The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 97, November, 1865

V >> Various >> The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 97, November, 1865

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She desired me to become a sculptor, for form appealed more strongly to
her nature than color; and it seemed to be tacitly decided between us
that Art was to be my vocation. She thought that my strong hands,
accustomed to labor, could hew my own idea out of the marble for the
present, and save the expense of workmen. And then she described to me
the beautiful marbles she had seen abroad, where the artist's
inspiration was so chastely uttered by the purity of his material,
declaring that a subject which coloring would debase might be worthily
treated by the chisel. And when I exclaimed, that Autumn, with her
glowing palette, was as pure an artist as the old sculptor Winter,
chiselling in unvaried white, she reminded me that Nature was infinite,
handling all themes with equal power and purity; but that man, in
copying, became, as she thought some of the Preraphaelites had done, a
caricaturist, in attempting to follow her too closely. I was unconvinced
by her arguments, but held my newly bought color-box as a means of
proving to her the wisdom of my choice.

When I was about to leave, she said,--

"Sandy, pray don't make an enemy of Tracy Waters on account of any words
you had the other evening about the blacksmith's little girl. He's a
rough, but kind fellow, and your superiority and desire to rise in life
will stir up envy enough of themselves. Why not let him show his
admiration of the child, if he wanted to?"

"Oh, have they been telling you about that, Miss Darry?" I answered,
awkwardly. "If you knew Annie Bray, you would not ask me why I didn't
let him bend his great rough face over hers. She's only a child in
years, to be sure; but she has a woman's modesty."

"Oh, well, if she shrank from it, of course, as a gentleman, you were
bound to take her part; but don't spoil your chances in life, Sandy, I
beg, by any entanglement with these villagers of which you may repent. A
pretty country lassie to smile when you look at her would doubtless be a
comforting companion in your struggles. But once attain what you long
for in other ways, and you will crave an intelligent friend, whose
gaucheries shall not forever put you to the blush."

Miss Darry, in her appreciation of my abilities, sometimes forgot my
lack of attainment. I was not always familiar with her quotations, but
now I was more disturbed by her regarding so seriously my brotherly
devotion to Annie Bray, and by the depreciating estimate which she held
of her.

"I did not know you looked down so entirely upon our villagers. The only
way in which I could expect to differ from them is through my talent for
painting, if I prove to have any. My mother was a good woman, gentle and
quiet in her ways, but only a farmer's daughter; and though my father
was the village doctor, he studied his profession without any regular
training, and I suppose knew less of chemistry and anatomy than you,
Miss Darry. Annie Bray is as much a lady, in her childish way, as Miss
Merton; only she is the stone in its native soil, and Miss Merton has
been set by the jeweller."

I was irritated and had spoken warmly, but the bright smile did not
leave Miss Darry's face, as she answered,--

"Sandy, you have unmistakably the poetic temperament; but use your brush
on the canvas, and don't color every human being you see. I never could
comprehend why the practical affairs of life should not be ruled by
judgment and reason,--why the mental mansion should not have every
needful arrangement for comfort, though a hundred illusions may fresco
its ceilings. Every child is charming because it is a child, as every
bud is charming because it is a bud, though it may open a poppy or a
rose. I haven't a doubt but this little friend of yours will develop
some qualities of her ignorant ancestors to remove her in a few years
far from your ideal of womanhood. The rare gift of genius is as often
bestowed on the child of common parentage as on any other; but the
refinement which makes a woman a congenial companion is a mingling of
birth, education, and associations, in my opinion. It seems from your
own account, that poverty, not choice, apprenticed you to Amos Bray."

Her good-nature shamed me, and her unselfish labor for my improvement
touched me more deeply. So, though we did not agree about my profession
or friendship, I said no more.

CHAPTER VII.

As I have said, Miss Darry and I differed about Annie Bray. Yet her
words, having the weight of her greater knowledge of the world, and
really strong, though prejudiced mind, made their impression upon me.
Instead of regarding Annie with the old brotherly interest, I looked
critically now to see if any sign of rude origin betrayed itself in look
or speech. I found only the wayside bloom and sweetness quite peculiar
to herself, and many a quaint, rare fancy born of lonely rambles in
field and wood; but at fourteen, with no outward stimulus to act upon
her life, she was an undeveloped being, a child to be loved and petted,
but no friend for my growing and restless manhood.

In the evenings I worked hard, endeavoring both to improve myself
intellectually and to progress in my art. I was supplied with constant
reading from the Hillside library; but I had never been there since the
evening when I had driven Miss Darry home. The impression made upon me
at that time by Mr. Lang had not been wholly pleasant. Notwithstanding
his words at the forge, I felt as though he had in some way contended
for making me feel the drawbacks of my position.

One mild day in April, the Spring sun lay warm upon the earth, and the
wind brought from the woods the delicious scent of early flowers. I had
worked very steadily for several days in sole charge of the smithy; for
Mr. Bray had been away to visit a sister who lived some thirty miles
off. I had handed him quite large profits that morning; so I ventured to
ask for a half-holiday. It was granted, and after dinner I went up to my
room to prepare for it. I had practised in water-colors for the last few
weeks, and intended to surprise Miss Darry with a picture from Nature as
the result of the afternoon's work. So I thrust my paint-box into the
pocket of my portfolio, took a tin cup for water, and ran down stairs.

Annie was sitting on the door-step studying Gray's Botany, which at odd
moments in the winter I had attended to with her. My heart smote me for
that egotistic contemplation of myself and my prospects which had led me
to neglect her.

"Come, Annie," I said, "bring your Botany into the woods. We will find
plenty of wild-flowers there, and you shall help me, besides, to paint
my first picture."

The little face which had looked so dull a moment before brightened at
once. She gained her mother's permission, and was soon walking by my
side.

On the slope of the hill which led to the stone house where so many of
my dreams centred, we found innumerable bloodroot and anemone blossoms,
with a few buds of trailing arbutus just blushing at their edges.

Annie had a wonderful fellowship with Nature, liking even its wildest,
most uncouth forms. The snakes, with shining skin and sinuous movement,
glistening like streams of water, or lying coiled like stagnant pools
amid the rank luxuriance of grass and flowers, were as eagerly watched
by her as the most brilliant butterfly that ever fanned a blossom. She
had a faculty for tracing resemblances in the material creation, akin to
that, perhaps, which causes many to see points of likeness in faces, so
that they, as it were, carry their home about with them, and see their
friends in the new costume of every land.

Childhood and genius alike look through and over the lattice-work which
separates the regions of the natural and the supernatural. She had firm
faith in midnight revels in the woods, held by those elves, fairies, and
satyrs who come down to us from the dim and shaded life of earlier
ages, and whose existence she had eagerly accepted when I hinted its
possibility. Her theory of the mutability of species exceeded Darwin's;
for she fancied that the vegetable world was occasionally endowed with
animal life, and that the luxuriant and often poisonous vines, which
choked by their rude embrace so many tenderer forms of life, waked up,
under some unknown influence, into the snakes, of which she felt as
little fear.

As for me, I encouraged this tangle of woodland dreams across her brain,
and liked to think she dwelt apart, blind and deaf to all contamination
through its simple power.

Annie was to-day, therefore, most happy that Spring was reorganizing her
dreamland again; and while I seated myself on a stone to arrange my
materials, she ran to fill the tin cup with water from the brook below.
Then she helped me with my paints, and watched curiously all my
preparations. When these were completed, I said,--

"Now, Annie, prepare a little scene for me, and I will paint it."

At first she was reluctant to make the attempt; but I insisted, and she
did so.

The tiny thread which fed the stream below trickled over a stone beside
us, making rich with its silver beads of moisture a cushion of moss
beneath. On this Annie heaped bloodroots and anemones, a few early
violets, and one or two arbutus-sprays, and then looked up to see if I
was satisfied.

"Yes," I said, "if you will sit on that tree-stump, and leave your hand
there."

She laughed merrily, pleased to be in my first painting. I drew out my
paper, and rapidly sketched the outlines. Then I took my brush; the pale
spring beauties grew beneath its touch, and lay with careless grace on
the soft, damp moss.

Annie had resumed her Botany as the afternoon wore on, reaching forward
occasionally to note my progress; and her hand lay relaxed, the fingers
loosely clasping the last violets laid down.

I was giving most affectionate pats of my camel's-hair to the last
little pink nail, feeling more elated at this first attempt than at many
a better picture since, when I heard the tramp of horses' feet in the
road to the left of the meadow where we sat. I was too intent upon my
work to raise my eyes, and Annie sat with her face turned toward the
woods, so that I thought nothing more of it until we were startled by a
voice at a little distance.

"Well, my young friend, I suppose this studio is open to visitors?"

I looked up, and saw Miss Merton and Mr. Lang.

"We were riding, and called at the forge," said Miss Merton, with a
wondering glance at Annie, whose astonishment had not admitted of a
change of position; "and as Mr. Lang heard there you were off on an
excursion, we have been expecting to see you, and caught our first
glimpse as the horses walked up the hill. Won't you introduce us to your
young friend, Mr. Allen?"

"This is Annie Bray, my master's daughter," I stammered, with a keen and
very unpleasant remembrance of Miss Darry's remarks.

Annie rose, and returned with natural ease Miss Merton's smile and
kindly greeting, while Mr. Lang bent over to look at my painting.

"Alice, look here. This is as pretty a bit of water-color as I've ever
seen. A young girl's hand is a gratifying possession, but I am not sure
that I should have stopped with it in the present instance." And he
looked admiringly at Annie's modest beauty.

Miss Merton walked round the stump, and stood behind me.

"It is indeed pretty. Miss Annie's hand suggests the idea that these
blossoms at least were not 'born to blush unseen.' It reminds me of our
object in seeking you, Mr. Allen. A friend," she added, with an arch
look at Mr. Lang, "has been audacious enough to give me a costly
picture. I am to have a few friends to admire it to-morrow evening. I
know you will enjoy it; so I want you to come, too."

"You are very kind, but"----I hesitated.

"But what?" inquired Mr. Lang. "Speak out boldly, Sandy."

"I should not think you would care to have a poor blacksmith with your
friends. Let me come another evening."

"I am sorry, that, judging by your own feelings, you have arrived at
this conclusion," answered Mr. Lang, dryly. "I might have thought, under
similar circumstances, you would have treated us in the same way. Do as
you choose, of course; but remember, blacksmith or artist, no one will
respect you, unless you so thoroughly respect yourself as to hold your
manhood above your profession, and accept every courtesy in the spirit
in which it is offered."

I began to understand that he would guard me from the vanity and
over-sensitiveness which were the natural outgrowth of my position; yet
I reddened at the implied weakness.

"Pray don't mind Mr. Lang's criticisms," said Miss Merton, noticing my
confusion. "You certainly do not doubt the sincerity of our invitation?"

"Not at all," I exclaimed, warmly.

"Then will you not come to-morrow evening?"

Yielding to the fascinating persuasiveness of her manner, I now
consented so readily, that Mr. Lang, laughing, asked, in the old
friendly tone,--

"Did you paint this picture, Sandy, for any special purpose?"

"Only that I might show it to Miss Darry."

"Ah, well, let us take it to her. I have another use for it besides. Are
there any further touches to be given it?"

I looked; it might have been improved by more work, but I had not the
courage to undertake it before them. So I said I thought it would do.

He lingered a moment, while Miss Merton spoke a few words to Annie, who
only waited until they reached the stile to express warmly her
admiration of the lovely lady, who had invited her also to come some day
to Hillside, to see the air-plants in her conservatory.

CHAPTER VIII.

When I descended from my room to the kitchen, the next evening, arrayed
for my visit, with all the elegance of which my simple wardrobe
admitted, Mrs. Bray exclaimed,--

"Well, Sandy, I protest, you do look smart! But don't be set up, 'cause
you keep high company. I s'pose, knowin Amos was a family man, and
couldn't go visitin' round, they took a notion to you."

Annie followed me to the door, saying,--

"You must remember to tell me about the picture, Sandy, and what they
say of yours; and do look at the plants Miss Merton promised to show me,
and see just how she looks herself."

"And anything more?" I asked, laughing.

"Yes,--what they say to you. You look as handsome to-night, Sandy, as
the tall gentleman with Miss Merton,--only such a very different
handsome!"

"Then you admired his appearance?" I asked, lingering. "I fancied you
were too busy looking at Miss Merton to think of him."

But Annie continued to unfold her opinion without noticing my remark.

"I should be afraid he wouldn't care for me, if I didn't look and act
just as he wanted me to. I don't like his way of being handsome, Sandy,
so well as yours."

Unconsciously, Annie was making her first experiment in analysis; and as
I did not quite relish the basis upon which my beauty rested, I bade her
good-night, and hurried away.

I knew I was not handsome, yet Annie's naive admiration undoubtedly
braced me to face the evening. In my gray eye there was nothing of the
soft, dreamy expression usually supposed to accompany the aesthetic
temperament. On the contrary, it had the earnest, scrutinizing glance
peculiar to a more restless intellect than mine. The intent gaze of some
ancestor, perhaps, looked out from these "windows of my soul." If so,
and his spirit was occasionally permitted to view the world through me,
the "fancy gardening" in which I so extensively indulged could scarcely
have been congenial to his tastes. The eye was the salient point,
however, of a countenance not otherwise noticeable, except from a
girlish habit I had of coloring whenever I was suddenly addressed.

When I reached Hillside, I rang the bell with some trepidation, which
was increased by the announcement of the servant that the ladies were at
the tea-table. This trifling annoyance of presenting myself at the
tea-hour, when expected to pass the evening, was sufficiently serious to
my awkwardness to threaten my enjoyment of the visit; but I had scarcely
seated myself in the library when Miss Darry appeared.

"I hoped you would be in doubt as to the hour of coming, Sandy, and get
here early," she said, smiling brightly. "You must let me thank you for
painting that picture for me to look at; I even admired the little white
hand of your plebeian friend, it was so charmingly done."

I could not be annoyed at this mingling of praise and badinage,
especially when she relieved me from all sense of intrusion. Moreover,
she looked so brilliant, so sparkling and happy, that I watched her,
amazed at the metamorphosis from her ordinarily calm, intellectual
conversation and plain appearance.

"I thought perhaps you would keep the picture to please me, Miss Darry,"
I faltered, feeling that I was presenting it to an entirely new
character.

She accepted it, however, most graciously, and led me into the
conservatory, that I might assist her in arranging some baskets of
flowers for the parlor-tables.

"I never did believe in conservatories," she exclaimed, as I expressed
my admiration of the many rare plants. "It is as unnatural a life for
flowers to be crowded together, each in its little pot of earth, as for
human beings in their separate beds in a hospital. The idea of shutting
up plants and pictures in a room by themselves, to be visited on state
occasions, or when some member of the family in a vagrant mood chances
unexpectedly among them, seems to me preposterous."

Meanwhile she ran in and out among the flower-stands, breaking off
branches of flame-colored azalea, creamy, voluptuous-looking callas, and
a variety of drooping blossoms and sprays of green, with a reckless
handling of their proud beauty, which I involuntarily contrasted with
Annie Bray's timid, half-caressing touch of the wild-flowers.

The umber-colored silk she wore toned down what I, who fancied the
delicate sea-shell hue of blondes, should have termed her rather strong
colors; and now, bent on my enjoyment rather than improvement, she
looked much younger, and certainly far handsomer, than I had supposed
she could. Her entire self-possession, the familiarity with which she
approached human beings, Nature, and Art, were to me so many indications
of her power, and because of my own awe in the presence of any
revelation of beauty or intellect, seemed the more wonderful. In
admiration of her ease, I became at ease myself, and was thoroughly
enjoying her gay mood, which puzzled while it charmed me, when the glass
door opening into the drawing-room was pushed aside, and Mr. Lang
entered.

"Good evening, Sandy. Alice and Mr. Leopold have been inquiring for you,
Miss Darry; but don't run away with those baskets so quickly. I want a
few blossoms for Alice's hair. Yours is gorgeous, tropical. Sandy's here
has as much of a wild-wood appearance as exotics will admit of. One
would think Nature was in league with Darley in making these ferns; they
are outlines merely; but this rich red japonica in the centre, on its
cushion of white flowers, shows you a genuine colorist, Sandy."

Miss Darry, making some gay reply, gave me a basket, which, designedly
or not, made me less awkwardly conscious of my hands, and we entered the
drawing-room. Unaccustomed to gayeties of any kind, I was quite dazzled
by the sudden and brilliant blaze of light, the few guests already
assembled, and by Miss Merton's beauty enveloped in soft floating folds
of gossamer, looking as though the mist itself had woven her a garment.
No time, however, was given in which I could relapse into
self-consciousness. Miss Darry occupied me with various statuettes and
engravings, until Mr. Lang rejoined us, accompanied by a gentleman whom
he introduced to me as Mr. Leopold, the painter of the picture which I
was to see in the course of the evening. Although my reading had
necessarily been limited, Miss Darry's persistent training, and my own
voracious appetite for information in everything relating to the arts,
had given me a somewhat superficial knowledge of the pictures, style,
and personal appearance of the best old and modern painters. In spite of
some obstinate facts tending to a different conclusion, I had imbibed
the conventional idea of a genius, that he must dwell in an etherealized
body,--and Mr. Leopold's stalwart frame, full, florid face, and
well-rounded features were a surprise and disappointment. I expected the
Raphaelesque,--tender grace and melancholy; but about these frank blue
eyes and full red lips lurked the good-nature of a healthy school-boy,
the quaint, unchecked humor of a man upon whose life had fallen the
sunshine of prosperity.

"So, you are the young man, Mr. Allen, who painted the Spring Flowers
and the Maiden's Hand," he said, in a full, rich voice, and with a
genial smile. "It is evident, you, too, are in your spring-time, while
I, near my autumn, can afford to refer to the peculiarities of that
period. I cannot regret that you have a life of struggle before you; for
it is not merely the pleasing fancy which paints fine pictures. You
would have let a sunbeam play over that little hand, had you possessed
the technical knowledge to manage it: now, wouldn't you?"

I crimsoned, assenting as though to a crime.

"Effects of sunlight on bright colors are sometimes very striking," he
continued. "A crimson flower wet with dew and nodding in sunshine is a
kind of tremulous rainbow, which a man might well like to copy. We must
make a compact to help each other, Mr. Allen, I want to study human
nature, and would like an introduction to all the oddities of the
village."

I promised to make him acquainted with them, wondering meanwhile that he
craved for his culture what I regarded as the chief obstacle to mine.

"You shall meet Sandy at the forge some day, when work is over, and
visit the villagers," said Mr. Lang. "Miss Darry, shall you or I take
Mr. Allen to see the picture? He may like a longer inspection of it than
some of us."

I looked imploringly at Miss Darry, who, slipping her hand within my
arm, led me into a room corresponding to the conservatory in size and
position. The walls were mostly covered with cabinet-pictures, and among
several larger ones was the recent addition by Mr. Leopold. At my first
glance, I was conscious of that sense of disappointment which comes to
us when our imagination devises an ideal beauty, which human hands rob
of delicacy by the very act of embodiment: moreover, how could I, in my
dreamy, undeveloped boy-life, with a fancy just awakened, and revelling
in its own tropical creations, appreciate the simple strength, the grand
repose of the picture before me? What appeared barren to me in the man
and his works was born of the very depth of a nature which, in copying
the Infinite, had learned not only the tender beauty of flowers, the
consolations of the clouds, the grandeur of mountains, seas, and rocks,
but the beauty of common scenes, the grass and herbage of daily
intercourse and use. Touching the world at all points, he had something
to give and receive from nearly every one he met; and, as Sydney Smith
has said Dr. Chalmers was a thousand men in one, I can say that he had
the versatility and power of ten ordinary artists. At the time, however,
nothing of all this was in my mind; only a certain sense of satisfaction
took the place of disappointment, as I looked at the picture. He had
given clearly the impression of magnitude in the gigantic mass of gray
limestone which juts out of the deep blue Spanish sea. Misty flakes of
dispersing cloud above suggested the recent rain which had clothed its
frequently barren sides with a mantle of verdure. A few bell-shaped
blossoms hung over crevices of rock, fearless in the frail foothold of
their thread-like stems, as innocent child-faces above a precipice. It
was in this simple way, and by the isthmus of sand connecting it to the
continent, long and level, like the dash Nature made after so grand a
work, before descending to the commonplaces of ordinary creation, that
he had toned down the grandeur of stern old Gibraltar.

Miss Darry Indulged me long in my desire to look at the first fine
picture I had ever seen; but when other guests entered, we withdrew to
the farther side of the room, where I was not left in undisturbed
possession of her society, though conscious that she never, for a
moment, lost sight of me or my manner of acquitting myself. Miss Merton,
Miss Darry, Mr. Lang, Mr. Leopold, and a few others, formed the group of
talkers; and I stood within the circle, a listener, until Miss Darry and
Mr. Leopold obliged me to participate. They had an admirable power of
drawing each other out, and he seemed greatly attracted by her brilliant
criticisms of life and Art. Had I known of the theory which, robbed of
its metaphysical subtilties, is advanced in some of our fashionable
romances, I should have been convinced that evening that Miss Darry was,
intellectually at least, my counterpart. If I faltered in my vocabulary,
when expressing an opinion or replying to a question, she supplied the
missing word, or by glance and approving smile reassured me to recall
it; if my thought lacked shape and completeness, she gave it a few sharp
cuts with the chisel of her keen wit and clear intellect, handing it
back for me to color as I chose. Miss Merton, lovely as she was, shone
with a lesser light that evening in Miss Darry's presence; yet Mr. Lang,
tempted away for a moment, always rejoined her with an admiring smile,
well pleased at fascinations less indiscriminately exercised.

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