the tent, a motley, happy crowd of Bohemians who bore their reverses with Gallic gayety and fortitude. For care sat lightly on Jaboulets shoulders; life and he were well acquainted, and he made every fresh catastrophe in his affairs the occasion for a petit verre all around, from Mlle Suzanne, the Star of the Arena, to Paul, the half-witted boy. At the Fort things were going badly, the lieutenant-governor sinking into his grave, and his authority now feeble as his frame. Men wrangled by his bed- side and met his orders with sullen acquiescence or insolent refusal Most were impatient for his death, but many went further and proposed forcible de- position. There was open mutiny with- out, disguised mutiny within. More than once the lieutenant - governor roused himself from his deathly lethargy and made the rounds of the citadel, but his kindly greetings were met with formal politeness or open disrespect. Nec patriam antiquam nune est spes ulla videndi, he quoted to his secre- tary on their last walk together, and when it was translated to him the hon- est fellow burst into tears. But Latin was not the only tongue that had troubled the secretary. English was widely known in the revolted provinces, and many an officer, fearful of giving his information to the enemy, had to recall the French or Greek he had for- gotten for twenty years. The secretary had wept before over little scraps of French, little compositions in dog Greek, that had brought to the Fort God knows what stories of murder and treachery, and agonized appeals for help. A certain, indefinable bustle began to be manifest in the Fort and gave color to the rumor of a sortie. The whisper of it ran among the bungalows by that mysterious human telegraph, swift as electricity. Men saw the news in each others faces written like print. A pa- trol flashed it into where Jaboulet sat drinking his sundown absinthe, and it stirred and shook the little man until he called for his horse and galloped off to see the brigadier. The brigadier was a large, dull, heavy man, who, like some unnoticed garden-weed, had mounted the army list by seniority and sheer force of growth. Having the sense to grow quietly, he had been completely forgot- ten by the authorities until the bewil- dering days of 1857, when he was dis- covered in military command of a great and important province. My general, said the little French- man, I am Jaboulet, of the circus; I am ere to consult you. w

Lloyd Osbourne Osbourne, Lloyd How The Battle Was Lost 255-261

256 HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST. turning to his labors. If your lord- ship will refer to my despatch of the 2d ult. For many nights the Grand Hippo- drome filled its tent to overflowing, and the rupees rolled thickly into the cof- fers of M. Jaboulet. The trick horses fired their pistols and found their handkerchiefs; the young French la- dies burst night by night through pa- per hoops; the elephants paraded, the trained poodles performed their evolu- tions, and the whole city rejoiced in the circus as the only spot where apprehen- sion might be forgotten. And the lieu- tenant-governor, whose telegraph was cut, and his outlet for penmanship blocked by armed thousands, and yet who would sit for hours at his desk in a sort of catalepsy, pen in hand and blank reams before him, went to the circus, for the moral effect, and sat beneath the trophy of French and Eng- lish bunting. He gazed upon it all with vacant eyes and a deathly mask. When the brown troops had been turned out of the citadel by one of those transformation scene parades that can- not be thought of without a catch at the heart, a tension of fear, uncertain- ty, and exasperation fell npon everyone; the streets were patrolled nightly by volunteers, and supernumeraries were enrolled and armed. The day of the circus was over, and debt settled like dew upon M. Jabonlet and his belong- ings. The government now owned the trained elephants, which carried water all day up to the fort, the poodles were mortgaged, and a brown gentleman in a linen ephod (like the Infant Samuel) bought the giraffes, with an eye to Brit- ish beef. If I can keep my orses I shally be locky, said Jaboulet, with fatalistic calm. To save expense the circus people gave up their various lodgings and lived in the tent, a motley, happy crowd of Bohemians who bore their reverses with Gallic gayety and fortitude. For care sat lightly on Jaboulets shoulders; life and he were well acquainted, and he made every fresh catastrophe in his affairs the occasion for a petit verre all around, from Mlle Suzanne, the Star of the Arena, to Paul, the half-witted boy. At the Fort things were going badly, the lieutenant-governor sinking into his grave, and his authority now feeble as his frame. Men wrangled by his bed- side and met his orders with sullen acquiescence or insolent refusal Most were impatient for his death, but many went further and proposed forcible de- position. There was open mutiny with- out, disguised mutiny within. More than once the lieutenant - governor roused himself from his deathly lethargy and made the rounds of the citadel, but his kindly greetings were met with formal politeness or open disrespect. Nec patriam antiquam nune est spes ulla videndi, he quoted to his secre- tary on their last walk together, and when it was translated to him the hon- est fellow burst into tears. But Latin was not the only tongue that had troubled the secretary. English was widely known in the revolted provinces, and many an officer, fearful of giving his information to the enemy, had to recall the French or Greek he had for- gotten for twenty years. The secretary had wept before over little scraps of French, little compositions in dog Greek, that had brought to the Fort God knows what stories of murder and treachery, and agonized appeals for help. A certain, indefinable bustle began to be manifest in the Fort and gave color to the rumor of a sortie. The whisper of it ran among the bungalows by that mysterious human telegraph, swift as electricity. Men saw the news in each others faces written like print. A pa- trol flashed it into where Jaboulet sat drinking his sundown absinthe, and it stirred and shook the little man until he called for his horse and galloped off to see the brigadier. The brigadier was a large, dull, heavy man, who, like some unnoticed garden-weed, had mounted the army list by seniority and sheer force of growth. Having the sense to grow quietly, he had been completely forgot- ten by the authorities until the bewil- dering days of 1857, when he was dis- covered in military command of a great and important province. My general, said the little French- man, I am Jaboulet, of the circus; I am ere to consult you. w HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST. 255 until a nursery maid came in and brought her back to earth. You naughty girl, Miss Frances. The tea-bells rung and you sitting here on your mas Secretarywith a book! She gathered herself together and scrambled off the ledge. She went down to the tea, and the slices of thick bread and butter deemed suitable to early youthbut she had the gray and brown volume under her arm. The governess looked at her with the cold eye of dignity and displeasure. You have a book, she said. Put it down. You are not allowed to read at table. It is very rude. (To be continued.) HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST. By Lloyd Oshourne. upon a time fear came knocking at the gates of a great city; disorder and revolt thickened without her broad mud walls, and consternation fell upon those appointed to rule and guard her. The quiet, painstaking, elderly official, grizzled by years of public service, who was governor of that city, began to sink beneath the weight of worry and re- sponsibility. He had not always feared responsibility: once he had paved a mountain-pass with the bones of his fel- low-countrymen. From that day his self- confidence vanished, and, though his ge- nius for organization remained unim- paired, he shrank from independence as some from the sight of blood. Such was the man who, in the year of grace eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, with a large fort in indifferent repair, a thousand white troops, and a fussy old gentleman, called Brigadier Bolton, had to overawe a city of three hundred thousand souls and a teeming country of thirty - three millions. True to the education of his life, the lieutenant-gov- ernor did not falter in his duty. In peaceful times he conducted his gov- ernment by means of pen and ink de- spatches, reports, special reports, state- ments, and that great pen and ink en- gine that lay by his hand like an elec- tric bellsubordinate officialdom. To obtain the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, had been the business of his career. Then to em- body it with wide margins and let the authorities decide for themselves. So when mutiny swept into his province, and mens hearts stood still within them, the lieutenant - governor was found sedulous at his desk; his tele- graph humming and clicking day and night with the passage of exact infor- mation. Late wayfarers in the street used to gaze at his ever-lighted win- dows and say: See, he ndver sleeps ; which was true and somehow comfort- ing. Now, it happened that while the man at the desk sat dying by inches and flashing incessant facts to headquarters, Monsieur Alcide Jaboulet made entry into that great city. The unobtrusive portmanteau and hat-box style of the tourist was not M. Jaboulets way; though he was an unassuming person, and stood but five feet four in his high- ly varnished boots. In fact, he marched in to the beat of drums and with all the pomp and circumstance of the Grand Hippodrome Oriental, of which he was sole proprietor. Right gallant and gay was the procession of elephants and prancing horses, tigers in gilt cages, the giraffe-drawn carriage of the clown, and the mounted guard of glittering Frenchwomen, all smiles and pink tights. The crowded streets looked on and marvelled, and for a moment the circus usurped the ever-flowing talk of red murder and insurrection. The noise of it all flew swift through the heated air and knocked at the heart of the man at the desk. Only a French circus passing the bazaars, said the pallid secretary, re HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST. 257 I shall be pleased to hear what you have to say, said the brigadit~r, suave- ly, for so great was the wether of au- thorities that he was not a little flat- tered to have been the one selected. I see you faight ere against im- mense odds, continued Jaboulet. I cannot stand by; I am Frenchman, sar. My Emperor (here he touched his hat) is bound in alliance to your Queen. Our compatriots have bled on the same fields of battle; my spirit besides is mil- itary. I am, sar, grandson of brave soldiers. I bring you the little wat I can; a small kernel of loyal earts, a few French swords, andmy orses ah, my general, wat orses! Well, and about the price? queried the brigadier. Der is no price, returned Jaboulet, Cest pour lhonneur de lAlliance! Eh, whats that? demanded the brigadier, whose little stock of French was not equal to the strain. For the honor of the Alliance, translated Jaboulet. Ze French and ze English is bruzzerswats my orse is your orse. Remember Inkermann, Malakoff, the Alma. Yery right and proper feeling, observed the brigadier, almost with warmth. It does you credit, Mosoo. Your offer is accepted with thanks. The next day, after his first drill with the volunteers, Jaboulet smoked a cigar with his commanding officer while watching the circus-horses washed down. Its a shame to take that little Arab into action, said Captain Harper. Sheap at two hundred guineas, re- marked Jaboulet, with pathos. Im not so squeamish about men, said Harper; but it hurts me to see a good horse bowled over.~~ Perhaps bofe man and orse, inter- jected Jaboulet, with gloom. But do I place myself and orse against the honor of my country? No, sar. Youre a brick, said Harper. Ah, were all bricks here, returned the little Frenchman, with conviction. Ze very hatmosphere is eroic. I feel like ze orse when ze band begins to play. Jaboulet and his people had been en- rolled some four days, and yet the ea gerly debated sortie had not been made. Men chafed and grew sick with appre- hension and distrust, and none more than Colonel Stafford and Captain Felix, of the engineers. These two lived to- gether, or I might rather say, kept awake together, and passed the night hours in sleepless expectancy. The village of Mazzik-gunj, that straggled across the highroad some two miles from the city, was the keystone of their position, and the engineers had posted the road in front with several of their own servants on good mounts. For it is a peculiarity of men like Stafford to possess servants as trustworthy as their own right hand. It was a standard joke at mess that Staffords servants worshipped him daily at family prayers. On July 5th, at half-past four in the morning, a solitary horseman drew rein at the engineers quarters, his stream- ing chestnut all lathered with sweat and mud and foam. What is thy news, oh thou lion- hearted ravager of hillsides? demand- ed Stafford, coming to the door lamp in hand, Captain Felix peering close behind him. Father of the fatherless, returned the Afghan, they be within six hours march of Mazzik-gunj, horse, guns, and foot innumerable. If this servant were to hazard an opinion, he would say four thousand black-souled sons of Shitan. The Jelapore rebels at last! cried Captain Felix, with sparkling eyes; and began to hurry into his shoes. Thou hast done well, said Stafford, after putting some further questions. Here be things to eat ready laid out for thee, and strong wine to make merry thy heart. At a quarter to five the two engineers were awakening the brigadier and lay- ing their plans before him. The strong little village of Mazzik-gunj must be held in force, and the fate of the city de- cided by a battle. Let them get here unopposed, and the city will flare up like so much tin- der, said Stafford. We are only keep- ing it now by moral effect. Mazzik- gunj will decide whether or not we all get jammed into the Fort. Then good-by to the nine lacs in the treasury, said Felix. That the 258 HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST. governors having there to show con- fidence. But man is a reasoning animaL The brigadier was adamant to these sugges- tions, because: 1. Colonel Stafford was an engineer officer; 2. Colonel Stafford was second in command. 3. Colonel Stafford was rated highly as a soldier and was justly popular. 4. Brigadier Bolton wasnt. 5. The proposal was a good one. It would have occurred to him quite natu- rally if he had only been left alone; the insubordinate interference of the engi- neers made it appear as though the plan was theirs, whereas it was really his own, or would have been. The engineers were vehement, ex- planatory, argumehtative. A Sunday- school child could not have heard them without conviction. They would have gone on their knees to that resentful, stubborn, ignorant old man, if such hu- miliation could have availed. But of tact they had not a particle. They had no thought to make a bridge of gold for an out-reasoned brigadier, yet how gladly would he have crossed it had it been there. Temper went; high words passed, which in the piping times of peace would have resulted in a court-martial. At six the brigadier was re-awakened by a servant bringing him tea and toast. He sat up in his bed, hot and sullen, with an overwhelming feeling that he had passed through evil dreams. He took his first sip of tea before he re- called Colonel Staffords visit. Damn insubordinate devils, he said. Id like to break m for this. Give or- ders to me, hey? At seven oclock a new post came gal- loping in; the news the same, but the rebels nearer. The brigadier grew un- easy. If those fellows hadnt been so opinionated, we might have talked this thing out, he said. At eight: My original plan was the right oneseize the village and fight. Hang it, those fellows mustnt get into the city. But Im not going to be hec- tored into raw haste by any pair of en- gineers. Send off the men without breakfast, hey? Is that the coolness of a general officer? At nine the force was paraded in the square, eight hundred men, two guns, and the volunteer cavalry under Cap- tain Harper, sixty strong. In all it was a forlorn little party for the work in- tended, though by such handfuls has India been won. But on this occasion the god of battles was against Brigadier Bolton and the seniority system. The brigadier was in a red heat of fluster, rage, and indignation, his face was purple, his flabby hand shook up- on the bridle; he darted and buzzed through the ranks and formations like some human hornet, in a flurry of haste and temper. His peevish, hoarse voice vociferated oaths and complaints. His orders had been ignored, thwarted, dis- obeyed; a more disgraceful force of British troops had never been paraded. The officers who suffered at his hands (and there were few who escaped) passed on darkening faces to their men and a furious, sullen exasperation. There was not a man there but knew the meaning of delaysave one. In the course of one of his rounds of vituperation, the brigadier met Colonel Stafford face to face, who stopped and saluted. The engineer was an erect, handsome man, very pale and very calm. ~I must ask leave to accompany the force as a volunteer, he said. As you are second in command,~~ returned the brigadier, I suppose I cannot well refuse you.~~ I dont think you very well can, said Stafford, and strode across the square to join his company. Hour after hour passed and still the force was on paradeprecious and ir- revocable hours only to be redeemed in human lives. The remorseless furnace of the sky added fresh suffering. Men, who in the morning would have done good service with musket and bayonet, now sank beneath the sun and were car- ried in to die. The four thousand non- combatants who had crowded the square at nine oclock to see their lads march out and give them God-speed, melted silently into the dark corners of the fort. Thus passed five heart-breaking hours before the order was given to march, and the men who had paraded so gayly at nine, filed out at the merciless hour w HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST~ 259 of two, silent, gloomy, and without a cheer. Though grown gray in the service, the brigadier had never been in action. His personal courage was an unknown quantity. As he gazed round the dark, fierce, unfriendly faces of his staff, and heard the tramp of men before him, and the tramp of men behind him, he real- ized, with an icy chill, that this was none of the soldiering to which he had been accustomed. Great God! he thought, am I sure of myself? And he shook all over with that fear of fear. With a bit- terness not to be expressed in words, with a biting envy, his eye fell upon Colonel Stafford. There walked a man but half his age, whose life had been passed in battles and fights~, who wrote V. C. after his name, and could ask him- self that question without a tremor. Suppose he put me under arrest for cowardice! said the brigadier to him- self, with a bursting heart; and the thought moved him to grim resolution. Some two miles march brought the expedition near the village and sur- rounding mud walls, to find all strongly held by the enemy. So much for delay. Instead of holding Mazzik-gunj against the rebels, who outnumbered them six to one, it was the other way about thanks to the brigadier. This thought must have transpierced even his thick skull, for he exchanged his tearing ill- humor for a laborious politeness, and his dull, beery, irritable eyes dodged the glances of his staff. I told you so, was written in every line of their angry faces. Putting himself at the head of the volunteers, he carried them within a perilous distance of the enemy, and stood there imperturbable, scanning the village with perverse deliberation. Three saddles were emptied before he would consent to draw off, and even as he did so a bullet grazed his own tem- ple. He rubbed off the blood with his handkerchief, and a strange glare lit up his old eyes. Youll be thinking it might have been straighter, gentlemen, said he. The position in which the brigadier now found himself was one so common in Indian military history that the mer- est tyro could have told him what to do. A fierce, simultaneous rush on both flanks, the guns behind the bayonets, and (as the events proved) the day would have been his own. But the brigadier stood aghast at the risk, at the undoubted costliness of life in- volved in such an operation; so he ordered Major Ashworth Carr to open with his two guns and first overwhelm the enemys twelve. But John Com- panys veterans made good practice with John Companys guns: they were not overwhelmed at all. In fact it was all Major Ashworth Carr could do to hold his own. At the end of ninety rounds the British ran out of ammunition ; a spare tumbril had exploded, and no other reserve had been brought from the fort. This being the case, there was nothing left but to storm the village. The men received the order with a cheer, and sprang forward at a pound- ing double, officers in front, bayonets behind, a plucky rivalry animating the whole. One breathless, faltering in- stant at the wall, and then over they swept like a pack of harriers with yells and shouts. Cawnpore, Delhi were be- hind those British bayonets: the blood of English women and children cried them on. Not a man there but had his own private score to settle, his own indi- vidual exasperation to assuage. On they swept, a fierce, relentless mob; slowly, for the struggle was bitter and every house a fort; hoarse cheering marking the stages of their triumph, until, with one last rush, the village was cleared. Some of the rebel guns began to limber up for flight ; their defeated infantry came on frantic, despairing against the thinly manned walls they had so lately lost. The tide was near the turning. There went up a cry: Oh, for the guns! and quick as thought a messenger was speeding for them. For Gods sake, men, hang on till they come, cried the officers, encourag- ingly, and the men cheered and shook hands with one another. Oh, for the guns, indeed! A dozen rounds of grapesix roundsfour, or, perhaps, even the grim presence of the guns themselves, would have changed the day. Answer was brought back that the 260 HOW THE BATTLE WAS LOST. guns were without ammunition. The men began to waver as the enemy re- formed to the charge. There was a hurried consultation; the order was given to retreat. Sullenly and slowly the men fell back, with ranks disor- dered by the crowd of wounded, yet so far from cowed that they again and again turned a savage and stinging front to the enemy. In the hour of dis- aster the volunteers did good service, spiking the guns, carrying off wounded, and charging the enemy whenever he pressed too hard. The retreat was skil- fully conceived, and carried out with the coolness of a dress - parade the one creditable affair in the days bungling. Under a better leader such men and officers would have done much: under Brigadier Bolton they at least saved the British flag from utter disgrace. Where the brigadier was all this while, men knew little and cared less. In reforming the columns it was found a convenient fiction to believe him dead. Wish to God he was, said Captain Felix, putting the general sentiment in- to words. But the brigadier was not dead. True his horse had been shot under him; he had raised himself faint and giddy only to collapse again to the ground, where he sat for a space nursing his leg. Of course, he might have reasserted his authority, but for this he had no desire. He staggered painfully along in the ex- treme rear of the column, his face pur- ple, his sword dragging the ground. A compassionate sub offered him a mount, a sergeant pressed him to put himself into an ambulance doolie. But to such offers he only snarled refusal and limped along on foot. Later on he found him- self beside an ambulance. The pallid, straightened face of its occupant seemed somehow familiar to him; there was a kindness in those dying eyes that strangely touched the brigadier. Youre not the little circus French- man? The man who gave the horses? And his life, too, whispered the dying man. Ah, but what hawful t , day. A dull wave of pity and remorse shook the old man. The glazed, anxious eyes of the little Frenchman seemed to wound him. Youve done your duty, Mosoo, he said, simply. Would to God I could say the same. My eart bleeds for you, cried Ja- boulet. The childish compassion of the words quite unmanned the old soldier. Mosoo, he said, I am veryvery much obliged to you. I am no good at saying this sort of thing, Mosooa sim- ple old soldier of thirty years service but youre ~ noble fellow Bofe noble fellers, whispered the Frenchman. I am bleeding hinter- nal he went on. Ze time is so shortcould I entreat of you a favor, brigadier? I should say so, said the brigadier, bitterly, seeing youre the only one here who doesnt wish me dead. Tell my muzzer I die for France. La veuve Jaboulet, Rue de Ravignon, Lepuy-en-Yelay, D6partement Haute- Loireand, brigadier, if ze government reimburses me for ze orse, take it to hare. But you yourself you will go, brig- adieryou will make ze promise? On my sacred word of honor, said the old man. Goot, said Jaboulet, with a heaven- ly smile; and now just one leetle lock of ze air to remind ze ole woman of ze eroic boy. The brigadier cut off a lock of the thick, black hair with his penknife and crammed it into his pocket. A moment later the little Frenchman collapsed into the doolie; the death struggle was beginning. With one last desperate effort he half raised himself. Pour lhonneur de 1Alliance! he cried out, and fell back dead. A few minutes later the body was dumped into the road and the briga- dier, half-fainting, was assisted into the empty ambulance. w O~ characteristic of Tennyson that looms up large in the figure of him that is left to us, was his ability to take himself seriously as a poet. Since his death a story has been in circulation about the experience of a cer- tain exceptionally favored young woman who went off on a yachting trip with a small party of which Lord Tennyson and Mr. Gladstone were members. She said, or at least the newspapers reported her as say- ing, that though the trip was delightful it was not entirely free from friction arising from Mr. Gladstones propensity to talk in moments in which Lord Tennyson wished to recite verses. Indeed the lady intimated that the solid day did not seem to Mr. Glad- stone too long for him to talk through, or offer to Lord Tennyson an unreasonably protracted space for the recitation of his own poems, and that it sometimes happened that the decks of the yacht were cleared of all the passengers except two, the old states- man at one extremity lost in an impassioned monologue of discussion, and the venerable bard rehearsing Tennysonian poetry at the other. This may not be a true story at all, and very likely it is exaggerated even if there are facts to it, but whether fact or fiction it illustrates well-known characteristics of the two masters that it concerns. Tennyson never doubted that his verse was worth im- parting. Wordsworth believed implicitly in himself as the greatest poet of his day, and suspected that his day was the golden age of all poetry. His public disputed his VOL. XIII.26 opinion for many years, but finally came two-thirds of the way over to his way of thinking. Tennyson also made up his mind pretty early in life that he was a poet and a great one. The evidence he submitted in support of that conclusion was less conflict- ing than Wordsworths, and the public was quicker in conceding that he was right. And having demonstrated that he was a poet, and chosen poetry for his vocation he revered his office and stuck to it. He took his work seriously, and himself seriously as the man to whom it was appointed to do the work. Always and everywhere where he went as a man, he went as a poet too. He must have been a poet even to his valet. To him there was nothing more absurd in the figure of himself in a cloak and a slouch hat reciting his own verses on the deck of a yacht than there is in the presence of an archbishop in full canonicals doing his office in the chancel of St. Pauls. That a poet should be picturesque and poetical seemed no more a thing to smile at than kingliness in a king. And the beauty of it was that he was right. By magnifying his office he digni- fied it, and gained dignity for himself as its fit administrator. His safety lay in his pos- session of the inestimable treasure of sim- plicity. He did not assume, he developed. He did not pose, he simply behaved as he felt. His ideals were lofty, his thoughts were trained to clothe themselves in poeti- cal images, and his conduct and bearing were simply the shadow of the inner sub- THE POINT OF VIEW.

A Poet And Not Ashamed The Point Of View 261-266

O~ characteristic of Tennyson that looms up large in the figure of him that is left to us, was his ability to take himself seriously as a poet. Since his death a story has been in circulation about the experience of a cer- tain exceptionally favored young woman who went off on a yachting trip with a small party of which Lord Tennyson and Mr. Gladstone were members. She said, or at least the newspapers reported her as say- ing, that though the trip was delightful it was not entirely free from friction arising from Mr. Gladstones propensity to talk in moments in which Lord Tennyson wished to recite verses. Indeed the lady intimated that the solid day did not seem to Mr. Glad- stone too long for him to talk through, or offer to Lord Tennyson an unreasonably protracted space for the recitation of his own poems, and that it sometimes happened that the decks of the yacht were cleared of all the passengers except two, the old states- man at one extremity lost in an impassioned monologue of discussion, and the venerable bard rehearsing Tennysonian poetry at the other. This may not be a true story at all, and very likely it is exaggerated even if there are facts to it, but whether fact or fiction it illustrates well-known characteristics of the two masters that it concerns. Tennyson never doubted that his verse was worth im- parting. Wordsworth believed implicitly in himself as the greatest poet of his day, and suspected that his day was the golden age of all poetry. His public disputed his VOL. XIII.26 opinion for many years, but finally came two-thirds of the way over to his way of thinking. Tennyson also made up his mind pretty early in life that he was a poet and a great one. The evidence he submitted in support of that conclusion was less conflict- ing than Wordsworths, and the public was quicker in conceding that he was right. And having demonstrated that he was a poet, and chosen poetry for his vocation he revered his office and stuck to it. He took his work seriously, and himself seriously as the man to whom it was appointed to do the work. Always and everywhere where he went as a man, he went as a poet too. He must have been a poet even to his valet. To him there was nothing more absurd in the figure of himself in a cloak and a slouch hat reciting his own verses on the deck of a yacht than there is in the presence of an archbishop in full canonicals doing his office in the chancel of St. Pauls. That a poet should be picturesque and poetical seemed no more a thing to smile at than kingliness in a king. And the beauty of it was that he was right. By magnifying his office he digni- fied it, and gained dignity for himself as its fit administrator. His safety lay in his pos- session of the inestimable treasure of sim- plicity. He did not assume, he developed. He did not pose, he simply behaved as he felt. His ideals were lofty, his thoughts were trained to clothe themselves in poeti- cal images, and his conduct and bearing were simply the shadow of the inner sub- THE POINT OF VIEW. 262 THE POINT OF VIEW. stance. Neither were absolutely contem- poraneous, but much about both had the imperishable quality which is never in the fashion and happily never out of it. In this land and in these days we are apt to giggle at great offices. To our eyes the divinity that doth hedge a king appears full of holes. Wigs and laced-coats and high-heeled boots possess no illusions for us any longer, and perhaps we are some- what too prone to extend our humorous disregard for such discarded trappings to the substantial superiority they were once designed to fit. We are so ready to make game of the poetical aspirations of poets generally, that ours are apt to choose to be beforehand with us, and extenuate the pos- sible absurdity of their own aspirations by smiling deprecations before and after. Now that Walt Whitman is dead, no American would dare look and act like a poet even if he felt or wrote like one. Our poets are somewhat too apt to be spruce gentlemen in patent-leather shoes, who make verses in such odd hours as they can spare from the serious concerns of life. And one cause of their being so is the reiterated suggestion of a stiff-necked generation that a sincere poet who believes in his office and lives up to it is a more or less absurd creature, who owes us all an apology for not doing something more lucrative and really useful. We have talked that way about poets so long that it looks a little as though ours had finally come to believe us, and put their best ener- gies into other work. It might be better for them, and for us too, if they would shut their eyes to our quirks and giggles, and pattern a little more after Tennyson, who chose to be a poet, and was that and noth- ing else, all his life, and without evasion, apology, or remorse. Bi~r if the irreverent American humor has not developed without some corruption of precious ideals, it has much to offer in extenuation of itself in the shape of smashed idols with clay feet, whose usefulness, if they ever had any, was long since past. One such fetish that, so far as this coun- try is concerned, has had the foundations laughed quite out from under it, is that curious device for defeating the natural superiority of mind over matter, which was known as the code. To be sure, the codes got its death-blow as an American institution as long ago as when Aaron Burrs bullet put a nation in mourning. It has never really flourished since then, though it did linger on fitfully and ob- scurely until after the civil war. But some of the manners and methods that were orig- inally tributary to it survived it, and it has been left to this generation to laugh them little by little into contemptuous disuse. Men still quarrel and still exchange blows in anger, but not only the notion that dif- ferences between gentlemen must be settled on the field of honor has clean gone out; but behavior which had some appear- ance of sense while that notion still held has finally come to be estimated as the ar- chaism that it is. The age of rotten boroughs, knee-breeches, hair-triggers, and port, has not only past, but its works have so far followed it that in America persons who attempt to shape their conduct by the standards of that age merely find that an amused and smiling public credits them with courtly bar-room manners, and sniggers at their discomfiture. The gen- tleman who has done another gentleman an injury is not considered any less a black- guard because he offers his victim any reparation in his power. To run the in- jured man through the body, or perforate his vitals with lead, is so universally under- stood to be an indifferent justification of an offence that a culprit who goes out of his way to suggest it in any overt dispute finds himself most uncomfortably in con- tempt of public opinion. So the public in- sult, which would once have had to be ex- punged with blood, has relapsed from its high estate of being a gentlemanly act into a mere loaferish breach of the peace, to be settled for in a police court. The fatal defect in these discarded stand- ards was that they were not democratic. They never promoted, or were intended to promote, the greatest good of the greatest number, but merely contributed to the ex- altation of the few who aspired to be su- perior to rules that might be fit for the vulgar. Now and then someone stumbles across the contemporary stage who from living too exclusively in some narrow club circle in Europe, or even here, has failed to appreciate the spirit of the age, and at- w 9 THE POINT OF VIEW. 263 tempts in some juncture to shape his con- duct according to the notions of gentle- manly behavior that obtained in London clubs as late as the days of George the Fourth. It is only by watching the absurd contortions of such unfortunates that we are able to realize the progress that has been made. Since the theory of justifica- tion by combat has been exploded there seems to be no way in which a gentleman can be sure of keeping his sacred honor free from specks except by plain, ordinary, decent behavior, and respect for the rights of other people. If he does wrong he can- not fight his way right. He simply has to repent and apologize, or take his punishment quietly according to the rules of the game. If he is injured, and the law cannot help him, the best way for him is just to grin and bear it, and let time wreak its own re- venges. To be sure, if the injury is des- perate, and he resents it in hot blood, the law may excuse him; but society has come to a point of sophistication where it is able to recognize that the man who endures is usually a stronger and a nobler creature than the man who gives reins to his temper. The notion that ones honor can be damaged by the action of another person is pretty generally obsolete. Brag is not so good a dog as he was. Bluff will not go so far. The code that regulates in these days the man- ners of the highest and most influential type of American gentleman is actually to be found in the New Testament. The Christian standard of conduct is respected consciously or unconsciously in the clubs as well as in the churches. To forgive ones enemies (or at least to let them alone), and to do as one would be done by, have always been good sense, and in these days by some miracle of grace they seem to be getting to be good form too. But perhaps we ought not to wonder at it, since to the discrimin- ating observer the other way is so hope- lessly absurd, and this age of publicity is necessarily an age of critical discrimina. tion too. ANT) then, cried Hope, things will go smoothly. No, grumbled Experience, things never will go smoothly: they never do. They just bump along. To the very poor, modern life must be comparatively simple. Having food, cloth- ing, and shelter, they have therewith to be content, because it is all they can get. To the very rich, life is simplified in one way, because if they want anything that is pur- chasable they can buy it. But there is an important element in society whose income is large enough to make whole sets and series of requirements imaginable, without being sufficient to bring a tithe of them within the range of real feasibility. This Magazine must go into a good many thou- sand families that appreciate fully all the things that every family that respects it- self ought to do, and are at their wits end to devise means to make it possible for their particular family to do them. Such families do not aspire that their pathway through life shall be smooth. The problem with them is how to make it traversable at all, and if they can keep under them anything so substantial as a corduroy road they go on, thankful for such progress as they make, and philosophically oblivious to the bumps. For such aspiring families there is a seri- ous extra bump in the road in prospect next summer. Of course the usual necessaries must be provided for. The women and children must get out of town, and have the indispensable succession of salt-water or mountain-air, salubrious shelter, piazza privileges, band-music, and regular meals. The strain of summer nomadicity on the family income is too sorrowfully familiar to need to be recalled. The special per- plexity of the approaching season is how, after the habitual expenditures, out of the remaining fiscal fragments, to get to see the Worlds Fair. For a few days last November it seemed possible that a celes- tial visitor might swing in out of space and relieve American families of this prob- 1cm; but that hope promptly fizzled out, and an amount of intellectual energy has since been spent in Fair-going plans that, if judiciously geared, might have made the earth spin enough faster to confuse its sur- face, and slide Chicago back bodily to a point conveniently accessible from New York. As the case stands, the remedy, if there is any remedy, seems to lie in co-operation. It will be a particularly good summer to try the ingenious but inadequately tested 264 THE POINT OF VIEW. expedient known as the rotary system of exchangeable summer-homes, whereof the general plan is this: Let six families pos- sessed of approximately equal incomes and imbued with mutual confidence and good- will, engage five sets of summer quarters and one suitable lodging in Chicago. The summer quarters should embrace such variety of allurement and climate as should promise to satisfy the greatest variety of tastes, and may be known as A, B, C, ID, and E. On the first of May family No. 1 shuts up its city house and goes to Chicago for a month, leaving its infants and school- children with family No. 6. On the first of June, family No. 1 returns, and families 1, 3, 4, 5, and 6 go respectively to summer houses A, B, C, D, and E. Family No. 2 goes to Chicago, sending its children to A, with family No. 1. On the first of July family No. 2 returns to A, gets its children, and goes to B, where family No. 3 have been spending June. No. 3 leaves its chil- dren with No. 2, and goes to Chicago for July. August 1st, family No. 3 returns to B for its children, and takes them to C, where family No. 4 has been, and family No. 4 goes to the Fair leaving its children with family No. 3. On the first of Novem- ber all the families will have been thor- oughly to the Fair, each family will have been relieved of all domestic cares and ex penses during its months absence, and will have enjoyed besides its fairing a more diversified experience of summer resorts than it could have got in any other way at anywhere near the same cost. It wAl be seen that by a simple variation of the arrange- ment suggested, the rotary system can be easily made to provide fresh summer scenes and a change of air for each family once a month from June to November. Indeed its adaptation to Fair purposes is only inci- dental, its original design being to slake the summer restlessness of American fami- lies, and afford an economical and pleasant vent for the national propensity to move on. The system is as elastic as it is simple, and lends itself to all sorts of modifications which will readily suggest themselves to the ingenious mind. It is not impossible that in the course of the summer the be- longings of the various families will get more or less mixed up, and it might be as well to hold a raffle at the end of the sea- son whereat property rights in children and movables of disputed ownership would be settled by the allotment of chance. That detail and many others, however, would provide for themselves. The plan is feasi- ble; that is self-evident. It might not work with perfect smoothness, but at least it would bump along. w I r MARCH. (Engraved from nature, by W. B. Closson.)

W. B. Closson Closson, W. B. March 266

MARCH. (Engraved from nature, by W. B. Closson.)

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Scribner's magazine. / Volume 13, Issue 3 Commentator Scribner's commentator Charles Scribner's Sons New York March, 1893 0013 3
Maria R. Audubon Audubon, Maria R. Audubon's Story Of His Youth. Introduction 267

ScRIB VOL. XIII. 4 S MAGAZINE. MARCH, 1893. No. 3. AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. INTRODUCTION. By Maria P. Audubon. THE following pages of autobiography of my grandfather, John James Audu- bon, the naturalist, were found accidentally in an old calfskin-bound volume where for many years they had been hidden. They have proved of so much interest to those who have read them or heard them read, that it is deemed well to publish them unchanged, though in one or two instances paragraphs and names which bear on purely family matters have been omitted. Indeed, with the pictured faces of the father who wrote the sketch and those of the two sons for whom it was written looking from the wall of the room wherein the ancient book lies, it has seemed impossible to make any alteration in the quaint phraseology and rather ir regular arrar incidents; all, therefore, has been left untouched. Those who are - the manuscript must long have passed away; and it is hoped, therefore, mat there is no objection to be raised as to retaining the few names to be found in it. That a transcript from these pages was part of the material placed by my grandmother, Mrs. Audubon, in the hands of the editor of her Memoir of her husband, is probable from the appearance there of several brief extracts from it, and of a summary of the events here described; but the narrative had never been even privately printed. Written at a time when the struggle was over, fame and wealth having then come to the man who rose so successfully after such heavy losses and such con- tinuous and unlooked-for misfortunes, the manuscript shows that these things had cut deep into the sensitive heart and mind of him of whom we may surely say No bird that cleaves the air But his revealing thought has made more fair.~, MYSELF, J. J. AUDUBON. THE precise period of my birth is yet an enigma to me, and I can only say what I have often heard my father re- peat to me on this subject, which is as ___ follows: It seems that my father had large properties in Santo Domingo, and was in the habit of visiting frequently that portion of our Southern States called, and known by the name of, Louis- copyright, 1893, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. iana, then owned by the French Gov- ernment. During one of these excursions he married a lady of Spanish extraction, whom I have been led to understand was as beautiful as she was wealthy, and otherwise attractive, and who bore my father three sons and a daughter, I being the youngest of the sons and the only one who survived extreme youth. My mother, soon after my birth, accom

J. J. Audubon Audubon, J. J. Audubon's Story Of His Youth. "Myself" 267-289

ScRIB VOL. XIII. 4 S MAGAZINE. MARCH, 1893. No. 3. AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. INTRODUCTION. By Maria P. Audubon. THE following pages of autobiography of my grandfather, John James Audu- bon, the naturalist, were found accidentally in an old calfskin-bound volume where for many years they had been hidden. They have proved of so much interest to those who have read them or heard them read, that it is deemed well to publish them unchanged, though in one or two instances paragraphs and names which bear on purely family matters have been omitted. Indeed, with the pictured faces of the father who wrote the sketch and those of the two sons for whom it was written looking from the wall of the room wherein the ancient book lies, it has seemed impossible to make any alteration in the quaint phraseology and rather ir regular arrar incidents; all, therefore, has been left untouched. Those who are - the manuscript must long have passed away; and it is hoped, therefore, mat there is no objection to be raised as to retaining the few names to be found in it. That a transcript from these pages was part of the material placed by my grandmother, Mrs. Audubon, in the hands of the editor of her Memoir of her husband, is probable from the appearance there of several brief extracts from it, and of a summary of the events here described; but the narrative had never been even privately printed. Written at a time when the struggle was over, fame and wealth having then come to the man who rose so successfully after such heavy losses and such con- tinuous and unlooked-for misfortunes, the manuscript shows that these things had cut deep into the sensitive heart and mind of him of whom we may surely say No bird that cleaves the air But his revealing thought has made more fair.~, MYSELF, J. J. AUDUBON. THE precise period of my birth is yet an enigma to me, and I can only say what I have often heard my father re- peat to me on this subject, which is as ___ follows: It seems that my father had large properties in Santo Domingo, and was in the habit of visiting frequently that portion of our Southern States called, and known by the name of, Louis- copyright, 1893, by Charles Scribners Sons. All rights reserved. iana, then owned by the French Gov- ernment. During one of these excursions he married a lady of Spanish extraction, whom I have been led to understand was as beautiful as she was wealthy, and otherwise attractive, and who bore my father three sons and a daughter, I being the youngest of the sons and the only one who survived extreme youth. My mother, soon after my birth, accom 268 AUDUBONS STORY OF HiS YOUTH. panied my father to the estate of Aux Cayes, on the island of Santo Domingo, and she was one of the victims during the ever-to-be-lamented period of the negro insurrection of that island. My father, through the intervention of some faithful servants, escaped from Aux Cayes with a good portion of his plate and money, and with me and these humble friends reached New Orleans in safety. From this place he took me to France, where, having married the only mother I have ever known, he left me under her charge, and returned to the United States in the employ of the French Government, acting as an officer under Admiral Rochambean. Shortly afterward, however, he landed in the United States and became attached to the army under La Fayette. The first of my recollective powers placed me in the central portion of the city of Nantes, on the Loire River, in France, where I still recollect particu- larly that I was much cherished by my dear stepmother, who had no children of her own, and that I was constantly at- tended by one or two black servants who had followed my father from Santo Domingo to New Orleans and after- ward to Nantes. One incident, which is as perfect in my memory as if it had occurred this very day, I have thought of thou- sands of times since, and will now put on paper as one of the curious things which perhaps did lead me in after times to love birds, and to finally study them with pleasure infinite. My mother had several beautiful parrots, t~nd some ruonkeys; one of the latter was a full-grown male of a very large species. One morning, while the servants were engaged in arranging the room I was in, Pretty Polly ask- ing for her breakfast as usual, Da pain an lait pour le perro~juet Miguonne, the man of the woods probably thought the bird presuming upon his rights in the scale of nature; e this as it may, he cer- tainly showed his supremacy in strength over the denize~n of the air, for, walking deliberately and uprightly toward the poor bird, he at once killed it, with un- natural composure. The sensations of my infant heart at this cruel sight were agony to me. I prayed the servant to beat the monkey, but he, who for some reason preferred the monkey to the par- rot, refused. I uttered long and pierc- ing cries, my mother rushed into the room, I was tranquillized, the monkey was forever afterward chained, and Mignonne buried with all the pomp of a cherished lost one. This made, as I have said, a very deep impression on my youthful mind. But now, my dear children, I must tell you somewhat of my father, and of his par- entage. John Audubon, my grandfather, was born and lived at the small village of Sable dOlhonne, and was by trade a very humble fisherman. He appears to have made up for the want of wealth by the number of his children, twenty-one of whom he actually raised to man and womanhood. All were sons, with one exception; my aunt, one uncle, and my father, who was the twentieth son, being the only members of that extraordinary numerous family who lived to old age. In subsequent years, when I visited Sable dOlhonne, the old residents assured me that they had seen the whole family, in- cluding both par- ents, at church many times. When my father had reached the age of twelve years, his father presented him with a shirt, a dress of coarse material, a stick and his oless- ing, and urged him to go and seek means for his future support and sus- tenance. Some ldnd whaler or cod-fisherman took him on board as a Boy. Of his Profile of J. J. Audubon from his Death Meek. (Since destroyed by fire.) -4 John J. Audubon. (Reproduced from an engraving by C. Turner, A.R.A., of the portrait by F. Cruickshank.) 270 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. life during his early voyages it would thing very considerable. The then be useless to trouble you, let it suf- Governor gave me an appointment fice for me to say that they were of which called me to France, and having the usual most uncomfortable nature. received some favors there, became How many trips he made I cannot say, once more a seafaring man, the Govern- General Washington. (From a portrait presented to J. J. Audubon, by Washington, a few days before going into winter-quarters at Valley Forge.) but he told me that by the time he was ment having granted me the command seventeen he had become an able sea- of a small vessel of war. man before the mast; when twenty-one, How long my father remained in the he commanded a fishing - smack, and service it is impossible for me to say. went to the great Newfoundland Banks; The different changes occurring at the at twenty - five he owned several small time of the American Revolution, and crafts, all fishermen, and at twenty- afterward during that in France, seem eight sailed for Santo Domingo with to have sent him from one place to an- his little flotilla hea -ily loaded with the other as if a foot-ball; his property in produce of the deep. Fortune, said Santo Domingo augmenting, however, he to me one day, now began to smile the while, and indeed till the liberation upon me. I did well in this enterprise, of the black slaves there. and after a few more voyages of the During a visit he paid to Penusyl- same sort gave up the sea, and pur- vania when suffering from the effects of chased a small estate on the Isle ~t a sunstroke, he purchased the beautiful V~ches; the prosperity of Santo Do- farm of Millgrove, on the Schuylkill and mingo was at its zenith, and in the Perkiomen streams. At this place, and a course of ten years I had realized some- few days only before the memorable bat- AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. tie (sic) of Valley Forge, General Wash- ington presented him with his portrait, now in my possession, and highly do I value it as a memento of that noble man and the glories of those days.* At the conclusion of the war between England and her child of the West, my father returned to France, and con- tinued in the employ of the naval de- partment of that country, being at one time sent to Plymouth, England, in a seventy - five, - gun ship, to exchange prisoners. This was, I think, in the short peace that took place between England aud France in 1801. He re- turned to Rochefort, where he lived for several years, still in the employ of Government. He finally sent in his resignation and returned to Nantes and La Gerbertlltre. He had many severe trials and afflictions before his death, having lost my two older brothers early * The family still own this portrait of General wash- ington. 271 in the French Revolution; both were officers in the army. His only sister was killed by the Chouans of La Yen- dee, and the only brother he had was not on good ternis with him. This brother resided at Bayonne,~ and, I be- lieve, had a large family, none of whom I have ever seen or known. In personal appearance my father and I were of the same height and stature, say about five feet ten inches, erect, and with muscles of steel; his mannera were those of a most polished gentle~ man, for those and his natural under- standing had been carefully improved both b observation and by self-educa- tion. In temper we much resembled each other also, being warm, irascible, and at times violent, but it was liVe the blast of a hurricane, dreadful for a time, when calm almost instantly re- turned. He greatly approved of the change in France during the time of Napoleon, whom he almost idolized~ Admiral Audubon, Father of the Naturalist 272 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. My father died in 1813, regretted most deservedly on account of his simplicity, truth, and perfect sense of honesty. Now I must return to myself. ~y stepmother, who was devotedly attached to me, far too much for my good, was desirous that I should be brought up to live and die like a gentleman, thinking that flue clothes and filled pockets were the only requi- sites needful to attain this end. She therefore completely spoiled me, hid my faults, boasted to everyone of my youthful merits, and, worse than all, said frequently in my presence that I was the handsomest boy in France. All my wishes and idle notions were at once gratified; she went so far as actually to grant me carte blanche at all the con- fectionery shops in the town, and also of the village of Coneron, where during the summer we lived, as it were, in the country. ~y father was quite of another, and much more valuable, description of mind as regarded my future welfare he believed not in the power of gold coins as efficient means to render a man happy. He spoke of the stores of the mind, and having suffered much him- self through a want of education, he ordered that I should be put to school, and have teachers at home. iRevolu- tions, he was wont to say, too often take place in the lives of individuals, and they are apt to lose in one day the fortune they before possessed; but tal- ents and knowledge, added to sound mental training, assisted by honest in- dustry, can never fail, nor be taken from anyone once the possessor of such valuable means. Therefore, notwith- standing all my mothers entreaties and her tears, off to a school I was sent. Ex- cepting only, perhaps, military schools, none were good in France at this peri- od; the thunders of the Revolution still roared over the land, the Revolution- ists covered the earth with the blood of man, woman, and child. But let me forever drop the curtain over the fright- ful aspect of this dire picture. To think of these dreadful days is too ter- rible, and would be too horrible and Fatland House us the Schuylkill, Pa., as Rebuilt about 1846. (The home of Lucy Bakewell, whom Auduhon married.) AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 273 painful for me to relate to you, my dear Sons. The school I went to was none of the best ; my private teachers were the only means through which I acquired the least benefit. My father, who bad been for so long a seam an, and who was then in the French Navy, wished me to follow in his steps, or else to become of the violin; mathematics was hard, dull work I thought ; geography pleased me more. For my other studies, as well as for dancing, I was quite enthusi- astic; and I well recollect how anxious I was then to become the commander of a corps of dragoons. My father being mostly absent, on duty, my mother suffered me to do John J. Audubon (From a painting by his son, J. w. Audubon, about 1841.) an engineer. For this reason I studied much as I pleased; it was therefore drawing, geography, mathematics, fenc- not to be wondered at that, instead of ing, etc., as well as music, for which I applying closely to my studies, I pre- had considerable talent. I had a good ferred associating with boys of my own fencing-master,. and a first-rate teacher age and disposition, who were more 274 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. Victor Gifford Audubon aged about Thirteen. (Painted by his father, J. J. Audubon, about 1828.) fond of going in search of birds nests, fishing, or shooting, than of better stud- ies. Thus almost every day, instead of going to school when I ought to have gone, I usually made for the fields, where I spent the day; my little basket went with me, filled with good eatables, and when I returned home, during either winter or summer, it was replenished with what I called curiosities, such as birds nests, birds eggs, curious lich- ens, flowers of all sorts, and even peb- bles gathered along the shore of some rivulet. The first time my father returned from sea after this my room exhibited quite a show, and on entering it he was so pleased to see my various collections that he complimented me on my taste for such things; but when he inquired what else I had done, and I, like a cul- prit, hung my head, he left me with- out saying another word. Dinner over he asked my sister for some music, and, on her playing for him, he was so pleased with her improvement that he presented her with a beautiful book. I was next asked to play on my violin, but alas! for nearly a month I had not touched it, it was stringless; not a word was said on that subject. Had I any drawings to show? Only a few, and those not good. My good father looked at his wife, kissed my sister, and hum- ming a tune left the room. The next morning at dawn of day my father and I were under way in a private carriage; my trunk, etc., were fastened to it, my violin-case was under my feet, the pos- tilion was ordered to proceed, my fa- ther took a book from his pocket, and while he silently read I was left entire- ly to my own thoughts. After some days travelling we entered the gates of iRochefort. My father had scarcely spoken to me, yet there was no anger exhibited in his countenance; nay, as we reached the house where we alighted, and approached the door, near which a sentinel stopped his walk and presented arms, I saw him smile as he raised his hat and said a few wordt to the man, but so low that not a sylla- ble reached my ears. The house was furnished with ser- vants, and everything seemed to go on as if the owner had not left it. ~y father bade me sit by his side, and tak- ing one of my hands, calmly said to me: My beloved boy, thou art now John Woodhocue Audubon aged Eleven. (Painted by his father, J. J. Audubon, about 1828.) AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 275 glance, had watched my escape, and, ere many minutes had elapsed, I saw com- ing toward me a corporal with whom, in fact, I was well acquainted. On nearing me, and I did not attempt to escape, our past familiarity was, I found, quite evaporated; he bid me, in a severe voice, to follow him, and on my being presented to my fathers secretary I was at once ordered on board the pon- toon in port. All remonstrances proved safe, I have brought thee here that I may be able to pay constant attention to thy studies, thou shalt have ample time for pleasures, but the remainder must be employed with industry and care. This day is entirely thine own, and as I must attend to my duties, if thou wishest to see the docks, the fine ships of war, and walk round the wall, thou mayst accompany me. I accepted and off together we went; I was pre- sented to every officer we met, and they noticing me more or less, I saw much that day, yet still I perceived that I was like a prisoner-of-war on parole in the city of IRochefort. My best and most amiable companion was the son of Admiral, or Vice-Ad- miral (I do not precisely recollect his rank) Vivien, who resided nearly oppo- site to the house where my father and I then resided; his company I much en- joyed, and along with him all my leisure hours were spent. About this time my father was sent to England in a corvette with a view to exchange prisoners, and he sailed on board the man-of-war LIn- stitution for Plymouth. Previous to his sailing he placed me under the charge of his secretary, Gabriel Loyen Dupuy Gaudeau, the son of a fallen nobleman. Now~this gentleman was of no pleasing nature to me; he was, in fact, more than too strict and severe in all his pre- fruitless, and on board the pontoon I scriptions to me, and well do I recollect was conducted, and there left amid such that one morning, after having been set a medley of culprits as I cannot describe, to a very arduous task in mathematical and of whom, indeed, I have but little problems, I gave him the slip, jumped recollection, save that I felt vile myself from the window, and ran off through in their vile company. My father re- the gardens attached to the Marine turned in due course, and released me Secr~tariat. The unfledged bird may from these floating and most disagree- stand for a while on the border of its able lodgings, but not without a rather nest, and perhaps open its winglets and severe reprimand. attempt to soar away, but his youthful Shortly after this we returned to imprudence may, and indeed often does, Nantes, and later to La Gerberti~re. prove inimical to his prowess, as some My stay here was short, and I went to more wary and older bird, that has kept Nantes to study mathematics anew, and an eye toward him, pounces relentlessly there spent about one year, the remem- upon the young adventurer and secures brance of which has flown from my him within the grasp of his more pow- memory, with the exception of one in- erful talons. This was the case with me cident, of which, when I happen to pass in this instance. I had leaped from the my hand over the left side of my head, door of my cage and thought myself I am ever and anon reminded. Tis quite safe, while I rambled thoughtlessly this: one morning while playing with beneath the shadow of the trees in the boys of my own abe, a quarrel arose garden and grounds in which I found among us, a battle ensued, in the course myself; but the secretary, with a side of which I was knocked down by a Audubon. (From a picture made not long before his death.) N P ~i N N N ~ o-& v~aA kV/ Mill Grove, now Audubons, on the Schuylkill, PaEarly Home of Audubon in America. (From a photograph made in 1884.) q J~l 7 ~ +i~ I, 111/17/, 7 DRAWN BY 0. H. BACHER. AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 277 round stone, that brought the blood from that part of my skull, and for a time I lay on the ground unconscious, but soon rallying, experienced no lasting effects but the scar. During all these years there existed within me a tendency to follow Nat- ure in her walks. Perhaps not an hour of leisure was spent elsewhere than in woods and fields, and to examine either the eggs, nest, young, or parents of any species of birds constituted my delight. It was about this period that I com- menced a series of drawings of the birds of France, which I continued until I had upward of two hundred drawings, all bad enough, my dear sons, yet they were representations of birds, and I felt pleased with them. Hundreds of anec- dotes respecting my life at this time might prove interesting to you, but as they are not in my mind at this moment I will leave them, though you may find some of them in the course of the fol- lowing pages. I was within a few months of be- ing seventeen years old, when my step- mother, who was an earnest Catholic, took into her head that I should be confirmed; my father agreed. I was surprised and indifferent, but yet as I loved her as if she had been my own mother, and well did she merit my deep- est affection, I took to the catechism, studied it and other matters pertaining to the ceremony, and all was performed to her liking. Not long after this, my father, anxious as he was that I should be enrolled in Napoleons army as a Frenchman, found it necessary to send me back to my own beloved country, the United States of America, and I came with intense and indescribable pleasure. On landing at New York, I caught the yellow fever by walking to the bank at Greenwich to get the money to which my fathers letter of credit entitled me. The kind man who commanded the ship that brought me from France, whose name was a common one, John Smith, took particular charge of me, removed me to Morristown, N. J., and placed me W under the care of two Quaker ladies who kept a boarding-house. To their skilful and untiring ministrations I may safely say I owe the prolongation of my VOL. XIII.28 life. Letters were forwarded by them to my fathers agent, Miles Fisher, of Philadelphia, of whom I have more to say hereafter. He came for me in his carriage and removed me to his villa, at a short distance from Philadelphia and on the road toward Trenton. There I would have found myself quite com- fortable had not incidents taken place which are so connected with the change in my life as to call immediate attention to them. Miles Fisher had been my fathers trusted agent for about eighteen years, and the old gentlemen entertained great mutual friendship; indeed, it would seem that Mr. Fisher was actually de- sirous that I should become a mem- ber of his family, and this was evinced within a few days by the manner in which the good Quaker presented me to a daughter of no mean appearance, but toward whom I happened to take an unconquerable dislike. Then he was opposed to music of all descriptions, as well as to dancing, could not bear me to carry a gun, or fishing-rod, and, in- deed, condemned most of my amuse- ments. All these things were diffi- culties toward accomplishing a plan which, for aught I know to the con- trary, had been premeditated between him and my father, and rankled the heart of the kindly, if somewhat strict Quaker. They troubled me much also; at times I wished myself anywhere but under the roof of Mr. Fisher, and at last I reminded him that it was his duty to install me on the estate to which my father had sent me. One morning, therefore, I was told that the carriage was ready to carry me there, and toward my future home he and I went. You are too well acquaint- ed with the position of Mill Grove for me to allude to that now; suffice it to say that we reached the former abode of my father about sunset. I was pre- sented to our tenant, William Thomas, who also was a Quaker, and took pos- session under certain restrictions, which amounted to my not receiving more than enough money per quarter than was considered sufficient for the expen- diture of a young gentleman. Miles Fisher left me the next morn- ing, and after him went my blessings, 278 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. for I thought his departure a true de- liverance; yet this was only because our tastes and educations were so dif- ferent, for he certainly was a good and learned man. Mill Grove was ever to me a blessed spot; in my daily walks I thought I perceived the traces left by my father as I looked on the even fences round the fields, or on the regu- lar manner with which avenues of trees, as well as the orchards, had been planted by his hand. The mill was also a source of joy to me, and in the cave, which you too remember, where the pewees were wont to build, I never failed to find quietude and delight. Hunting, fishing, drawing, and mu- sic occupied my every moment; cares I knew not, and cared naught about them. I purchased excellent and beau- tiful horses, visited all such neighbors as I found congenial spirits, and was as happy ashappy could be. Afew months after my arrival at Mill Grove I was informed one day that an English fam- ily had purchased the plantation next to mine, that the name of the owner was Bakewell, and moreover that he had several very handsome and inter- esting daughters, and beautiful pointer dogs. I listened, but cared not a jot about them at the time. The place was within sight of Mill Grove, and Fatland Ford, as it was called, was merely di- vided from my estate by a road leading to the Schuylkill River. Mr. William Bakewell, the father of the family, had called on me one day, but, finding I was rambling in the woods in search of birds, left a card and an invitation to go shooting with him. Now this gentleman was an Englishman, and I such a foolish boy, that, entertaining the greatest prejudices against all of his na- tionality, I did not return his visit for many weeks, which was as absurd as it was ungentlemanly and impolite. Mrs. Thomas, good soul, more than once spoke to me on the subject, as well as her worthy husband, but all to no import; English was English with me, my poor childish mind was settled on that, and as I wished to know none of the race the call remained unacknowl- edged. Frosty weather, however, came, and anon was the ground covered with the deep snow. Grouse were abundant along the fir-covered ground near the creek, and as I was in pursuit of game one frosty morning I chanced to meet Mr. Bakewell in the woods. I was struck with the kind politeness of his manner, and found him an expert marksman. Entering into conversation, I admired the beauty of his well-trained dogs, and, apologizing for my discour- tesy, finally promised to call upon him and his family. Well do I recollect the morning, and may it please God that I may never for- get it, when for the first time I entered Mr. Bakewells dwelling. It happened that he was absent from home, and I was shown into a parlor where only one young lady was snugly seated at her work by the fire. She rose on my entrance, offered me a seat, and assured me of the gratification her father would feel on his return, which, she added, would be in a few moments, as she would despatch a servant for him. Other ruddy cheeks and bright eyes made their transient appearance, but like spirits gay, soon vanished from my sight, and there I sat, my gaze riveted, as it were, on the young girl before me, who, half working, half talking, essayed to make the time pleasant to me. Oh I may God bless her! It was she, my dear sons, who afterward became my beloved wife, and your mother. Mr. Bakewell soon made his appearance, and received me with the manner and hospitality of a true English gentleman. The other members of the family were soon in- troduced to me, and Lucys was told to have luncheon produced. She now arose from her seat a second time, and her form, to which I had previously paid but partial attention, showed both grace and beauty; and my heart fol- lowed every one of her steps. The re- past over, guns and dogs were made ready. Lucy, I was pleased to believe, looked upon me with some favor, and I turned more especially to her on leaving. I felt that certain ye ne .sais quoi which intimated that, at least, she was not in- different to me. To speak of the many shooting par- ties that took place with Mr. Bakewell would be quite useless, and I shall mere- w AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 279 ly say that he was a most excellent man, a great shot, and possessed of ex- traordinary learningaye, far beyond my comprehension. A few days after this first interview with the family the Perkiomen chanced to be bound with ice, and many a one from the neighbor- hood was playing pranks on the glassy surface of that lovely stream. Being somewhat of a skater myself, I sent a note to the inhabitants of Fatland Ford, inviting them to come and partake of the simple hospitality of Mill Grove farm, and the invitation was kindly re- ceived and accepted. My own landlady bestirred herself to the utmost in the procuring of as many pheasants and partridges as her group of sons could entrap, and now under my own roof was seen the whole of the Bakewell family, seated round the table which has never ceased to be one of simplicity and hospitality. After dinner we all repaired to the ice on the creek, and there, in comfort- able sledges, each fair one was propelled by an ardent skater. Tales of love may be extremely stupid to the majority, so that I will not expatiate on these days, but to me, my dear sons, and under such circumstances as then, and, thaiik God, now exist, every moment was to me one of delight. But let me interrupt my tale to tell you somewhat of other companions whom I have heretofore neglected to mention. These are two Frenchmen, by name Da Costa and Colmesnil. A lead mine had been discovered by my tenant, William Thomas, to which, be- sides the raising of fowls, I paid consid- erable attention; but I knew nothing of mineralogy or mining, and my fa- ther, to whom I communicated the dis- covery of the mine, sent Mr. IDa Costa as a partner and partial guardian from France. This fellow was intended to teach me mineralogy and mining en- gineering, but, in fact, knew nothing of either, besides which he was a covetous wretch, who did all he could to ruin my father, and indeed swindled both of us to a large amount. I had to go to France and expose him to my father to get rid of him, which I fortunately accomplished at first sight of my kind parent. A greater scoundrel than Da Costa never probably existed, but peace be with his souL The other, Colmesnil, was a very in- teresting young Frenchman with whom I became acquainted. He was very poor, and I invited him to come and reside under my roof. This he did, re- maining for many months, much to my delight. His appearance was typical of what he was, a perfect gentleman; he was handsome in form, and possessed of talents far above my own. When intro- duced to your mothers family he was much thought of, and at one time he thought himself welcome to my Lucy; but it was only a dream, and when once undeceived by her whom I too loved, he told me he must part with me. This we did with mutual regret, and he re- turned to France, where, though I have lost sight of him, I believe he is still living. During the winter connected with this event your uncle Thomas Bakewell, now residing in Cincinnati, was one morning skating with me on the Perkio- men, when he challenged me to shoot at his hat as he tossed it in the air, which challenge I accepted with great pleasure. I was to pass by at full speed, within about twenty-five feet of where he stood, and to shoot only when he gave the word. Off I went like lightning, up and down, as if anxious to boast of my own prowess while on the glittering surface beneath my feet; coming, however, within the agreed distance the signal was given, the trigger pulled, off went the load, and down on the ice came the hat of my future brother-in-law, as completely perforated as if a sieve. He repented, alas! too late, and was afterward se- verely reprimanded by Mr. Bakewell. Another anecdote I must relate to you on paper which I have probably too often repeated in words, concern- ing my skating in those early days of happiness; but, as the world knows nothing of it, I shall give it to you at some length. It was arranged one morning between your young uncle, myself, and several other friends of the same age, that we should proceed on a duck-shooting excursion up the creek, and, accordingly, off we went after an eaaly breakfast. The ice was in capital 280 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. order wherever no air - holes existed, but of these a great number interrapt- ed our course, all of which were, how- ever, avoided as we proceeded upward along the glittering, frozen bosom of the stream. The day was spent in much pleasure, and the game collected was not inconsiderable. On our return, in the early dusk of the evening, I was bid to lead the way; I fastened a white handkerchief to a stick, held it up, and we all proceeded toward home as a flock of wild ducks to their roosting-grounds. Many a mile had already been passed, and, as gayly as ever, we were skating swiftly along when darkness came on, and now our speed was increased. Unconsciously I happened to draw so very near a large air-hole that to check my headway became quite impossible, and down it I went, and soon felt the power of a most chilling bath. My senses must, for aught I know, have left me for a while; be this as it may, I must have glided with the stream some thirty or forty yards, when, as God would have it, up I popped at another air-hole, and here I did, in some way or another, manage to crawl out. My companions, who in the gloom had seen my form so sud- denly disappear, escaped the danger and were around me when I emerged from the greatest peril I have ever encoun- tered, not excepting my escape from being murdered on the prairie, or by the hands of that wretch S B, of Henderson. I was helped to a shirt from one, a pair of dry breeches from another, and completely dressed anew in a few minutes, if in motley and ill- fitting garments, our line of march was continued, with, however, much more circumspection. Let the reader, who- ever he may be, think as he may like on this singular and, in truth, most extraordinary escape from death, it is the truth, and as such I have written it down as a wonderful act of Prov- idence. Mr. Da Costa, my tutor, took it into his head that my affection for your mother was rash and inconsiderate. He spoke triflingly of her and of her par- ents, and one day said to me that for a man of my rank and expectations to marry Lucy Bakewell was out of the question. If I laughed at him or not I cannot tell you, but of this I am certain, that my answers to his talks on this subject so exasperated him that he immediately afterward curtailed my usual income, made some arrangements to send me to India, and wrote to my father accordingly. Understanding from many of my friends that his plans were fixed, and finally hearing from Philadel- phia, whither Da Costa had gone, that he had taken my passage from Phila- delphia to Canton, I walked to Phila- delphia, entered his room quite unex- pectedly, and asked him for such an amount of money as would enable me at once to sail for France, and there see my father. The cunning wretch, for I cannot call him by any other name, smiled, and said: Certainly, my dear sir, and af- terward gave me a letter of credit on a Mr. Kauman, a half-agent, half-banker, then residing at New York. I returned to Mill Grove, made all preparatory plans for my departure, bid a sad adieu to my Lucy and her family, and walked to New York. But never mind the Jour- ney; it was winter, the country lay un- der a covering of snow, but withal I reached New York on the third day, late in the evening. Once there, I made for the house of a Mrs. Palmer, a lady of excellent quali- ties, who received me with the utmost kindness, and later on the same evening I went to the house of your grand-uncle, Benjamin Bakewell, then a rich merchant of New York, managing the concerns of the house of Guelt, bankers of London. I was the bearer of a letter from Mr. Bakewell, of Fatland Ford, to this broth- er of his, and there I was again most kindly received and housed. The next day I called on Mr. Kauman; he read Da Costas letter, smiled, and after a while told me he had nothing to give me, and in plain terms said that instead of a letter of credit, Da Costa that rascal !had written and advised him to have me arrested and shipped to Canton. The blood rose to my tem- ples, and well it was that I had no weapon about me, for I feel even now quite as- sured that his heart must have received the result of my wrath. I left him half bewildered, half mad, and went at once AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 281. to Mrs. Palmer, and spoke to her of my purpose of returning at once to Phila- delphia and there certainly murdering Da Costa. Women have great power over me at any time, and perhaps under all circumstances. Mrs. Palmer quieted me, spoke religiously of the cruel sin I thought of committing, and, at last, persuaded me to relinquish the direful plan. I returned to Mr. Bakewells low- spirited and mournful, but said not a word about all that had passed. The next morning my sad visage showed something was wrong, and I at last gave vent to my outraged feelings. Benjamin Bakewell was a friend of his brother (may you ever be so toward each other). He comforted me much, went with me to the docks to seek a vessel bound to France, and offered me any sum of money I might require to convey me to my fathers house. My passage was taken on board the brig Hope, of New Bedford, and I sailed in her, leaving Da Costa and Kauman in the most exasperated state of mind. The fact is, both these rascals intended to cheat both me and my father. The brig was bound direct for Nantes. We left the Hook under a very fair breeze, and proceeded at a good rate till we reached the latitude of New Bedford, in Rhode Island, when rny captain came to me, as if in despair, and said he must run into port, as the vessel was so leaky as to force him to have her unloaded and repaired before he proceeded across the Atlantic. Now this was only a trick; my captain was newly married, and was merely anxious to land at New Bedford to spend a few days with his bride, and had actually caused several holes to be bored below water-mark, which leaked enough to keep the men at the pumps. We came to anchor close to the town of New Bedford; the captain went on shore, entered a protest, the vessel was unloaded, the apertures bunged up, and after a week, which I spent in being rowed about the beautiful harbor, we sailed for La Belle France. A few days after having lost sight of land we were overtaken by a violent gale, coming fairly on our quarter, and before it we scudded at an extraordinary rate, and during the dark night had the mis- fortune to lose a fine young sailor overboard. At one part of the sea we passed through an immensity of dead fish floating on the surface of the water, and, after nineteen days from New Bed- ford, we had entered the Loire, and anchored off Painbonif, the lower har- bor of Nantes. On sending my name to the principal officer of the customs, he came on board, and afterward sent me to my fathers villa, La Gerbertil~re, in his barge, and with his own men, and late that evening I was in the arms of my beloved parents. Although I had written to them previ- ous to leaving America, the rapidity of my voyage had prevented them hearing of my intentions, and to them my ap- pearance was sudden and unexpected. Most welcome, however, I was; I found my father hale and hearty, and ch& e maman as fair and good as ever. Adored maman, peace be with thee! I cannot trouble you with minute ac- counts of my life in France for the fol- lowing twelve months, but will merely tell you that my first object being that of having Da Costa disposed of, this was first effected; the next was my fathers consent to my marriage, and this was acceded to as soon as my good father had received answers to letters written to your grandfather, William BakewelL In the very lap of comfort my time was happily spent; I went out shooting and hunting, drew every bird I procured, as well as many other ob- jects of natural history and zo~Aogy, though these were not the subjects I had studied under the instruction of the celebrated David. It was during this visit that my sister Rosa was married to Gabriel Dupuy Gaudeau, and I now also became ac- quainted with Ferdinand Rozier, whom you well know. Between Rozier and myself my father formed a partnership to stand good for nine years in America. France was at that time in a great state of convulsion; the republic had, as it were, dwindled into a half mo- narchical, half democratic era. Bona- parte was at the height of success, over- flowing the country as the mountain torrent overflows the plains in its course. Levies, or conscriptions, were the order of the day, and my name being French my father felt uneasy lest I should be 282 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. forced to take part in the political strife of those days. I underwent a mockery of an exami- nation, and was received as midshipman in the navy, went to iRochefort, was placed on board a man-of-war, and ran a short cruise. On my return my father had, in some way, obtained passports for Rozier and me, and we sailed for New York. Never can I forget the day when, at St. Nazaire, an officer came on board to examine the papers of the many passengers. On looking at mine he said: My dear Mr. Audubon, I wish you joy; would to God that I had such papers, how thankful I should be to leave unhappy France under the same passport. About a fortnight after leaving France a vessel gave us chase. We were running before the wind under all sail, but the unknown gained on us at a great rate, and after a while stood to the windward of our ship, about half a mile off. She fired a gun, the ball passed within a few yards of our bows; our captain heeded not, but kept on his course, with the United States flag displayed and floating in the breeze. Another and another shot was fired at us; the enemy closed upon us; all the passengers expected to receive her broadside. Our commander hove to; a boat was almost instantaneously lowered and alongside our vessel; two officers leaped on board, with about a dozen mariners; the first asked for the cap- tains papers, while the latter with his men kept guard over the whole. The vessel which had pursued us was the Rattlesnake and was what I believe is generally called a privateer, which means nothing but a pirate; every one of the papers proved to be in perfect accordance with the laws existing be- tween England and America, therefore we were not touched nor molested, but the English officers who had come on board robbed the ship of almost ev- erything that was nice in the way of provisions, took our pigs and sheep, coffee and wines, and carried off our two best sailors, despite all the remon- strances made by one of our members of Congress, I think from Virginia, who was accompanied by a charming young daughter. The Rattlesnake kept us under her lee, and almost within pistol- shot, for a whole day and night, ran- sacking the ship for money, of which we had a good deal in the run beneath a ballast of stone. Although this was partially removed they did not find the treasure. I may here tell you that I placed the gold belonging to Rozier and myself, wrapped in some clothing, under a cable in the bow of the ship, and there it remained snug till the Rattlesnake had given us leave to de- part, which you may be sure we did without thanks to her commander or crew; we were afterward told the for- mer had his wife with him. After this rencontre we sailed on till within about thirty miles of the en- trance to the bay of New York, when we passed a fishing-boat, from which we were hailed and told that two Brit- ish frigates lay off the entrance of the Hook, had fired an American ship, shot a man, and impressed so many of our seamen, that to attempt reaching New York might prove to be both unsafe and unsuccessful Our captain, on hearing this, put about immediately, and sailed for the east end of Long Island Sound, which we entered unin- terrupted by any other enemy than a dreadful gale, which drove us on a sand- bar in the Sound~ but from which we made off unhurt during the height of the tide, and finally reached New York. I at once called on your uncle Ben- jamin Bakewdll, stayed with him a day, and proceeded at as swift a rate as pos- sible to Fatland Ford, accompanied by Ferdinand Rozier. Mr. Da Costa was at once dismissed from his charge. I saw my dear Lucy, and was again my own master. Perhaps it would be well for me to give you some slight information re- specting my mode of life in those days of my youth, and I shall do so without gloves. I was what in plain terms may be called extremely extravagant. I had no vices, it is true, neither had I any high aims. I was ever fond of shooting, fishing, and riding on horseback; the raising of fowls of every sort was one of my hobbies, and to reach the maxi- mum of my desires in those different things filled every one of my thoughts. I was ridiculously fond of dress. To AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 283 have seen me going shooting in black satin smailciothes, or breeches, with silk stockings, and the finest ruffled shirt Philadelphia could afford, was, as I now realize, an absurd spectacle, but it was one of my many foibles, and I shall not conceal it. I purchased the best horses in the country, and rode well, and felt proud of it; my guns and fishing-tackle were equally good, always expensive and richly ornamented, often with sil- ver. Indeed, though in America, I cut as many foolish pranks as a young dandy in Bond Street or Piccadilly. I was extremely fond of music, danc- ing, and drawing; in all I had been well instructed, and not an opportunity was lost to confirm my propensities in those accomplishments. I was, like most young men, filled with the love of amusement, and not a ball, a skating- match, a house or riding party took place without me. Withal, and fortu- nately for me, I was not addicted to gambling; cards I disliked, and I had no other evil practices. I was, besides, temperate to an intemperate degree. I lived, until the day of my union with your mother, on milk, fruits, and vege- tables, with the addition of game and fish at times, but never had I swallowed a sIngle glass of wine or spirits, until the day of my wedding. The result has been my uncommon, indeed iron, consti- tution. This was my constant mode of life ever since my earliest recollection, and while in France it was extremely annoying to all those round me. In- deed, so much did it influence me that I never went to dinners, merely because when so situated my peculiarities in my choice of food occasioned comment, and also because often not a single dish was to my taste or fancy, and I could eat nothing from the sumptuous tables be- fore me. Pies, puddings, eggs, milk, or cream was all I cared for in the way of food, and many a time have I robbed my tenants wife, Mrs. Thomas, of the cream intended to make butter for the Philadelphia market. All this time I was as fair and as rosy as a girl, though as strong, indeed stronger, than most young men, and as active as a buck. And why, have I thought a thousand times, should I not have kept to that de- licious mode of living, and why should not mankind in general be more abste- mious than mankind is? Before I sailed for France I had be- gun a series of drawings of the birds of America, and had also begun a study of their habits. I at first drew my sub- jects dead, by which I mean to say that, after procuring a specimen, I hung it up either by the head, wing, or foot, and copied it as closely as I possibly could. In my drawing of birds only did I in- terest Mr. Da Costa. He always com- mended my efforts, nay, he even went farther, for one morning, while I was drawing a figure of the Ardea heriodias, he assured me the time might come when I should be a great American naturalist. However curious it may seem to the sci- entific world, that these sayings from the lips of such a man should affect me, I assure you they had great weight with me, and I felt a certain degree of pride in these words even then. Too young and too useless to be mar- ried, your grandfather William Bake- well advised me to study the mercan- tile business; my father approved, and to insure this training under the best auspices I went to New York, where I entered as a clerk for your great uncle Benjamin Bakewell, while Rozier went to a French house at Philadelphia. The mercantile business did not suit me. The very first venture which I un- dertook was in indigo; it cost me sev- eral hundred pounds, the whole of which was lost. Rozier was no more fortunate than I, for he shipped a cargo of hams to the West Indies, and not more than one-fifth of the cost was returned. Yet I suppose we both obtained a smatter- ing of business. Time passed, and at last, on April 5, 1808, your mother and I were married by the Rev. Dr. Latimer, of Philadel- phia, and the next morning left Fatland Ford and Mill Grove for Louisville, Ky. For some two years previous to this Rozier and I had visited the coun- try from time to time as merchants, had thought well of it, and liked it exceed- ingly. Its fertility and abundance, the hospitality and kindness of the people were sufficiently winning things to en- tice anyone to go there with a view to comfort and happiness. We had marked Louisville as a spot 284 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. designed by nature to become a place of great importance, and, had we been as wise as we now are, I might never have published the Birds of America, for a few hundred dollars laid out at that period, in lands or town lots near Louis- ville, would, if left to grow over with grass to a date ten years past (this being 1835), have become an immense fortune. But young heads are on young shoifi- ders; it was not to be, and who cares? On our way to Pittsburg we met with a sad accident, that nearly cost the life of your mother. The coach upset on the mountains, and she was severely, but fortunately not fatally, hurt. We floated down the Ohio in a flat-boat, in company with several other young fami- lies; we had many goods, and opened a large store at Louisville, which went on prosperously, when I attended to it; but birds were birds, then as now, and my thoughts were ever and anon turning toward them as the objects of my great- est delight. I shot, I drew, I looked on nature only; my days were happy be- yond human conception, and beyond this I really cared not. Victor was born June 12, 1809, at Gwathways Hotel of the Indian Queen. We had by this time formed the ac- quaintance of many persons in and about Louisville; the country was set- tled by planters and farmers of the most benevolent and hospitable nature; and my young wife, who possessed tal- ents far above par, was regarded as a gem, and received by them all with the greatest pleasure. All the sportsmen and hunters were fond of me, and I became their companion; my fondness for fine horses was well kept up, and I had as good as the countryand the country was Kentucky could afford. Our most intimate friends were the Ta- rascons and the Berthouds, at Louis- ville and Shippingport. The simplicity and whole - heartedness of those days I cannot describe; man was man, and each, one to another, a brother. I seldom passed a day without draw- ing a bird, or noting something respect- ing its habits, Hozier meantime attend- ing the counter. I could relate many curious anecdotes about him, but never mind them; he made out to grow rich, and what more could he wish for. In 1810 Alexander Wilson, the nat- uralistnot the American naturalist called upon me. About 1812 your uncle Thomas W. Bakewell sailed from New York or Philadelphia, as a partner of mine, and took with him all the dis- posable money which I had at that time, and there [New Orleans] opened a mer- cantile house under the name of Au- dubon & Bakewell. Merchants crowded to Louisville from all our Eastern cities. None of them were, as I was, intent on the study of birds, but all were deeply impressed with the value of dollars. Louisville did not give us up, but we gave up Louisville. I could not bear to give the attention required by my business, and which, indeed, every business calls for, and, therefore, my business aban- doned me. Indeed, I never thought of it beyond the ever - engaging journeys which I was in the habit of taking to Philadelphia or New York, to purchase goods; these journeys I greatly enjoyed, as they afforded me ample means to study birds and their habits as I trav- elled through the beautiful, the darling forests of Ohio, Kentucky, and Penn- sylvania. Were I here to tell you that once, when travelling, and driving several horses before me laden with goods and dollars, I lost sight of the pack-sad- dles, and the cash they bore, to watch the motions of a warbler, I should on- ly repeat occurrences that happened a hundred times and more in those days. To an ordinary reader this may appear very odd, but it is as true, my dear sons, as it is that I am now scratching this poor book of mine with a miserable iron pen. Ilozier and my- self still had some business together, but we became discouraged at Louis- ville, and I longed to have a wilder range; this made us remove to Hender- son, one hundred and twenty-five miles farther down the fair Ohio. We took there the remainder of our stock on hand, but found the country so very new, and so thinly populated that the commonest goods only were called for. I may say our guns and fishing-lines were the principal means of our sup. port, as regards food. John Pope, our clerk, who was a AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 285 Kentuckian, was a good shot and an excellent fisherman, and he and I at- tended to the procuring of game and fish, while iRozier again stood behind the counter. Your beloved mother and I were as happy as possible, the people round loved us, and we them in return; our profits were enormous, but our sales small, and my partner, who spoke Eng- lish but badly, suggested that we remove to St. GeneviZwe, on the Mississippi River. I acceded to his request to go there, but determined to leave your mother and Victor at Henderson, not being quite sure that our adventure would succeed as we hoped. I therefore placed her and the children under the care of Dr. Rankin and his wife, who had a fine farm about three miles from Henderson, and having arranged our goods on board a large flat-boat, my partner and I left Henderson in the month of December, 1813, in a heavy snow-storm. This change in my plans prevented me from going, as I had in- tended, on a long expedition. In Louis- ville we had formed the acquaintance of Major Croghan (an old friend of my fathers), and of General Jonathan Clark, the brother of General William Clark, the first white man who ever crossed the Rocky Mountains. I had engaged to go with him, but was, as I have said, unfortunately prevented. To return to our journey. When we reached Cash Creek we were bound by ice for a few ~veeks; we then attempted to ascend the Mississippi, but were again stopped in the great bend called Tawapatee Bot- tom, where we again planted our camp till a thaw broke the ice. In less than six weeks, however, we reached the vil- lage of St. Genevi?~ve. I found at once it was not the place for me; its popu- lation was then composed of low French Canadians, uneducated and uncouth, and the ever-longing wish to be with my beloved wife and children drew my thoughts to Henderson, to which I de- cided to return almost immediately. Scarcely any communication existed be- tween the two places, and I felt cut off from all dearest to me. Rozier, on the contrary, liked it; he found plenty of French with whom to converse. I pro- posed selling out to him, a bargain was made, he paid me a certain amount in cash, and gave me bills for the resi- due. This accomplished, I purchased a beauty of a horse, for which I paid dear enough, and bid Rozier farewell. On my return trip to Henderson I was obliged to stop at a humble cabin, where I so nearly ran the chance of los- ing my life, at the hands of a woman and her two desperate sons, that I have thought fit since to introduce this pas- sage in a sketch called The Prairie, and which is to be found in (I believe) the first volume of my Ornithological Biography. Winter was just bursting into spring when I left the land of lead mines. Nat- ure leaped with joy, as it were, at her own new-born marvels, the prairies be- gan to be dotted with beauteous flow- ers, abounded with deer, and my own heart was filled with happiness at the sights before me. I must not forget to tell you that I crossed those prairies on foot at another time, for the purpose of collecting the money due to me from Rozier, and that I walked one hundred and sixty-five miles in a little over three days, much of the time nearly ankle- deep in mud and water, from which I suffered much afterward by swollen feet. I reached Henderson in early March and a few weeks later the lower portions of Kentucky and the shores of the Mississippi suffered severely by earthquakes. I felt their effects be- tween Louisville and Henderson, and also at Dr. Rankins. I have omitted to say that my second son, John Wood- house, was born under Dr. Rankins roof on November 30, 1812; he was an extremely delicate boy till about a twelvemouth old, when he suddenly ac- quired strength and grew to be a lusty child. Your uncle, Thomas W. Bakewell, had been all this time in New Orleans, and thither I had sent him almost all the money I could raise, but, notwithstand- ing this, the firm could not stand, and one day, while I was making a draw- ing of an otter, he suddenly appeared. He remained at Dr. Rankins a few days, talked much to me about our misfort- unes in trade, and left us for Fatland Ford. My pecuniary means were now much 286 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. reduced. I continued to draw birds and quadrupeds it is true, but only now and then thought of making any money. I bought a wild horse, and on its back travelled over Tennessee and a portion of Georgia, and so round till I finally reached Philadelphia, and then to your grandfathers at Fatland Ford. He had sold my plantation of Mill Grove to Moses Wetherell, of Philadelphia for a good round sum, and with this I re- turned through Kentucky and at last reached Henderson once more. Your mother was well, both of you were love- ly darlings of our hearts and the effects of poverty troubled us not. Your un- cle, T. W. Bakewell, was again in New Orleans, and doing rather better, but this was a mere transient clearing of that sky which had been obscured for many a long day. Determined to do something for my- self, I took to horse, rode to Louisville with a few hundred dollars in my pock- ets, and there purchased, half cash, half credit, a small stock, which I brought to Henderson. Cheminfaisant, I came in contact with, and was accompanied by, General Toledo, then on his way as a revolutionist to South America. As our fiat - boats were floating one clear moonshiny night, lashed together, this individual opened his views to me, prom- ising me wonders of wealth should I de- cide to accompany him, and he went so far as to offer me a colonelcy on what he was pleased to call his Safe Guard. I listened, it is true, but looked more at the heavens than on his face, and in the former found so much more of peace than of war that I concluded not to ac- company him. When our boats arrived at Hen- derson, he landed with me, purchased many horses, hired some men, and coaxed others, to accompany him, pur- chased a young negro from me; pre- sented me with a splendid Spanish dagger and my wife with a ring, and went off overland toward Natchez, with a view of there gathering recruits. I now purchased a ground lot of four acres, and a meadow of four more at the back of the first. On the latter stood several buildings, an excellent or- chard, etc., lately the property of an English doctor, who had died on the premises, and left the whole to a ser- vant woman as a gift, from whom it came to me as a freehold. The pleas- ures which I have felt at Henderson, and under the roof of that log cabin, can never be effaced from my heart until after death. The little stock of goods brought from Louisville answered per- fectly, and in less than twelve months I had again risen in the world. I pur- chased adjoining land, and was doing extremely well when Thomas Bakewell came once more on the tapis, and joined me in commerce. We prospered at a round rate for a while, but, unfortu- nately for me, he took it into his brain to persuade me to erect a steam-mill at Henderson and to join to our partner- ship an Englishman of the name of Thomas Pears, now dead. Well, up went the steam - mill at an enormous expense, in a country then as unfit for such a thing as it would be now for me to attempt to settle in the moon. Thomas Pears came to Hender- son with his wife and family of children, the mill was raised, and worked very badly. Thomas Pears lost his money and we lost ours. It was now our misfortune to add other partners and petty agents to our concern; suffice it for me to tell you, nay, to assure you, that I was gulled by all these men. The new-born Ken- tucky banks nearly all broke in quick succession; and again we started with a new set. of partners; these were your present uncle N. Berthoud and Benja- min Page of Pittsburg. Matters, how- ever, grew worse every day; the times were what men called bad, but I am fully persuaded the great fault was ours, and the building of that accursed steam- mill was, of all the follies of man, one of the greatest, and to your uncle and me the worst of all our pecuniary misfort- unes. How I labored at that infernal mill! from dawn to dark, nay, at times all night. But it is over now; I am old, and try to forget as fast as possible all the different trials of those sad days. We also took it into our heads to have a steamboat, in partnership with the en- gineer who had come from Philadelphia to fix the engine of that mill. This also proved an entire failure, and misfort- une after misfortune came down upon w AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. 287 us like so many avalanches, both fearful and destructive. About this time I went to New Or- leans, at the suggestion of your uncle, to arrest T B , who had pur- chased a steamer from us, but whose bills were worthless, and who owed us for the whole amount. I travelled down to New Orleans in an open skiff, accompanied by two negroes of mine; I reached New Orleans one day too late; Mr. B had been compelled to surrender the steamer to a prior claim- ant. I returned to Henderson, travel- ling part way on the steamer Paragon, walked from the mouth of the Ohio to Shawnee, and rode the rest of the dis- tance. On my arrival old Mr. Berthoud told me that Mr. B had arrived before me, and had sworn to kill me. My aifrighted Lucy forced me to wear a dagger. Mr. B walked about the streets and before my house as if watch- ing for me, and the continued reports of our neighbors prepared me for an encounter with this man, whose violent and ungovernable temper was only too well known. As I was walking toward the steam-mill one morning, I heard my- self hailed from behind; on turning, I observed Mr. B marching toward me with a heavy club in his hand. I stood still, and he soon reached me. He complained of my conduct to him at New Orleans, and suddenly raising his bludgeon laid it about me. Though white with wrath, I spoke nor moved not till he had given me twelve severe blows, then, drawing my dagger with my left hand (unfortunately my right was disabled and in a sling, having been caught and much injured in the wheels of the steam-engine) I stabbed him, and he instantly fell. Old Mr. Ber- thoud and others, who were hastening to the spot, now came up, and carried him home on a plank. Thank God, his wound was not mortal, but his friends were eli up in arms and as hot-headed as himself. Some walkcd through my premises armed with guns; my dagger was once more at my side, Mr. Berthoud had his gun, our servants were various- ly armed, and our carpenter took my gun Long Tom. Thus protected, I walked into the Judiciary Court, that was then sitting, and was blamed, only for not having killed the scoundrel who attacked me. The bad establishment, as I called the steam-mill, worked worse and worse every day. Thomas Bakewell, who pos- sessed more brains than I, sold his town lots and removed to Cincinnati, where he has made a large fortune, and glad I am of it. From this date my pecuniary difficul- ties daily increased; I had heavy bills to pay which I could not meet or take up. The moment this became known to the world around me that moment I was assailed with thousands of in- vectives; the once wealthy man was now nothing. I parted with every parti- cle of property I held to my creditors, keeping only the clothes I wore on that day, my original drawings, and my gun. Your mother held in her arms your baby sister Rosa, named thus on ac- count of her extreme loveliness, and after my own sister Rosa. She felt the pangs of our misfortunes perhaps more heavily than I, but never for an hour lost her courage; her brave and cheerful spirit accepted all, and no reproaches from her beloved lips ever wounded my heart. With her was I not always rich? Finally I paid every bill, and at last left Henderson, probably forever, with- out a dollar in my pocket, walked to Louisville alone, by no means comfort- able in mind, there went to Mr. Ber- thouds, where I was kindly received; they were indeed good friends. My plantation in Pennsylvania had been sold, and, in a word, nothing was left to me but my humble talents. Were those talents to remain dormant under such exigencies? Was I to see my beloved Lucy and children suffer, and want bread, in the abundant land of Kentucky? Was I to repine because I had acted like an honest man? Was I inclined to cut my throat in foolish despair? No!! I had talents, and to them I instantly resorted. To be a good draughtsman in those days was to me a blessing: to any other man, be it a thousand years hence, it will be a blessing also. I at once un- dertook to take portraits of the hu- man head divine, in black chalk, and, thanks to my master, David, succeeded admirably. I commenced at exceeding- 288 AUDUBONS STORY OF HIS YOUTH. ly low prices, but raised these prices as I became more known in this capacity. Your mother and yourselves were sent up from Henderson to our friend Isham Talbot, then Senator for Kentucky; this was done without a cent of expense to me, and I can never be grateful enough for his kind generosity. In the course of a few weeks I had as much work to do as I could possibly wish, so much that I was able to rent a house in a retired part of Louisville. I was sent for four miles in the country, to take likenesses of persons on their death-beds, and so high did my reputa- tion suddenly rise, as the best delineator of heads in that vicinity, that a clergy- man residing at Louisville (I would give much now to recall and write down his name) had his dead child disinterred, to procure a fac-simile of his face, which, by the way, I gave to the parents as if still alive, to their intense satisfaction. My drawings of birds were not neg- lected meantime; in this particular there seemed to hover round me almost a mania, and I would even give up do- ing a head, the profits of which would have supplied our wants for a week or more, to represent a little citizen of the feathered tribe. Nay, my dear sons, I thought that I now drew birds far better than I had ever done before, misfortune intensified, or at least developed, my abilities. I received an invitation to go to Cincinnati, a flourishing place, and which you now well know to be a thriv- ing town in the State of Ohio. I was presented to the president of the Cin- cinnati College, IDr. Drake, and imme- diately formed an engagement to stuff birds for the museum there, in concert with Mr. Robert Best, an Englishman of great talent My salary was large, and I at once sent for your mother to come to me, and bring you. Your dearly be- loved sister Rosa died shortly afterward. I now established a large drawing-school at Cincinnati, to which I attended thrice per week, and at good prices. The expedition of Major Long passed through the city soon after, and well do I recollect how he, Messrs. T. Peale, Thomas Say, and others stared at my drawings of birds at that time. So industrious were Mr. Best and I that in about six months we had aug mented, arranged, and finished all we could do for the museum. I returned to my portraits, and made a great num- ber of them, without which we must have once more been on the starving list, as Mr Best and I found, sadly too late, that the members of the College museum were splendid promisers and very bad paymasters. In October of 1820 I left your mother and yourselves at Cincinnati, and went to New Orleans on board a flat-boat commanded and owned by a Mr. Haro- mack. From this date my journals are kept with fair regularity, and if you read them you will easily find all that followed afterward. In glancing over these pages, I see that in my hurried and broken manner of laying before you this very imper- fect (but perfectly correct) account of my early life I have omitted to tell you that, before the birth of your sister Rosa, a daughter was born at Hender- son, who was called, of course, Lucy. Alas! the poor, dear little one was un- kindly born, she was always ill and suffering; two years did your kind and unwearied mother nurse her with all imaginable care, but notwithstanding this loving devotion she died, in the arms which had held her so long, and so tenderly. This infant daughter we buried in our garden at Henderson, but after removed her to the Holly burying- ground in the same place. Hundreds of anecdotes I could relate to you, my dear sons, about those times, and it may happen that the pages that I am now scribbling over may hereafter, through your own medium, or that of someone else, be published. I shall try, should God Almighty grant me life, to return to these less important portions of my history, and delineate them all with the same faithfulness with which I have written the ornithological bi- ographies of the birds of my beloved country. Only one event, however, which pos- sesses in itself a lesson to mankind, I will here relate. After our dismal re- moval from Henderson to Louisville, one morning, while all of us were sad- ly desponding, I took you, both Victor and John from Shippingport to Louls- ville. I had purchased a loaf of bread THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY. 289 and some apples; before we reached Louisville you were all hungry, and by the river side we sat down and ate our scanty meal. On that day the world was with rue as a blank, and my heart was sorely heavy, for scarcely had I enough to keep my dear ones alive, and yet, through these dark ways I was be- ing led to the development of the tal- ents I loved, and which have brought so much enjoyment to us all, for it is with deep thankfulness that I record that you, my sons, have passed your lives almost continuously with your dear mother and myself. But I will here stop with one remark. One of the most extraordinary things among all these adverse circumstances was, that I never for a day gave up listening to the songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or de- lineating them in the best way that I could; nay, during my deepest troubles I frequently would wrench myself from the persons around me, and retire to some secluded part of our noble for- ests; and many a time, at the sound of the wood-thrushs melodies have I fallen on my knees, and there prayed earnestly to our God. This never failed to bring me the most valuable of thoughts and always comfort, and, strange as it may seem to you, it was often necessary for me to exert my will and compel myself to return to my fel- low-beings. Copied verbatim from the original journal in John J. Audubons handwrit- ing, 1892. By Selab Merrill. IF ever an act seemed like sacrilege it is the introduction of a railroad into Palestine, with the sound of whistle and rushing train among the old and quiet hills of Judea. Everybody believes, however, that Providence is guiding the march of civilization, hence there can be VOL. XIII.29 nothing unholy in the fact that its ad- vanced guard has reached the walls of ancient Jerusalem. We had already the post-office, the management of which has notably improved during the past ten years; we had also the telegraph; and while one should not expect too much of The Jerusalem Station. THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY.

Selah Merrill Merrill, Selah The Jaffa And Jerusalem Railway 289-301

THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY. 289 and some apples; before we reached Louisville you were all hungry, and by the river side we sat down and ate our scanty meal. On that day the world was with rue as a blank, and my heart was sorely heavy, for scarcely had I enough to keep my dear ones alive, and yet, through these dark ways I was be- ing led to the development of the tal- ents I loved, and which have brought so much enjoyment to us all, for it is with deep thankfulness that I record that you, my sons, have passed your lives almost continuously with your dear mother and myself. But I will here stop with one remark. One of the most extraordinary things among all these adverse circumstances was, that I never for a day gave up listening to the songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or de- lineating them in the best way that I could; nay, during my deepest troubles I frequently would wrench myself from the persons around me, and retire to some secluded part of our noble for- ests; and many a time, at the sound of the wood-thrushs melodies have I fallen on my knees, and there prayed earnestly to our God. This never failed to bring me the most valuable of thoughts and always comfort, and, strange as it may seem to you, it was often necessary for me to exert my will and compel myself to return to my fel- low-beings. Copied verbatim from the original journal in John J. Audubons handwrit- ing, 1892. By Selab Merrill. IF ever an act seemed like sacrilege it is the introduction of a railroad into Palestine, with the sound of whistle and rushing train among the old and quiet hills of Judea. Everybody believes, however, that Providence is guiding the march of civilization, hence there can be VOL. XIII.29 nothing unholy in the fact that its ad- vanced guard has reached the walls of ancient Jerusalem. We had already the post-office, the management of which has notably improved during the past ten years; we had also the telegraph; and while one should not expect too much of The Jerusalem Station. THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY. 290 THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY. Oriental lightning, and must sometimes experiencing a sensation which it can be satisfied if it makes a full hundred hardly comprehend. miles in forty-eight hours, still the na- The significance of this event is not tives, both high and low, are gradually that fifty - three miles of railway have waking up to the idea that it means been built, or that the capital and the promptness and rapiditythat it is a seaport have been united by iron rails; kind of annihilator of space. But it was it is that this has been done in Turkey, reserved for the year of our Lord one which has always, by all the prejudice thousand eight hundred and ninety-two and force of its rel4jon, by all the arts to introduce here the railway, with all of its diplomacy, and by every other its strange and stirring life. The pres- means at its command, done all in its cut is a kind of Columbus year for power to keep out Western civilization. Palestine, and in commemoration of the It is, therefore, a well-aimed spear-thrust opening of this road in the Holy Land, in the side of this old despotic, back- an extra flag might be displayed at the ward - looking government, and may great Chicago Exposition. foretoken for it either the dawn of health During the month of August (1892), or the shadows of inevitable death. tens of thousands of people, for the first But no one can make use of this rail- time in their lives, have seen a railroad road until he gets into the country, and and a train of cars. They have had a the process of landing at Jaffa is the revelation, and in the great city as well same old bugbear that it was before the as in the dirtiest village of the land, railroad was built. This process, how- wonder is at its height. The excitement ever, in the large majority of instances, can hardly be realized by the inhabitants is not at all formidable, but the remain- of other countries, to whom railroads ing instances are no doubt rather trying perfected by the highest engineering to sensitive nerves. The fact is that skill and with lavish expense are ob- Jaffa has no harbor; there is a bit of jects as familiar and common as a daily water protected by a reef of rocks where The Station at Jatfa, ahowing alao a Part of the Freight Depot. newspaper. We forget that, not so very small boats can be sheltered if they sue- long ago, in our own country we had ceed in shooting themselves into it be- only bridle-paths and scarcely a yearly fore a storni overtakes them; but steam- post, while railways and steamboats had ers and large craft have to stand out to not even been dreamed of. Let all the sea for safety. There is evidence that, world rejoice if this medimval country is on the north side of the present town, THE JAFFA AND JERUSALEM RAILWAY. 291 there was, in ancient times, a sort of liar- which they experienced ; how, then, bor, small but safe, which is now silted would they estimate the task of the rail- up and covered with orange gardens. road company, who had to get from ship The great public work most pressingly to shore, in spite of rough seas, all the demanded at the present time is the con- rails, ties, iron bridges, cars, engines, struction of a breakwater of dimensions colossal water - tanks, and everything sufficiently ample for the protection of else that was required iu the construe- shipping of all kinds. The railroad dur- tion and equipment of the road? The ing the slack season of the yearsay task, however, after much serious risk during the entire summer, from May to life, many mishaps, and some dis- till Octobermight employ their forces couraging and costly accidents, was ac- in carting down one of the mountains of complished; but the difficulties over- Judea, saying: Be thou cast into the come only emphasize the great need sea, and thus form an effectual barrier which Jaffa has of a suitable harbor and against the mad waves of the winter landing-place. storms. Since any number of laborers The reef just referred to, with its bit can be obtained for twenty to thirty of sheltered water, is directly in front of cents a day, furnishing their own food the middle of the town, and the town at that, the cost of such an undertaking itself is defended from the sea by a high ought not to be so greaf as to prevent wall from the top of which the houses its being done. begin. Travellers are hoisted up here, Delicate women and dignified & Iergy- but all the materials for the railroad men who have been tossed from the must be got ashore elsewhere. From a steamers ladder into the great bare safe point on the north side of the town arms of a stalwart Arab boatman stand- the company built a temporary track ing in a boat below, while steamer and of rocks and timber, shored up in the boat and sea we