Is Polite Society Polite? 
 
 And Other Essays 
 BY 
 
 MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 BOSTON & NEW YORK 
 Lamson, Wolffe, & Company 
 
 1895 
 
Copyright, 1895, 
 By Lamson, Wolffe, & Co. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
PS "20)1 
 
 In 
 
 18313 
 
 MA)isl 
 Preface 
 
 I REMEMBER that, quite late in the fifties, I mentioned to 
 Theodore Parker the desire which I began to feel to give liv 
 ing expression to my thoughts, and to lend to my written words 
 the interpretation of my voice. 
 
 Parker, who had taken a friendly interest in the publication of 
 my first volumes, "Passion Flowers" and "Words for the 
 Hour," gave his approval also to this new project of mine. 
 " The great desire of the age," he said, " is for vocal expression. 
 People are scarcely satisfied with the printed page alone : they 
 crave for their instruction the living voice and the living presence." 
 
 At the time of which I write, no names of women were found 
 in the lists of lecture courses. Lucy Stone had graduated from 
 Oberlin, and was beginning to be known as an advocate of tem 
 perance, and as an antislavery speaker. Lucretia Mott had 
 carried her eloquent pleading outside the limits of her Quaker 
 belonging. Antoinette Brown Blackwell occupied the pulpit of a 
 Congregational church, while Abby Kelly Foster and the Grimke 
 Sisters stood forth as strenuous pleaders for the abolition of sla 
 very. Of these ladies I knew little at the time of which I speak,-j 
 and my studies and endeavors occupied a field remote from that / 
 in which they fought the good fight of faith. My thoughts ran 
 upon the importance of a helpful philosophy of life, and my \ 
 heart s desire was to assist the efforts of those who sought for 
 this philosophy. 
 
 Gradually these wishes took shape in some essays, which I 
 read to companies of invited friends. Somewhat later, I entered 
 the lecture field, and journeyed hither and yon, as I was invited. 
 
 The papers collected in the present volume have been heard 
 in many parts of our vast country. As is evident, they have 
 
been written for popular audiences, with a sense of the limita 
 tions which such audiences necessarily impose. With the 
 burthen of increasing years, the freedom of locomotion naturally 
 tends to diminish, and I must be thankful to be read where I 
 have in other days been heard. I shall be glad indeed if it may 
 be granted to these pages to carry the message which I myself 
 have been glad to bear, the message of the good hope of 
 humanity, despite the faults and limitations of individuals. 
 
 That hope casts its light over the efforts of years that are 
 past, and gilds for me, with ineffaceable glow, the future of our 
 race. 
 
 The lecture, "Is Polite Society Polite ?" was written for a 
 course of lectures given some years ago by the New England 
 Women s Club of Boston. " Greece Revisited" was first read 
 before the Town and Country Club of Newport, R. I. Aris 
 tophanes" and "Dante and Beatrice" were written for the 
 Summer School of Philosophy at Concord, Mass. " The Half- 
 ness of Nature " was first read before the Boston Radical Club. 
 "The Salon in America" was written for the Contemporary 
 Club in Philadelphia. 
 
Contents 
 
 Preface 
 
 Is Polite Society Polite Page 3 
 
 Paris 37 
 
 Greece Revisited 77 
 
 The Salon in America 113 
 
 Aristophanes 133 
 
 The Halfness of Nature 161 
 
 Dante and Beatrice 181 
 
Is Polite Society Polite? 
 
Is Polite Society Polite? 
 
 WHY do we ask this question ? For reasons 
 which I shall endeavor to make evident. 
 
 The life in great cities awakens a multitude of 
 ambitions. Some people are very unscrupulous in 
 following these ambitions, attaining their object 
 either by open force and pushing, or by artful and 
 cunning manoeuvres. And so it will happen that 
 in the society which considers itself entitled to rank 
 above all other circles one may meet with people 
 whose behavior is guided by no sincere and suffi 
 cient rule of conduct. Observing their shortcom 
 ings, we may stand still and ask, Are these people 
 what they should be ? Is polite society polite ? 
 
 For this society, which is supposed to be noth 
 ing if not polite, does assume, in every place, to 
 set up the standard of taste and to regulate the 
 tone of manners. It aims to be what Hamlet once 
 was in Ophelia s eyes "the glass of fashion and 
 the mould of form." Its forms and fashions change, 
 of course, from age to age, and yet it is a steadfast 
 institution in the development of human civiliza 
 tion. 
 
 I should be sorry to overstate its shortcomings, 
 but I wish I might help it to feel its obligations 
 and to fulfil them. 
 
Is Polite What shall we accept in the ordinary sense of 
 Society men as politeness? Shall we consider it a mere 
 Polite? surface polish an attitude expressive of defer 
 ence corresponding to no inward grace of good 
 
 feeling? Will you like to live with the person 
 who, in the great world, can put on fine manners, 
 but who, in the retirement of home, manifests the 
 vulgarity of a selfish heart and an undisciplined 
 temper ? 
 
 No, you will say ; give me for my daily com 
 panions those who always wear the best manners 
 they have. For manners are not like clothes : you 
 can mend them best when you have them on. 
 
 We may say at the outset that sincerity is the 
 best foundation upon which to build the structure 
 of a polite life. The affectation of deference does 
 not impose upon people of mature experience. It 
 carries its own contradiction with it. When I hear 
 the soft voice, a little too soft, I look into the face 
 to see whether the two agree. But I need scarcely 
 do that. The voice itself tells the story, is sin 
 cere or insincere. Flattery is, in itself, an offence 
 against politeness. It is oftenest administered to 
 people who are already suffering the intoxication of 
 vanity. When I see this, I wish that I could 
 enforce a prohibitory ordinance against it, and 
 prosecute those who use it mostly to serve their 
 own selfish purposes. But people can be trained 
 never to offer nor to receive this dangerous drug of 
 4 
 
flattery, and I think that, in all society which can Is Polite 
 be called good, it becomes less and less the mode Society 
 to flavor one s dishes with it. Polite? 
 
 Having spoken of flattery, I am naturally led to 
 say a word about its opposite, detraction. 
 
 The French have a witty proverb which says 
 that " the absent are always in the wrong/ and 
 which means that the blame for what is amiss is 
 usually thrown upon those who are not present to 
 defend themselves. It seems to me that the rules 
 of politeness are to be as carefully observed toward 
 the absent as toward those in whose company we 
 find ourselves. The fact that they cannot speak 
 in their own defence is one which should appeal to 
 our nicest sense of honor. Good breeding, or its 
 reverse, is as much to be recognized in the way in 
 which people speak of others as in the way in 
 which they speak to them. 
 
 Have we not all felt the tone of society to be 
 lowered by a low view of the conduct and motives 
 of those who are made the subjects of discussion ? 
 
 Those unfortunate men and women who delight 
 in talk of this sort always appear to me degraded 
 by it. No matter how clever they may be, I avoid 
 their society, which has in it a moral malaria most 
 unwholesome in character. 
 
 I am glad to say that, although frivolous society 
 constantly shows its low estimate of human nature, 
 I yet think that the gay immolation of character 
 
 5 
 
Is Polite which was once considered a legitimate source of 
 Society amusement has gone somewhat out of fashion. 
 Polite? Sheridan s "School for Scandal" gives us some 
 notion of what this may once have been. I do think 
 that the world has grown more merciful in later 
 years, and that even people who meet only for their 
 own amusement are learning to seek it without mur 
 dering the reputation of their absent friends. 
 
 There is a mean impulse in human nature which 
 leads some people to toss down the reputation of 
 their fellows just as the Wall Street bear tosses down 
 the value of the investments whose purchase he 
 wishes to command at his own price. But in oppo 
 sition to this, God has set within us a power which 
 reacts against such base estimates of mankind. The 
 utterance of this false tone often calls out the better 
 music, and makes us admire the way in which good 
 springs up in the very footsteps of evil and effaces 
 them as things of nought. 
 
 Does intercourse with great society make us more 
 or less polite ? Elizabeth Browning says : 
 
 First time he kissed me he but only kissed 
 The fingers of this hand wherewith I write, 
 Which ever thence did grow more clean and white, 
 Slow to world greetings, quick with its " Oh, list," 
 When the angels speak. 
 
 This clearly expresses the sanctification of a new 
 and noble interest. How is it with those on whom 
 6 
 
the great world has set its seal of superior position, Is Polite 
 which is derived from a variety of sources, among Society 
 which wealth, recognized talent, and high descent Polite? 
 are the most important ? 
 
 I must say in answer that this social recognition 
 does not affect all people in the same manner. 
 One passes the ordeal unscathed, is as fresh in affec 
 tion, as genuine in relation and intercourse, as faith 
 ful to every fine and true personal obligation in the 
 fiery furnace of wealth and fashion and personal dis 
 tinction as he or she was in the simple village or 
 domestic life, in which there was no question of 
 greatness or smallness, all being of nearly the same 
 dimensions. 
 
 The great world may boast of its jewels which 
 no furnace blast can melt or dim, but they are rare. 
 Madame de Stael and Madame Recamier seem to 
 have been among these undimmed gems ; so, also, 
 was Madame de Sevigne, with a heart warm with 
 love for her children and her friends in all the 
 dazzle of a brilliant court. So I have seen a ves 
 sel of the finest glass, thin as paper, which a 
 chemist left over his spirit-lamp, full of boiling 
 liquid, and, returning the next day, found unin 
 jured, so perfect was the temper of the glass. But 
 for one such unspoiled world-favorite, I can show 
 you twenty men and women who, at the first lift 
 of fortune, forsake their old friends, neglect their 
 near relations, and utterly ignore their poor ones. 
 
 7 
 
Is Polite Romance is full of such shameful action ; and let 
 Society me say here, in passing, that in my opinion Ro- 
 Polite ? mance often wears off our horror of what is wicked 
 and heartless by showing it as a permanent and rec 
 ognized element of society. This is the reverse of 
 what it should do. But in these days it so exceeds 
 its office in the hunt after the exhausted suscepti 
 bilities of a novel-reading public that it really 
 thumps upon our aversion to vice until it wears 
 it out. 
 
 De Balzac s novel called " Father Goriot " tells 
 the story of a man of humble origin who grows 
 rich by trade, educates his daughters for fashion 
 able life, marries them to men of condition, portions 
 them abundantly, and is in return kept carefully 
 out of what the world knows of their lives. They 
 seek him only when they want money, which they 
 always do, in spite of the rich dowry settled on 
 them ^ at their marriage. Father Goriot sells his 
 last piece of silver to help them, and dies in a low 
 boarding-house, tended by the charity of strangers, 
 tormented to the last by the bickering of his chil 
 dren, but not cheered for one moment by their 
 affection. 
 
 I have heard on good authority that people of 
 wealth and position in our large cities sometimes 
 deposit their aged and helpless parents in asylums 
 where they may have all that money can buy for 
 them, but nothing of what gratitude and affection 
 8 
 
should give them. How detestable such a course Is Polite 
 is I need not say ; my present business is to say Society 
 that it is far from polite. Polite? 
 
 Apropos of this suggestion, I remember that I 
 was once invited to read this essay to a village audi 
 ence in one of the New England States. My theme 
 was probably one quite remote from the general 
 thought of my hearers. As I went on, their indif 
 ference began to affect me, and my thought was that 
 I might as well have appealed to a set of wooden 
 tenpins as to those who were present on that 
 occasion. 
 
 In this, I afterwards learned that I was mistaken. 
 After the conclusion of the evening s exercise, a 
 young man, well known in the community, was 
 heard to inquire urgently where he could find the 
 lecturer. Friends asked, what did he want of her ? 
 He replied : " Well, I did put my brother in the 
 poorhouse, and now that I have heard Mrs. Howe, 
 I suppose that I must take him out." 
 
 Need I say that I felt myself amply repaid for the 
 trouble I had taken ? On the other hand, this same 
 theme was once selected from my list by a lecture 
 association in a small town buried in the forests of 
 the far West. As I surveyed my somewhat home 
 spun audience, I feared that a discussion of the 
 faults of polite society would interest my hearers 
 very little. I was surprised after my reading to hear, 
 from more than one of those present, that this 
 
 9 
 
Is Polite lecture appeared to them the very thing that was 
 
 Society most needed in that place. 
 
 Polite? There is to my mind something hideous in the 
 concealment and disregard of real connections which 
 involve real obligations. 
 
 If you are rich, take up your poor relations. 
 Assist them at least to find the way of earning a 
 competence. Use the power you have to bring them 
 within the sphere of all that is refining. You can 
 embellish the world to them and them to the world. 
 Do so, and you will be respected by those whose 
 respect is valuable. On the contrary, repudiate those 
 who really belong to you and the mean world itself 
 will laugh at you and despise you. It is clever and 
 cunning enough to find out your secret, and when 
 it has done so, it will expose you pitilessly. 
 
 I have known men and women whose endeavors 
 and successes have all been modelled upon the 
 plane of social ambition. Starting with a good com 
 mon-school education, which is a very good thing 
 to start with, they have improved opportunities of 
 culture and of desirable association until they stand 
 conspicuous, far away from the sphere of their vil 
 lage or homemates, having money to spend, able to 
 boast of wealthy acquaintances, familiar guests at 
 fashionable entertainments. 
 
 Now sometimes these individuals wander so far 
 
 away from their original belongings that these latter 
 
 are easily lost sight of. And I assure you that thev 
 
 10 J 
 
are left in the dark, in so far as concerns the actions Is Polite 
 of the friends we are now considering. Many a Society 
 painstaking mother at a distance, many a plain but Polite ? 
 honest old father, many a sister working in a fac 
 tory to help a brother at college, is never spoken 
 of by such persons, and is even thought of with a 
 blush of shame and annoyance. 
 
 Oh ! shame upon the man or woman of us who 
 is guilty of such behavior as this ! These relatives 
 are people to be proud of, as we should know if we 
 had the heart to know what is true, good, and loyal. 
 Even were it not so, were your relative a criminal, 
 never deny the bond of nature. Stand beside him 
 in the dock or at the gallows. You have illustrious 
 precedent for such association in one whom men 
 worship, but forget to imitate. 
 
 Let me here relate a little story of my early years. 
 I had a nursery governess when I was a small child. 
 She came from some country town, and probably 
 regarded her position in my father s family as a pro 
 motion. One evening, while we little folks gath 
 ered about her in our nursery, she wept bitterly. 
 " What is the matter ? " we asked ; and she took 
 me up in her lap, and said : " My poor old father 
 came here to see me to-day, and I would not see 
 him. I bade them tell him that he had mistaken 
 the house, and he went away, and as he went I saw 
 him looking up at the windows so wistfully ! " 
 Poor woman ! We wept with her, feeling that this 
 
 ii 
 
Is Polite was indeed a tragical event, and not knowing what 
 
 Society she could do to make it better. 
 
 Polite? But could I see that woman now, I would say to 
 her : " If you were serving the king at his table, and 
 held his wine-cup in your hand, and your father 
 stood without, asking for you, you should set down 
 the cup, and go out from the royal presence to 
 honor your father, so much the more if he is poor, 
 so much the more if he is old." And all that is 
 really polite in polite society would say so too. 
 
 Now this action which I report of my governess 
 corresponds to something in human nature, and 
 to something which polite society fosters. 
 
 For polite society bases itself upon exclusions. 
 In this it partly appeals to that antagonism of our 
 nature through which the desire to possess some 
 thing is greatly exaggerated by the difficulty of be 
 coming possessed of it. If every one can come to 
 your house, no one, you think, will consider it a 
 great object of desire to go there. Theories of sup 
 ply and demand come in here. People would gladly 
 destroy things that give pleasure, in order to en 
 hance their value in the hands of the few. 
 
 I once heard a lady, herself quite new in society, 
 say of a Parisian dame who had shown her some 
 
 attention: "Ah! the trouble with Madame 
 
 is that she is too good-natured. She entertains 
 everybody." "Indeed," thought I, "if she had 
 
 12 
 
been less good-natured, is it certain that she would Is Polite 
 have entertained you ? " Society 
 
 But of course the justifiable side of exclusion is Polite? 
 choice, selection of one s associates. No society 
 can confer the absolute right or power to make this 
 selection. Tiresome and unacceptable people are 
 everywhere entangled in relations with wise and 
 agreeable ones. There is no bore nor torment 
 who has not the right to incommode some fireside 
 or assembly with his or her presence. You cannot 
 keep wicked, foolish, tiresome, ugly people out of 
 society, however you and your set may delight in 
 good conduct, grace, and beauty. You cannot 
 keep poor people out of the society of the rich. 
 Those whom you consider your inferiors feed your 
 cherished stomach, and drape your sacred person, 
 and stand behind your chair at your feasts, judging 
 your manners and conversation. 
 
 Let us remember Mr. Dickens s story of "Little 
 Dorrit," in which Mr. Murdle^ a new-rich man, sit 
 ting with guests at his own sumptuous table, is 
 described as dreading the disapprobation of his 
 butler. This he might well do, as the butler was 
 an expert, well aware of the difference between a 
 gentleman of breeding and education and a world 
 ling, lifted by the possession of wealth alone. 
 
 Very genial in contrast with this picture appears 
 the response of Abraham Lincoln, who, on being 
 
 3 
 
Is Polite asked by the head waiter at his first state dinner 
 Society whether he would take white wine or red, replied : 
 Polite? " I don t know ; which would you ? " 
 
 Well, what can society do, then ? It can decree 
 that those who come of a certain set of families, 
 that those who have a certain education, and above 
 all, a certain income, shall associate together on 
 terms of equality. And with this decree there comes 
 to foolish human nature a certain irrational desire to 
 penetrate the charmed circle so formed. 
 
 The attempt to do this encounters resistance ; 
 there is pushing in and shoving out, coaxing 
 and wheedling on the one hand, and cold denial or 
 reluctant assent on the other. So a fight is perpetu 
 ally going on in the realm of fashion. Those not 
 yet recognized are always crowding in. Those first 
 in occupation are endeavoring to crowd these out. 
 In the end, perseverance usually conquers. 
 
 But neither of these processes is polite neither 
 the crowding in nor the crowding out and this last 
 especially, as many of those who are in were once 
 out, and are trying to keep other people from doing 
 what they themselves have been very glad to do. 
 In Mr. Thackeray s great romance, "The New- 
 comes," young Ethel Newcome asks her grand 
 mother, Lady Kew, "Well then, grandmother, who 
 is of a good family ? " And the old lady replies : 
 c Well, my dear, mostly no one." But I would 
 
reply : Mostly every one, if people are disposed to Is Polite 
 make their family good. Society 
 
 There is an obvious advantage in society s pos- Polite? 
 session of a recognized standard of propriety in 
 general deportment ; but the law of good breeding 
 should nowhere be merely formal, nor should its 
 application be petty and captious. The externals 
 of respectability are most easily aped when they are 
 of the permanent and stereotyped kind, and may be 
 used to conceal gross depravity ; while the constant, 
 fresh, gracious inspiration of a pure, good heart is 
 unmistakable, and cannot be successfully coun 
 terfeited. 
 
 On the other hand, young persons should be de 
 sirous to learn the opinion of older ones as to 
 what should and should not be done on the ground 
 of general decorum and good taste. Youth is in 
 such hot haste to obtain what it desires that it often 
 will not wait to analyze the spirit of an occasion, but 
 classes opposition to its inclinations as prejudice 
 and antiquated superstition. But the very individ 
 ual who in youth thus scoffs at restraint often pays 
 homage to it in later days, having meanwhile ascer 
 tained the weighty reasons which underlie the whole 
 law of reserve upon which the traditions of good 
 society are based. 
 
 How much trouble, then, might it save if the 
 young people, as a rule, were to come to the elders 
 
 5 
 
Is Polite and ask at least why this thing or that is regarded 
 Society as unbecoming or of doubtful propriety. And how 
 Polite? much would it assist this good understanding if the 
 elders, to the last, were careful to keep up with the 
 progress of the time, examining tendencies, keeping 
 a vigilant eye upon fashions, books, and personages, 
 and, above all, encouraging the young friends to 
 exercise their own powers of discrimination in fol 
 lowing usages and customs, or in departing from 
 them. 
 
 This last suggestion marks how far the writer of 
 these pages is behind the progress of the age. In 
 her youth, it was customary for sons and daughters 
 both to seek and to heed the counsel of elders in 
 social matters. In these days, a grandmother must 
 ask her granddaughter whether such or such a thing 
 is considered " good form," to which the latter will 
 often reply, " O dear ! no." 
 
 It is sad that we should carry all the barbarism 
 of our nature into our views of the divine, and make 
 pur form of faith an occasion of ill-will to others, 
 instead of drawing from it the inspiration of a wide 
 and comprehensive charity. The world s Chris 
 tianity is greatly open to this accusation, in dealing 
 with which we are forced to take account of the slow 
 rate of human progress. 
 
 A friend lately told me of a pious American, 
 familiar in Hong Kong, who at the close of his last 
 
 16 
 
visit there, took a formal and eternal leave of one Is Polite 
 of the principal native merchants with whom he had Society 
 
 long been acquainted. Mr. C alluded to his Polite? 
 
 advanced age, and said that it was almost certain he 
 could never return to China. " We shall not meet 
 again in this work! " he said, " and as you have 
 never embraced the true reLgion, I can have no hope 
 of meeting you in a better one." 
 
 I ask whether this was polite, from one sinner to 
 another ? 
 
 A stupid, worldly old woman of fashion in one of 
 our large cities once said of a most exemplary 
 acquaintance, a liberal Christian saint of thirty years 
 
 or more ago : " I am very fond of Mrs. S 
 
 but she is a Unitarian. What a pity we cannot hope 
 to meet in heaven ! " The wicked bystanders had 
 their own view of the reason why this meeting would 
 appear very improbable. 
 
 What shall we say of the hospitality which in 
 some churches renders each man and woman the 
 savage guardian of a seat or pew? Is this God s 
 house to you, when you turn with fury on a stranger 
 who exercises a stranger s right to its privileges ? 
 Whatever may be preached from the pulpit of such 
 a church, there is not much of heaven in the seats 
 so maintained and defended. I remember an Epis 
 copal church in one of our large cities which a mod 
 est looking couple entered one Sunday, taking seats 
 in an unoccupied pew near the pulpit. And pres- 
 
Is Polite ently comes in the plumed head of the family, fol- 
 Society lowed by its other members. The strangers are 
 Polite? warned to depart, which they do, not without a 
 smile of suppressed amusement. The church- 
 woman afterwards learned that the persons whom 
 she had turned out of her pew were the English 
 ambassador and his wife, the accomplished Lord 
 and Lady Napier. 
 
 St. Paul tells us that in an unknown guest we 
 may entertain an angel unawares. But I will say 
 that in giving way to such evil impulses, people 
 entertain a devil unawares. 
 
 Polite religion has to do both with manners and 
 with doctrine. Tolerance is the external condition 
 of this politeness, but charity is its interior source. 
 A doctrine which allows and encourages one set of 
 men to exclude another set from claim to the pro 
 tection and inspiration of God is in itself impolite. 
 Christ did not reproach the Jews for holding their 
 own tenets, but for applying these tenets in a super 
 ficial and narrow spirit, neglecting to practise true 
 devotion and benevolence, and refusing to learn 
 the providential lessons which the course of time 
 should have taught them. At this day of the world, 
 we should all be ready to admit that salvation lies 1 
 not so much in the prescriptions of any religion 
 as in the spirit in which these are followed. 
 
 It is the fashion to-day to decry missions. I be 
 lieve in them greatly. But a missionary should 
 1 8 
 
start with a polite theory concerning the religion Is Polite 
 which he hopes to supersede by the introduction of Society 
 one more polite. If he studies rightly, he will see Polite? 
 that all religions seek after God, and will imitate 
 the procedure of Paul, who, before instructing the 
 Athenians in the doctrines of the new religion, was 
 careful to recognize the fact that they had a religion 
 of their own. 
 
 I wish to speak here of the so-called rudeness of 
 reform ; and to say that I think we should call this 
 roughness rather than rudeness. A true reformer 
 honors human nature by recognizing in it a higher 
 power than is shown in its average action. The man 
 or woman who approaches you, urging upon you a 
 more fervent faith, a more impartial justice, a braver 
 resolve than you find in your own mind, comes to 
 you really in reverence, and not in contempt. Such 
 a person sees in you the power and dignity of man 
 hood or womanhood, of which you, perhaps, have 
 an insufficient sense. And he will strike and strike 
 until he finds in you that better nature, that higher 
 sense to which he appeals, and which in the end is 
 almost sure to respond to such appealing. 
 
 I remember having thought in my youth that the 
 Presbyterian preacher, John Knox, was probably 
 very impolite in his sermons preached before poor 
 Queen Mary Stuart. But when we reflect upon the 
 follies which, more than aught else, wrecked her 
 unhappy life, we may fancy the stern divine to have 
 
 9 
 
Is Polite seen whither her love of pleasure and ardent tem- 
 
 Society perament would lead her, and to have striven, to the 
 
 Polite ? best of his knowledge and power, to pluck her as a 
 
 brand from the burning, and to bring her within the 
 
 sober sphere of influence and reflection which might 
 
 have saved her kingdom and her life. 
 
 With all its advances, society still keeps some 
 traces of its original barbarism. I see these traces 
 in the want of respect for labor, where this want 
 exists, and also in the position which mere Fashion 
 is apt to assign to teachers in the community. 
 
 That those who must be intellectually looked up 
 to should be socially looked down upon is, to say 
 the least, very inconsistent. That the performance 
 of the helpful offices of the household should be 
 held as degrading to those who perform them is no 
 less so. We must seek the explanation of these 
 anomalies in the distant past. When the handiwork 
 of society was performed by slaves, the world s 
 estimate of labor was naturally lowered. In the 
 feudal and military time, the writer ranked below 
 the fighter, and the skill of learning below the prow 
 ess of arms. The mind of to-day has only partially 
 outgrown this very rude standard of judgment. I 
 was asked, some fifteen years ago, in England, 
 * by people of education, whether women teachers 
 ranked in America with ladies or with working 
 women. I replied : " With ladies, certainly," which 
 seemed to occasion surprise. 
 20 
 
I remember having heard that a relative of The- Is Polite 
 odore Parker s wife, who disliked him, would occa- Society 
 sionally taunt him with having kept school. She Polite? 
 said to him one day : " My father always told me to 
 avoid a schoolmaster." Parker replied : " It is evi 
 dent that you have." 
 
 I think that as Americans we should all feel an 
 especial interest in the maintenance of polite feel 
 ing in our community. The theory of a govern 
 ment of the people, by the people, and for the 
 people is in itself the most polite of theories. 
 The fact that under such a government no man has 
 a position of absolute inferiority forced upon him 
 for life ought to free us from mean subserviency 
 on the one hand, and from haughty and brutal 
 assumption on the other. 
 
 Yet I doubt whether politeness is as much con 
 sidered in American education as it ought to be. 
 Perhaps our theory of the freedom and equality of 
 all men leads some of us to the mistaken conclusion 
 that all people equally know how to behave them 
 selves, which is far from being the fact. 
 
 One result of our not being well instructed in 
 the nature of politeness is that we go to the wrong 
 sources to learn it. People who have been mod 
 estly bred think they shall acquire fine manners by 
 consorting with the world s great people, and in 
 this way often unlearn what they already know of 
 good manners, instead of adding to their knowledge. 
 
 21 
 
Is Polite Rich Americans seem latterly to have taken on a 
 Society sort of craze about the aristocracies of other coun- 
 Polite? tries. One form of this craze is the desire of Am 
 bitious parents to marry their daughters to titled 
 individuals abroad. When we consider ^that these 
 counts, marquises, and barons scarcely disguise the 
 fact that the young lady s fortune is the object of 
 their pursuit, and that the young lady herself is 
 generally aware of this, we shall not consider 
 marriage under such circumstances a very polite 
 relation. 
 
 What does make our people polite, then ? 
 Partly the inherited blood of men who would not 
 submit to the rude despotism of old England and 
 old Europe, and who thought a better state of so 
 ciety worth a voyage in the Mayflower and a tussle 
 with the wild forest and wilder Indian. Partly, 
 also, the necessity of the case. As we recognize no 
 absolute social superiority, no one of us is entirely 
 at liberty to assume airs of importance which do 
 not belong to him. No matter how selfish we may 
 be, it will not do for us to act upon the supposition 
 that the comfort of other people is of less conse 
 quence than our own. If we are rude, our servants 
 will not live with >us, our tradespeople will not 
 serve us. 
 
 This is good as far as it goes, but I wish that I 
 could oftemer see in our young people a desire to 
 know what is perfectly and beautifully polite. And 
 22 
 
I feel sure that more knowledge in this direction Is Polite 
 would save us from the vulgarity of worshipping Society 
 rank and wealth. Polite ? 
 
 Who have been the polite spirits of our day ? 
 I can mention two of them, Mr. Longfellow and 
 Mr. Emerson, as persons in whose presence it was 
 impossible to be rude. But our young people of 
 to-day consider the great fortunes rather than the 
 great examples. 
 
 In order to be polite, it is important to cultivate 
 polite ways of thinking. Great social troubles and 
 even crimes grow out of rude and selfish habits of 
 mind. Let us take the case of the Anarchists who 
 were executed in Chicago some years ago. Before 
 their actions became wicked, their thoughts became 
 very impolite. They were men who had to work 
 for their living. They wanted to be so rich that 
 they should not be under this necessity. Their 
 mode of reasoning was something like this : " I 
 want money. Who has got it ? The capitalist. 
 What protects him in keeping it ? The laws. 
 Down with the laws, then ! " 
 
 He who reasons thus forgets, foolish man, that 
 the laws protect the poor as well as the rich. The 
 laws compel the capitalist to make roads for the 
 use of the poor man, and to build schoolhouses for 
 the education of his children. They make the per 
 son of the poor man as sacred as that of the rich 
 man. They secure to both the enjoyment of the 
 
Is Polite greatest benefits of civilization. The Anarchist 
 
 Society puts all this behind him, and only reasons that he, 
 
 Polite? being poor, wants to be rich, and will overthrow, if 
 
 he can, the barriers which keep him from rushing 
 
 like a wild beast upon the rich man and despoiling 
 
 him of his possessions. 
 
 And this makes me think of that noble man 
 Socrates, whom the Athenians sentenced to death 
 for impiety, because he taught that there was one 
 God, while the people about him worshipped many 
 deities. Some of the friends of this great man 
 made a plan for his escape from prison to a place 
 of safety. But Socrates refused to go, saying that 
 the laws had hitherto protected him as they pro 
 tected other citizens, and that it would be very un 
 grateful for him to show them the disrespect of 
 running away to evade their sentence. He said : 
 "It is better for me to die than to set the example 
 of disrespect to the laws." How noble were these 
 sentiments, and how truly polite ! 
 
 Whoever brings up his children to be sincere, 
 self-respecting, and considerate of others brings 
 them up to good manners. Did you ever see an 
 impolite Quaker ? I never did. Yet the Friends 
 are a studiously plain people, no courtiers nor fre 
 quenters of great entertainments. What makes 
 them polite ? The good education and discipline 
 which are handed down among them from one gen 
 eration to another. 
 24 
 
The eminent men of our own early society were Is Polite 
 simple in their way of living, but when public duty Society 
 called them abroad to mingle with the elegant peo- Polite ? 
 pie of the Old World, they did us great credit. 
 Benjamin Franklin was much admired at the court 
 of Louis XVI. Jay and Jefferson and Morris and 
 Adams found their manners good enough to con 
 tent the highest European society. They were 
 educated men ; but besides book-learning, and above 
 it, they had been bred to have the thoughts and, 
 more than all, the feelings of gentlemen. 
 
 The assumption of special merit, either by an 
 individual or a class, is not polite. We notice this 
 fault when some dressy young lady puts on airs, 
 and struts in fine clothes, or condescends from an 
 elegant carriage. Elder women show it in hard 
 ness and hauteur of countenance, or in unnecessary 
 patronage. 
 
 But we allow classes of people to assume special 
 merit on false grounds. It may very easily be 
 shown that it requires more talent and merit to 
 earn money than to spend it. Yet, by almost 
 common consent of the fashionable world, those 
 who inherit or marry money are allowed to place 
 themselves above those who earn it. 
 
 If this is the case so far as men are concerned, 
 much more is it the case with women. Good 
 society often feels itself obliged to apologize for a 
 lady who earns money. The fact, however ex- 
 
Is Polite plained, is a badge of discredit. She could not 
 
 Society help it, poor thing! Her father failed, or her 
 
 Polite? trustee lost the investments made for her. He 
 
 usually does. So she has oh, sad alternative ! 
 
 to make herself useful. 
 
 Now in America the judgment of the Old World 
 in this respect has come to be somewhat reversed. 
 We do not like idle inheritors here ; and so the 
 moneyed aristocracy of our country is a tolerably 
 energetic and industrious body. But in the case 
 of womankind, I could wish to see a very different 
 standard adopted from that now existing. I could 
 \j wish that the fact of an idle and useless life should 
 need apology not that of a laborious and useful 
 one. Idleness is a pregnant source of demoraliza 
 tion to rich women. The hurry and excitement of 
 fashionable engagements, and the absorbing nature 
 of entirely selfish and useless pursuits, such as 
 dancing, dress, and flirtation, cannot take the place 
 of healthful work. Dr. Watts warns us that 
 
 Satan finds some mischief still 
 For idle hands to do. 
 
 And Tennyson has some noble lines in one of his 
 noblest poems : 
 
 I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, 
 You pine among your halls and towers ; 
 The languid light of your proud eyes 
 Is wearied of the rolling hours. 
 In glowing health, with boundless wealth, 
 26 
 
But sickening of a vague disease, /j Polite 
 
 You know so ill to deal with time, Society 
 
 You needs must play such pranks as these. p / / P 
 
 As I am speaking of England, I will say that 
 some things in the constitution of English society 
 seem to tend to impoliteness. 
 
 The English are a most powerful and energetic 
 race, with immense vitality, cruelly divided up in 
 their own country by absolute social conditions, 
 handed down from generation to generation. So 
 a sense of superiority, more or less lofty and ex 
 aggerated, characterizes the upper classes, while the 
 lower partly rest in a dogged compliance, partly 
 indulge the blind instinct of reverence, partly de 
 test and despise those whom birth and fate have set 
 over them. In England, people assert their own 
 rank and look down upon that of others all the 
 way from the throne to the peasant s hut. I asked 
 an English visitor, the other day, what inferior the 
 lowest man had, the man at the bottom of the 
 social pile. I answered him myself: " His wife, of 
 course." 
 
 Where worldliness gives the tone to character, it 
 corrupts the source of good manners, and the out 
 ward polish is purchased by the inward corruption 
 of the heart. The crucial experiment of character 
 is found in the transition from modest competency 
 to conspicuous wealth and fashion. Most of us 
 may desire this ; but I should rather say : Dread it. 
 
 27 
 
Is Polite I have seen such sweetness and beauty impaired by 
 Society the process, such relinquishment of the genuine, 
 Polite? such gradual adoption of the false and mere 
 tricious ! 
 
 Such was a house in which I used to meet all 
 the muses of the earlier time, in which economy 
 was elegant ; frugality, tasteful and thrifty. My 
 heart recalls the golden hours passed there, the 
 genial, home atmosphere, the unaffected music, the 
 easy, brilliant conversation. Time passes. A or 
 B is the head of a great mercantile house now. I 
 meet him after a lapse of years. He is always 
 genial, and pities all who are not so rich as he is. 
 But when I go to his great feast, I pity him. All 
 the tiresome and antiquated furniture of fashion 
 able society fills his rooms. Those empty bores 
 whom I remember in my youth, and many new 
 ones of their kind, float their rich clothing through 
 his rooms. The old good-hearted greeting is re 
 placed by the distant company bow. The mod 
 erate banquet, whose special dishes used to have 
 the care of the young hostess, is replaced by a 
 grand confectioner s avalanche, cold, costly, and 
 comfortless. And I sigh, and go home feeling, as 
 Browning says, "chilly and grown old." 
 
 This is not one case, but many. And since I 
 have observed this page of human experience, I 
 say to all whom I love and- who are in danger of 
 28 
 
becoming very wealthy : Do not, oh ! do not be Is Polite 
 too fashionable. " Love not the world/* Society 
 
 Most of us know the things men really say to Polite? 
 us beneath the disguise of the things they seem to 
 say. And So-and-So, taking my hand, expresses 
 to me : " How much more cordial should I be to 
 you if your father s real estate had not been sold 
 off before the rise." And such another would, if 
 he could, say : " I am really surprised to see you 
 at this house, and in such good clothes. Pray 
 have you any income that I don t happen to know 
 about ? " The tax-gatherer is not half so vigilant 
 about people s worldly goods as these friends are. 
 No matter how they bow and smile, their real im 
 politeness everywhere penetrates its thin disguise. 
 
 What is this impoliteness ? To what is it 
 shown? To God s image, the true manhood 
 and true womanhood, which you may strip or 
 decorate, but which you cannot destroy. Human 
 values cannot be raised or lowered at will. " Thou 
 canst not, by taking thought, add one cubit to thy 
 stature." I derive impoliteness from two sources, 
 indifference to the divine, and contempt for the 
 human. 
 
 The king of Wall Street, some little time since, 
 was a man who had risen from a humble beginning 
 to the eminence of a successful stock-gambler. He 
 had been fortunate and perhaps skilful in his play, 
 
 29 
 
Is Polite and was supposed to be possessed of immense 
 Society wealth. Immediately, every door was opened to 
 Polite? him. No assemblage was perfect without him. 
 Every designing mother wanted him for her son- 
 in-law. One unlucky throw overturned all this. 
 Down went his fortune ; down, his eminence. No 
 more bowing and cringing and smiling now. 
 No more plotting against his celibacy he was 
 welcome to it. No more burthensome hospitality. 
 He was dropped as coldly and selfishly as he was 
 taken up, elbowed aside, left out in the cold. 
 When I heard of all this, I said: "Is it ever 
 necessary in these times to preach about the mean 
 ness of the great world ? " 
 
 Let us, in our new world, lay aside altogether 
 the theory of human superiority as conferred by 
 special birth or fortune. Let us recognize in all 
 people human right, capacity, and dignity. 
 
 Having adopted this equal human platform, and 
 with it the persuasion that the society of good 
 people is always good society, let us organize our 
 circles by real tastes and sympathies. Those who 
 love art can follow it together; those who love 
 business, and science, and theology, and belles- 
 lettres, can group themselves harmoniously around 
 the object which especially attracts them. 
 
 But people shall, in this new order, seek to fill 
 their own place as they find it. No crowding up 
 or down, or in or out. A quiet reference to the 
 30 
 
standard of education and to the teachings of Na- Is Polite 
 ture will show each one where he belongs. Reli- Society 
 gion shall show the supreme source of power and of Polite? 
 wisdom near to all who look for it. And this final 
 unity of the religious sense shall knit together the 
 happy human variety into one great complex inter 
 est, one steadfast faith, one harmonious effort. 
 
 The present essay, I must say, was written in 
 great part for this very society which, assuming to 
 take the lead in social attainment, often falls lament 
 ably short of its promise. But let us enlarge the 
 ground of our remarks by a more general view of 
 American society. 
 
 I have travelled in this country North and 
 South, East and West. I have seen many varie 
 ties of our national life. I think that I have seen 
 everywhere the capacity for social enjoyment. In 
 many places, I have found the notion of co-opera 
 tion for good ends, which is a most important ele 
 ment in any society. What I have seen makes me 
 think that we Americans start from a vantage- 
 ground compared with other nations. As mere 
 social units, we are ranked higher than Britons or 
 continental Europeans. 
 
 This higher estimation begins early in life. 
 Every child in this country is considered worth 
 educating. The State will rescue the child of the 
 pauper or criminal from the ignorance which has 
 been a factor in the condition of its parents. Even 
 
 3 1 
 
Is Polite the idiot has a school provided for him, in which 
 
 Society he may receive such training as he can profit by. 
 
 Polite? This general education starts us on a pretty high 
 
 level. We have, no doubt, all the faults of our 
 
 human nature, but we know, too, how and why 
 
 these should be avoided. 
 
 Then the great freedom of outlook which our 
 institutions give us is in our favor. We need call 
 no man Master. We can pursue the highest aims, 
 aspire to the noblest distinctions. We have no 
 excuse for contenting ourselves with the paltry 
 objects and illusory ambitions which play so large 
 a part in Old- World society. 
 
 The world grows better and not worse, but it 
 does not grow better everywhere all the time. 
 Wherever human effort to a given end is inter 
 mitted, society does not attain that end, and is in 
 danger of gradually losing it from view, and thus 
 of suffering an unconscious deterioration which it 
 may become difficult to retrieve. I do not think 
 that the manners of so-called polite society to-day 
 are quite so polite as they were in my youth. 
 Young women of fashion seem to me to have lost 
 in dignity of character and in general tone and cul 
 ture. Young men of fashion seem to regard the 
 young ladies with less esteem and deference, and a 
 general cheap and easy standard of manners is the 
 result. 
 
 On the other hand, outside this charmed circle 
 
of fashion, I find the tone of taste and culture Is Polite 
 much higher than I remember it to have been in Society 
 my youth. I find women leading nobler and better Polite? 
 lives, filling larger and higher places, enjoying the 
 upper air of thought where they used to rest upon 
 the very soil of domestic care and detail. So the 
 community gains, although one class loses, and 
 that, remember, the class which assumes to give to 
 the rest the standard of taste. 
 
 Instead of dwelling too much upon the faults of 
 our neighbors, let us ask whether we are not, one 
 and all of us, under sacred obligations to carry our 
 race onward toward a nobler social ideal. In Old- 
 World countries, people lack room for new ideas. 
 The individual who would introduce and establish 
 these may be imprisoned, or sent to Siberia, or may 
 suffer, at the least, a social ostracism which is a sort 
 of martyrdom. 
 
 Here we have room enough; we cannot excuse 
 ourselves on that ground. And we have strength 
 enough we, the people. Let us only have the 
 royal w\\\ which good Mr. Whittier has celebrated 
 in " Barbara Frietchie," and we shall be able, by a 
 resolute and persevering effort, to place our civili 
 zation where no lingering trace of barbarism shall 
 deform and disgrace it. 
 
 33 
 
Paris 
 
Paris. 
 
 AN old woman s tale will always begin with a Paris 
 reminiscence of some period more or less 
 remote. 
 
 In accordance with this law of nature, I find that 
 I cannot begin to speak of Paris without going 
 back to the projection which the fashions and man 
 ners of that ancient capital were able to cast upon 
 my own native city of New York. My recollec 
 tions of the latter reach back, let me say, to the 
 year 1826. I was then seven years old; and, 
 beginning to take notice of things around me, I 
 saw the social eminences of the day lit up with the 
 far-off splendors of Parisian taste. 
 
 To speak French with ease was, in those days, 
 considered the most desirable of accomplishments. 
 The elegance of French manners was commended 
 in all polite circles. The services of General 
 Lafayette were held up to children as deserving 
 their lifelong remembrance and gratitude. 
 
 But the culmination of the Gallomania was seen 
 in the millinery of the period ; and I must confess 
 that my earliest views of this were enjoyed within 
 the precincts of a certain Episcopal sanctuary 
 which then stood first upon the dress-list, and, like 
 Jove among the gods, without a second. This 
 
 37 
 
Paris establishment retained its pre-eminence of toilet 
 for more than thirty years after the time of which 
 I speak, and perhaps does so still. I have now 
 lived so long in Boston that I should be obliged 
 to consult New York authorities if I wished to be 
 able to say decidedly whether the well-known Grace 
 Church of that city still deserves to be called " The 
 Church of the Holy Milliner." A little child s 
 fancy naturally ran riot in a field of bonnets so 
 splendid and showy, and, however admonished to 
 listen to the minister, I am afraid that a raid upon 
 the flowers and plumes so lavishly displayed before 
 me would have offered more attractions to my ten 
 der mind than any itinerary of the celestial jour 
 ney of which I should have been likely to hear in 
 that place. 
 
 The French dancing-master of that period 
 taught us gambols and flourishes long since ban 
 ished from the domain of social decorum. Being 
 light and alert, I followed his prescriptions with 
 joy, and learned with patience the lessons set me 
 by the French mistress, who, while leading us 
 through Florian s tales and La Fontaine s fables, 
 did not forget to impress upon us her conviction 
 that to be French was to be virtuous, but to be 
 Parisian was to be perfect. 
 
 Let me now pass on to the years of my young- 
 ladyhood, when New York reflected Paris on a 
 larger scale. The distinguished people of the soci- 
 
ety to which my youth was related either had been Paris 
 to Paris or expected to go there very shortly. Our 
 circles were sometimes electrified by the appearance 
 of a well-dressed and perfumed stranger, wearing 
 the moustache which was then strictly contraband 
 in the New York business world, and talking of 
 manners and customs widely different from our 
 own. 
 
 These elegant gentlemen were sometimes adven 
 turers in pursuit of a rich wife, sometimes intelli 
 gent and well-informed travellers, and sometimes 
 the agents of some foreign banking-house, for the 
 drummer was not yet invented. If they were fur 
 nished with satisfactory credentials, the fathers of 
 Gotham introduced them into their domestic circle, 
 usually warning their daughters never to think of 
 them as husbands, a warning which, naturally, 
 would sometimes defeat its own object. 
 
 I must here be allowed to say one word concern 
 ing the French novel, which, since that time, has 
 here and there affected the tone of our society. In 
 the days of which I speak, brothers who returned 
 from Europe brought with them the romances of 
 Balzac and Victor Hugo, which their sisters sur 
 reptitiously read. We heard also with a sort of 
 terror of George Sand, the evil woman, who wrote 
 such somnambulic books. We pictured to our 
 selves the wicked delight of reading them ; and 
 presently some friend confidentially lent us the for- 
 
 39 
 
Paris bidden volumes, which our Puritan nurture and 
 habit of life did much to render harmless and not 
 quite clear in meaning. 
 
 I should say that the works of Balzac, George 
 Sand, Victor Hugo, and Eugene Sue had each ex 
 erted an appreciable influence upon the social at 
 mosphere of this country. Of these four, Balzac 
 was the least popular, having long been known only 
 to readers acquainted with the French language. 
 George Sand first became widely recognized through 
 her " Consuelo." Victor Hugo s popular fame 
 dates from " Les Miserables," and " The Mysteries 
 of Paris " opened the doors to Eugene Sue, and 
 Rigolette and Fleur de Marie, new types of character 
 to most of us, appeared upon the stage. 
 
 Still nearer was Paris brought to us by Carlyle s 
 work on the French Revolution, which, falling like 
 a compact and burning coal upon the American 
 imagination, reddened the sober twilight of our fire 
 sides with the burning passion and frenzy of that 
 great drama of enthusiasm and revenge. And here, 
 lest I should entirely reverse the order in which 
 historic things should be spoken of, let me dismiss 
 those early memories, and, having shown you some 
 thing of the far-reaching influence of the city, let 
 me speak of it from nearer sight and study. 
 
 History must come first. I find it written in a 
 certain record that Paris, in the time of Julius 
 Caesar, was a collection of huts built upon an island 
 
 40 
 
in the Seine, and bearing the name of Lutetia. Its Paris 
 inhabitants were called Parisii, which was the name 
 of their tribe^supposed to be an offshoot from the 
 Belgae. I do not know whether this primitive set 
 tlement lay within the bounds of Gallia Eracchiata ; 
 but, if it did, how natural that to the other indebt 
 edness of polite life, that of the trouser should be 
 added ! The city still possesses some interesting 
 remains of the Roman period. The Hotel Cluny 
 is also called "The Hotel of the Baths," and who 
 ever visits it may at the same time explore a mas 
 sive ruin which is said to have covered beneath its 
 roof the baths of the Emperor Julian, surnamed 
 " The Apostate." 
 
 A rapid panoramic retrospect will give us briefly 
 the leading points of the city s many periods of 
 interest. First must be named Paris of the early 
 saints : Saint Genevieve, who saved it from the 
 hands of Attila ; Saint Denis, famous for having 
 walked several miles after his head was cut off, 
 carrying that deposed member under his arm. 
 
 A well-known French proverb was suggested 
 some time in the last century by the relation of 
 this mediaeval miracle. The celebrated Madame 
 Dudeffant, a wit and beauty of Horace Walpole s 
 time, was told one day that the Archbishop of Paris 
 had said that every one knew that Saint Denis had 
 walked some distance after his decapitation, but 
 that few people were aware that he had walked sev- 
 
Paris eral miles on that occasion. Madame DudefFant 
 said, in reply : " Indeed, in such a case, it is the first 
 step only that costs," " Ce nest que le premier pas 
 qui coute" 
 
 Paris of the sleepy Merovingians, do-nothing 
 kings, a race made to be kicked out, and fulfilling 
 its destiny, Paris of Hugh Capet, in whose reign 
 were laid the foundations of the Cathedral of Notre 
 Dame. Paris of 1176, whereof the old chronicler, 
 John of Salisbury, writes : " When I saw the abun 
 dance of provisions, the gaiety of the people, the 
 good condition of the clergy, the majesty and glory 
 of all the church, the diverse occupations of men 
 admitted to the study of philosophy, I seemed to 
 see that Jacob s ladder whose summit reached 
 heaven, and on which the angels ascended and de 
 scended. I must confess that truly the Lord was in 
 this place. This passage also of a poet came to my 
 mind : Happy is the man whose exile is to this 
 place/" 
 
 This suggests the familiar saying of our own 
 time, that good Bostonians, when they die, go 
 to Paris. 
 
 Paris of Louis XL, he of the strong hand, the 
 stony heart, the superstitious mind. Scott has 
 seized the features of the time and of the man in 
 his novel of " Quentin Durward." His hat, full 
 of leaden images of saints, his cunning and piti- 
 
 42 
 
less diplomacy, and the personages of his brilliant Paris 
 court are brought vividly before us by the magi 
 cian of the North. 
 
 Paris of Louis XIII., and its Richelieu live for 
 us in Bulwer s vivid play, in which I have often 
 seen the fine impersonation of Edwin Booth. 
 
 Paris of Louis XIV., the handsome young king, 
 the idol, the absolute sovereign, who said : "L etat, 
 c est moi;" the old man before whom Madame de 
 Maintenon is advised to say her prayers, in order 
 to make upon his mind a serious impression ; the 
 revoker of the edict of Nantes ; he who tried to 
 extinguish Dutch freedom with French blood ; a 
 god in his own time, a figure now faded, pompous, 
 self-adoring. 
 
 Paris of Louis XV., the reign of license, the 
 Pare aux cerfs, the period of the courtesan, Madame 
 de Pompadour, and a host of rivals and succes 
 sors, a hateful type of womanhood, justly odious 
 and gladly forgotten. 
 
 Paris of Louis XVI., the days of progress and 
 of good intentions ; the deficit, the ministry of 
 Neckar, the states general, Mirabeau, Lafayette, 
 Robespierre, the fall of the monarch, the reign of 
 terror ; the guillotine in permanence, science, virtue, 
 every distinction supplying its victims. 
 
 Paris of Napoleon I. ; a whiff of grape-shot that 
 silences the last grumblings of the Revolution ; the 
 
 43 
 
Paris mighty marches, the strategy of Ulysses, the labors 
 of Hercules, the glory of Jupiter, ending in the fate 
 of Prometheus. 
 
 Paris of the returned Bourbons, Charles X., the 
 Due de Berri, the Duchess d Angouleme ; Paris of 
 the Orleans dynasty, civil, civic, free, witty ; wise 
 here, and wicked there ; the Mecca of students in 
 all sciences ; a region problematic to parents, who 
 fear its vices and expense, but who desire its oppor 
 tunities and elegance for their sons. This was in 
 the days in which a visit to Paris was the ne plus 
 ultra of what parents could do to forward a son s 
 studies, or perfect a daughter s accomplishments. 
 
 Having made my connections in this breathless 
 review, I must return to speak of two modern 
 works of art which treat of matters upon which 
 my haste did not allow me, in the first instance, to 
 dwell. 
 
 The first of these is Victor Hugo s picture of 
 mediaeval Paris, given in his famous romance 
 entitled " Notre Dame de Paris." This remarkable 
 novel preserves valuable details of the architecture 
 of the ancient cathedral from which it takes its 
 name. It paints the society of the time in gloomy 
 colors. The clergy are corrupt, the soldiery licen 
 tious, the people forlorn and friendless. Here is 
 a brief outline of the story. The beautiful gipsy, 
 Esmeralda, dances and twirls her tambourine in the 
 public streets. Her companion is a little goat,, 
 
 44 
 
which she has taught to spell her lover s name, by Paris 
 putting together the letters which compose it. This 
 lover is Phoebus , captain of the guard. Claude Frollo y 
 the cunning, wicked priest of the period, has cast 
 his evil eye upon the girl. He manages to surprise 
 her when alone with her lover, and stabs the latter 
 so as to endanger his life. A hideous dwarf, named 
 Quasimodo^ also loves Esmeralda, with humble, faith 
 ful affection. As the story develops, he turns out 
 to have been the changeling laid in the place of the 
 lovely girl-infant whom gipsies stole from her cra 
 dle. Esmeralda finds her distracted parent, but only 
 to be torn from her arms again. The priest, Claude 
 Frollo, foiled in his unlawful passion, stirs up the 
 wrath of the populace against Esmeralda, accusing 
 her of sorcery. She is seized by the mob, and 
 hanged in the public street. The narrative is pow 
 erful and graphic, but it shows the disease of Victor 
 Hugo s mind, a morbid imagination which 
 heightens the color of human crimes in order to 
 give a melodramatic brilliancy to the virtue which 
 contrasts with them. According to his view, suf 
 fering through the fault of others is necessarily the 
 lot of all good people. French romance has in it 
 much of this despair of the cause of virtue. It 
 springs, however remotely, from the dark days of 
 absolutism, whose bitter secrets were masked over 
 by the frolic fancy of the people who invented the 
 joyous science of minstrelsy. 
 
 45 
 
Paris The other work which I have now in mind is 
 Meyerbeer s opera of" The Huguenots," which I 
 mention here because it brings so vividly to mind 
 the features of another period in the history of 
 Paris. It represents, as an opera may, the fright 
 ful days in which a king s hospitality was made a 
 trap for the wholesale butchery of as many Protes 
 tants as could be lured within the walls of Paris, 
 the massacre which bears the name of Saint Bar 
 tholomew. Nobles and leaders were shot down in 
 the streets, or murdered in their beds, while the 
 hollow phrases of the royal favor still rang in their 
 ears. I have seen, near the church of St. Ger 
 main T Auxerois, the palace window from which the 
 kerchief of Catherine de Medici gave the signal for 
 the fatal onslaught. " Do you not believe my 
 word ? " asked the Queen Mother one day of the 
 English ambassador. " No, by Saint Bartholomew, 
 Madam," was the sturdy reply. 
 
 Meyerbeer s opera is truly a Protestant work of 
 art, vigorous and noble. Through all the intensity 
 of its dramatic situations runs the grand choral of 
 Luther : 
 
 A mighty fortress is our God. 
 
 So true faith holds its own, and sails its silver boat 
 upon the bloody sea of martyrdom. 
 
 Am I obliged to have recourse to a novel and an 
 
 46 
 
opera in order to bring before your eyes a vision of Paris 
 Paris in those distant ages ? Such are our indebt 
 ednesses to art and literature. And here I must 
 again mention, as a great master in both of these, 
 Thomas Carlyle, who has given us so vivid and 
 graphic a picture of the Revolution in France, 
 which followed so nearly upon our own War of 
 Independence. 
 
 I, a grandmother of to-day, recall the impression 
 which this great conflict had made upon the grand 
 parents of my childhood. Most wicked and cruel 
 did they esteem it, in all of its aspects. To people 
 of our day, it appears the inevitable crisis of a most 
 malignant state of national disease. Much of 
 political quackery was swept away forever, one 
 may hope, by its virulent outbreak. No half-way 
 nostrums, no outside tinkering, answered for this 
 fiery patient, whose fever set the whole continent 
 of Europe in a blaze. War itself was gentle in 
 comparison with the acts of its savage delirium, 
 in which the vengeance of defrauded ages fell upon 
 victims most of whom were innocent of personal 
 offence. The reign of humanitarian theory led 
 strangely to a period of military predominance 
 which has had no parallel since the days of Alex 
 ander of Macedon. Then War itself died of ex 
 haustion. The stupor of reaction quenched the 
 dream of civil and religious liberty. But the pa- 
 
 47 
 
Paris tient stirred again in 1830 and 1848, and the 
 dream, scarcely yet realized, became more and more 
 the settled purpose of his heart. 
 
 Now the government in 1830 was manifestly in 
 the wrong. The stupid old Bourbon Prince, 
 Charles X., had learned nothing, and forgotten 
 nothing, but the French people had learned and 
 unlearned many things. They had learned the 
 illusion of Monarchy, the corruption of the dem 
 agogue, the futility of the sentimentalist. The 
 impotence of the aristocracy was one of the lessons 
 of the day. Was ever a people more rapidly ed 
 ucated ? Take the canaille of the pre-revolutionary 
 history, and the peuple of the Revolution. What 
 a contrast ! It is the lion asleep in the toils, and 
 the lion awake, and turning upon his captors in 
 fury. The French people have never gone back 
 to what they were before that great outbreak. The 
 mighty, volcanic heart has made its pulsations felt 
 through all assumptions, through all restraints. 
 Yet the French people are easily tricked. They 
 are easily led to receive pedantry for education, big 
 otry for religion, constraint for order, and success 
 ful pretension for glory. 
 
 The Revolution of 1848 was justified in all but 
 its method. And method has often been the weak 
 point in French politics. Methods are handed 
 down more surely than ideas are inherited. The 
 violent measures whose record forms so large a 
 
part of French history have left behind them a Paris 
 belief in military, rather than in moral, action. 
 The coup d etat would seem by its name to be a 
 French invention ; but it is a method abhorred of 
 Justice. Justice recognizes two sides, and gives 
 ear to both. Passion sees but one, and blots out 
 in blood the representatives of the other. The 
 Revolution of 1848 was the rather premature 
 explosion of a wide and subtle conspiracy. But 
 if the conflicting opinions and interests then cur 
 rent could have encountered each other, as in Eng 
 land or America, in open daylight, trusting only in 
 the weapons of reason, a very different result 
 would have been achieved. Do not conspire, is 
 one of the lessons which Paris teaches by her his 
 tory. Do not say, nor teach others to say : " If 
 we cannot have our way, we will have your life." 
 Say, rather : " Let both sides state their case, and 
 plead their cause, and let the weight of Reason 
 decide which shall prevail." 
 
 Paris as I first knew it, half a century ago, was 
 a place imposing for its good taste and good man 
 ners. A stranger passing through it with ever so 
 little delay would necessarily have been impressed 
 with the general intelligence, and with the aesthetic 
 invention and nicety which, more than anything 
 else, have given the city its social and commercial 
 prestige. 
 
 49 
 
Paris In those days, Chateaubriand and Madame Re- 
 camier were still alive. The traditions of society 
 were polite. The theatres were vivacious schools 
 of morality. The salon was still an institution. 
 This was not what we should call a party, but the 
 habitual meeting of friends in a friend s house, 
 a good institution, if kept up in a good spirit. 
 
 The natural sociability of the French made the 
 salon an easy and natural thing for them. Salons 
 were of all sorts. Some shone in true glory ; some 
 disguised evil purposes and passions with artificial 
 graces. I think the institution of the salon indig 
 enous to Paris, although it has by no means 
 stopped there. 
 
 The great point in administering a salon is to 
 do it sincerely. Where the children are put out of 
 the way, the old friends neglected, the rich courted, 
 and celebrities impaled and exhibited, the institu 
 tion is demoralizing, and answers no end of per 
 manent good. A friendly house, that opens its 
 doors as often and as widely as the time and for 
 tune of its inmates can afford, is a boon and bless 
 ing to many people. 
 
 I suppose that the French salons were of both 
 sorts. Sydney Smith speaks of a certain historical 
 set of Parisian women who dealt very lightly with 
 the Decalogue, but who, on the other hand, gave 
 very pleasant little suppers. French society, no 
 doubt, afforded many occasions of this sort, but 
 
 50 
 
far different were the meetings in which the literary Paris 
 world of Paris listened to the unpublished me 
 moirs of Chateaubriand ; far different was the 
 throng that gathered, twice a day, around the 
 hearth of the wise and devout Madame Swetchine. 
 In the days just mentioned, I passed through 
 Paris, returning from my bridal journey, which had 
 carried me to Rome. I was eager to explore every 
 corner of the enchanted region. What I did see, I 
 have never forgotten, the brilliant shops, the 
 tempting cafes, the varied and entertaining theatres. 
 I attended a seance of the Chamber of Deputies, a 
 lecture of Edgar de Quinet, and one of Philarete 
 Charles. De Quinet s lecture was given at the 
 Sorbonne. I remember of it only the enthusiasm 
 of the audience, the faces at once fiery and 
 thoughtful, the occasional cries of " De Quinet," 
 when any passage particularly stirred the feelings 
 of the auditors. Of Philarete Charles, I remember 
 that his theme was " English Literature, * and that 
 at the close of his lecture he took occasion to rep 
 robate the whole literary world of America. The 
 bon homme Franklin, he said, had outwitted the 
 French Court. The country of Franklin was ut 
 terly without interest from an intellectual point of 
 view. "When," said he, "we take into account 
 the late lamentable disorders in New York (some 
 small election riot, in 1844), we shall agree upon 
 the low state of American civilization and the small 
 
 5 1 
 
Paris prospect of good held out by the republic." He 
 was unaware, of course, that Americans were among 
 his hearers ; but a certain tidal wave of anger arose 
 in my heart, and had not my graver companion 
 held me down, I should have arisen then, as I cer 
 tainly should now, to say : " Monsieur Philarete 
 Charles, you are uttering falsehoods. * 
 
 In those days, I first saw Rachel, then in the full 
 affluence of her genius. The trenchant manner, 
 the statuesque drapery, the chain-lightning effects, 
 were much as they were afterwards seen in this 
 country. But when I saw her, seven years after 
 that first time, in London, I thought that her un 
 rivalled powers had bloomed to a still fuller per 
 fection than before. Of finest clay, thrilled by 
 womanly passion and tempered by womanly tact, 
 we need not remember the faults of the person in 
 the perfection of the artist. Alfred de Musset has 
 left a charming account of a supper at her house. 
 I certainly have never seen on the boards a tragic 
 conception equal to hers. Ristori, able as she was, 
 seemed to me to fall short in Rachel s great parts, 
 if we except the last scene of " Marie Stuart," in 
 which the Christian woman, following the crucifix 
 to her death, showed a sense of its value which the 
 Jewish woman could neither feel nor counterfeit. 
 
 The gallery of the Louvre recalls the finest pal 
 aces of Italy, and equals, in value and interest, any 
 gallery in the world. Venice is far richer in Titian s 
 
pictures, and Rome and Florence keep the greatest Paris 
 works of Raphael and Michael Angelo. To under 
 stand Quintin Matsys and Rubens, you must go 
 to Antwerp, where their finest productions remain. 
 But the Louvre has an unsurpassed variety and in 
 terest, and exhibits not a few of the chief treasures 
 of ancient and modern art. Among these are some 
 of the masterpieces of Titian, Raphael, and Leo 
 nardo da Vinci, the Conception of Murillo, Paul 
 Veronese s great picture of the marriage at Cana 
 in Galilee, and the ever- famous Venus of Milo. 
 
 In one of the principal galleries of Venice, I was 
 once shown a large picture by the French artist 
 David. I do not remember much about its merits, 
 but, on asking how it came there, I was told that 
 its place had formerly been occupied by a famous 
 picture by Paul Veronese. Napoleon I., it will be 
 remembered, robbed the galleries of Italy of many 
 of their finest pictures. After his downfall, most 
 of these stolen treasures were restored to their 
 rightful owners ; but the French never gave up the 
 Paul Veronese picture, which was this very one that 
 now hangs in the Louvre, where its vivid coloring 
 and rich grouping look like a piece of Venice, bright 
 and glorious like herself. 
 
 The student of art, returning from Italy, is pos 
 sessed with the mediaeval gloom and glory which 
 there have filled his eyes and his imagination. 
 With a sigh, looking toward our Western world, so 
 
 53 
 
Paris rich in action, so poor as yet in art, he pauses here in 
 surprise, to view a cosmopolitan palace of her splen 
 dors. It consoles him to think that the Beautiful 
 has made so brave a stand upon the nearer borders 
 of the Seine. Encouraged by the noble record of 
 French achievement, he carries with him across the 
 ocean the traditions of Jerome, of Rosa Bonheur, 
 of Horace Vernet. 
 
 In historical monuments, Paris is rich indeed. 
 The oldest of these that I remember was the Tem 
 ple, the ancient stronghold of the Knights Tem 
 plar, who were cruelly extirpated in the year 1307. 
 It was a large, circular building, occupied, when I 
 visited it, as a place for the sale of second-hand 
 commodities. I remember making purchases of 
 lace within its walls which were nearly black with 
 age. You will remember that Louis XVI. and his 
 family were confined here for some time, and that 
 here took place the sad parting between the King 
 and the dear ones he was never to see again. I 
 will subjoin a brief extract from the diary of my 
 grandfather, Col. Samuel Ward, of the Revolution 
 ary War, who was in Paris at the time of the King s 
 execution : 
 
 January if, If $2. The Convention up all night upon the 
 question of the King s sentence. At eleven this night the sen 
 tence of death was pronounced, three hundred and sixty-six for 
 death ; three hundred and nineteen for seclusion or banishment ; 
 
 54 
 
thirty-six various; majority of five absolute. The King de- Paris 
 sired an appeal to be made to the people, which was not allowed. 
 Thus the Convention have been the accusers, the judges, and 
 will be the executors of their own sentence. This will cause a 
 great degree of astonishment in America, where the departments 
 are so well divided that the judges have power to break all acts 
 of the Legislature interfering with the exercise of their office. 
 
 January 20. The fate of the King disturbs everybody. 
 
 January 21. I had engaged to pass this day, which is one of 
 horror, at Versailles, with Mr. Morris. The King was beheaded 
 at eleven o clock. Guards at an early hour took possession of 
 the Place Louis XV., and were posted at each avenue. The 
 most profound stillness prevailed. Those who had feeling la 
 mented in secret in their houses, or had left town. Others 
 showed the same levity and barbarous indifference as on former 
 occasions. Hitchborn, Henderson, and Johnson went to see the 
 execution, for which, as an American, I was sorry. The King 
 desired to speak: he had only time to say he was innocent, and 
 forgave his enemies. He behaved with the fortitude of a martyr. 
 Santerre ordered the executicner to dispatch. 
 
 Louis Napoleon ordered the destruction of this 
 venerable monument of antiquity, and did much 
 else to efface the landmarks of the ancient Paris, 
 and to give his elegant capital the air of a city 
 entirely modern. 
 
 The history of the Bastile has been published 
 in many volumes, some of which I have read. It 
 was the convenient dark closet of the French nur 
 sery. Whoever gave trouble to the Government 
 or to any of its creatures was liable to be set away 
 here without trial or resource. One prisoner con 
 fined in it escaped by patiently unravelling his 
 
 55 
 
Paris shirts and drawers of silk, and twisting them into 
 a thick cord, by means of which he reached the 
 moat, and so passed beyond bounds. 
 
 An historical personage, whose name is unknown, 
 passed many years in this sad place, wearing an iron 
 mask, which no official ever saw removed. He is 
 supposed by some to have been a twin brother of 
 the King, Louis XIV. ; so we see that, although it 
 might seem a piece of good fortune to be born so 
 near the crown, it might also prove to be the great 
 est of misfortunes. Think what must have been 
 the life of that captive how blank, weary, and 
 indignant ! 
 
 When the Bastile was destroyed, a prisoner was 
 found who had suffered so severely from the cold 
 and damp of its dungeons that his lips had split 
 completely open, leaving his teeth exposed. Car- 
 lyle describes the commandant of the fortress car 
 ried along in the hands of an infuriated mob, crying 
 out with piteous supplication : " O friends, kill me 
 quick ! " The fury was indeed natural, but better 
 resource against tyranny had been the calm, strong 
 will and deliberate judgment. It is little to kill 
 the tyrant and destroy his tools. We must study 
 to find out what qualities in the ruler and the ruled 
 make tyranny possible, and then defeat it, once and 
 forever. 
 
 The hospital of the Invalides was built by Louis 
 XIV., as a refuge for disabled soldiers. This large 
 
 56 
 
edifice forms a hollow square, and is famous for its Paris 
 dome, one of the four real domes of the world, 
 the others being the dome of St. Sophia, in Con 
 stantinople ; that of St. Peter s, in Rome ; and the 
 grand dome of our own Capitol, in Washington. 
 
 I have paid several visits to this interesting 
 establishment, with long intervals between. When 
 I first saw it, fifty years ago, there were many of 
 Napoleon s old soldiers within its walls. On one 
 occasion, one of these old men showed us with 
 some pride the toy fortifications which he had 
 built, guarded by toy soldiers. cc There is the 
 bridge of Lodi," he said, and pointing to a little 
 wooden figure, " there stands the Emperor. * At 
 this time, the remains of the first Napoleon slum 
 bered in St. Helena. 
 
 I saw the monument complete in 1867. It had 
 then been open long to the public. The marble 
 floor and steps around the tomb of the first Napo 
 leon were literally carpeted with wreaths and gar 
 lands. The brothers of the great man lay around 
 him, in sarcophagi of costliest marble, their names 
 recorded not as Bonapartes, but as Napoleons. A 
 dreary echo may have penetrated even to these dead 
 ears in 1870, when the column of the Place Ven- 
 dome fell, with the well-known statue for which it 
 was only a pedestal, and when the third Napoleon 
 took his flight, repudiated and detested. 
 
 But to return. In 1851 I again saw Paris. The 
 
 57 
 
Paris coup it at had not then fallen. Louis Napoleon 
 was still President, and already unpopular. ^ Mur 
 murs were heard of his inevitable defeat in the 
 election which was already in men s minds. Louis 
 Philippe was an exile in Scotland. While I was 
 yet in Paris, the ex-King died ; but the announce 
 ment produced little or no sensation in his ancient 
 capital. 
 
 A process was then going on of substituting 
 asphaltum pavements for the broad, flat paving- 
 stones which had proved so available in former 
 barricades. The President, perhaps, had coming 
 exigencies in view. The people looked on in rather 
 sullen astonishment. Not long after this, I found 
 myself at Versailles on a day set apart for a visit 
 from the President and his suite. The great foun 
 tains were advertised to play in honor of the occa 
 sion. From hall to hall of the immense palace we 
 followed, at a self-respecting distance, the sober 
 cortege of the President. A middle-sized, middle- 
 aged man, he appeared to us. 
 
 The tail of this comet was not then visible, and 
 the star itself exhibited but moderate dimensions. 
 The corrupting influence of absolutism had not 
 yet penetrated the tissues of popular life. The 
 theatres were still loyal to decency and good taste. 
 Manners and dress were modest ; intemperance was 
 rarely seen. 
 
 A different Paris I saw in 1867. The dragon s 
 
teeth had been sown and were ripening. The things Paris 
 which were Cassar s had made little account of the 
 things which were God s. A blight had fallen upon 
 men and women. The generation seemed to have 
 at once less self-respect and less politeness than 
 those which I had formerly known. The city had 
 been greatly modernized, perhaps embellished, but 
 much of its historic interest had disappeared. The 
 theatres were licentious. Friends said : " Go, but 
 do not take your daughters." The drivers of 
 public carriages were often intoxicated. 
 
 The great Exposition of that year had drawn 
 together an immense crowd from all parts of the 
 world. Among its marvels, my recollection dwells 
 most upon the gallery of French paintings, in which 
 I stood more than once before a full-length por 
 trait of the then Emperor. I looked into the face 
 which seemed to say : " I have succeeded. What 
 has any one to say about it ? " And I pondered 
 the slow movements of that heavenly Justice whose 
 infallible decrees are not to be evaded. In this 
 same gallery was that sitting statue of the dying 
 Napoleon which has since become so familiar to 
 the world of art. Crowns of immortelles always 
 lay at the feet of this statue. And I, in my mind, 
 compared the statue and the picture, the great 
 failure and the great success. But in Bismarck s 
 mind, even then, the despoiling of France was pre- 
 *determined. 
 
 59 
 
Paris What lessons shall we learn from this imperfect 
 sketch of Paris ? What other city has figured so 
 largely in literature ? None that I know of, not 
 even Rome and Athens. The young French writers 
 of our time make a sketch of some corner of Paris 
 ian life, and it becomes a novel. 
 
 French history in modern times is largely the 
 history of Paris. The modern saying has been 
 that Paris was France. But we shall say : It is 
 not. Had Paris given a truer representation to 
 France, she might have avoided many long agonies 
 and acute crises. 
 
 It is because Paris has forced her representation 
 upon France that Absolutism and Intelligence, the 
 two deadly foes, have fought out their fiercest bat 
 tles on the genial soil which seems never to have 
 been allowed to bear its noblest fruits. The ten 
 dency to centralization, with which the French have 
 been so justly reproached, may or may not be in 
 veterate in them as a people. If it is so, the ten 
 dency of modern times, which is mostly in the 
 contrary direction, would lessen the social and polit 
 ical importance of France as surely, if not as swiftly, 
 as Bismarck s mulcting and mutilation. 
 
 The organizations which result from centraliza 
 tion are naturally despotic and, in so far, demoral 
 izing. Individuals, having no recognized repre 
 sentation, and being debarred the natural resource 
 of legitimate association, show their devotion to 
 
 60 
 
progress and their zeal for improvement either in Paris 
 passionate and melancholy appeals or in secret ma- 
 noeuvrings. The tendency of these methods is to 
 chronic fear on the one hand and disaffection on 
 the other, and to deep conspiracies and sudden 
 seditions which astonish the world, but which have 
 in them nothing astonishing for the student of 
 human nature. 
 
 So those who love France should implore her to 
 lay aside her quick susceptibilities and irritable 
 enthusiasms, and to study out the secret of her 
 own shortcomings. How is it that one of the most 
 intelligent nations of the world was, twenty years 
 ago, one of the least instructed ? How is it that a 
 warm-blooded, affectionate race generates such atro 
 cious social heartlessness ? How was it that the 
 nation which was the apostle of freedom in 1848 
 kept Rome for twenty years in bondage ? How 
 is it that the Jesuit, after long exile, has been re- 
 enstalled in its midst with prestige and power ? 
 How is it, in so brilliant and liberal a society, that 
 the successors of Henri IV. and Sully are yet to 
 be found ? 
 
 Perhaps the reason for some of these things lay 
 in the treason of this same Henri IV. He was a 
 Protestant at heart, and put on the Catholic cloak 
 in order to wear the crown. " The kingdom of 
 France," said he, or one of his admirers, " is well 
 worth hearing a mass or two." " The kingdom of the 
 
 61 
 
Paris world," said Christ, " is a small thing for a man to 
 gain in exchange for the kingdom of his own honest 
 soul. Henri IV. made this bad bargain for him 
 self and for France. He did it, doubtless, in view 
 of the good his reign might bring to the distracted 
 country. But he had better have given her the 
 example, sole and illustrious, of the most brilliant 
 man of the time putting by its most brilliant 
 temptation, and taking his seat low on the ground 
 with those whose hard-earned glory it is to perish 
 for conscience s sake. 
 
 But the great King is dead, long since, and his 
 true legacy his wonderful scheme of European 
 liberation and pacification has only been repre 
 sented by a little newspaper, edited in Paris, but 
 published in Geneva, and called The United States 
 of Europe. 
 
 So our word to France is : Try to solve the 
 . problem of modern Europe with the great word 
 which Henri IV. said, in a whisper, to his other 
 self, the minister Sully. Learn that social forces are 
 balanced first by being allowed to exist. Mutila 
 tion is useless in a world in which God continues 
 to be the Creator. Every babe that he sends into 
 the world brings with it a protest against abso 
 lutism. The babe, the nation, may be robbed of 
 its birthright; but God sends the protest still. 
 And France did terrible wrong to the protest of her 
 own humanity when she suffered her Protestant 
 
 62 
 
right hand to be cut off, and a great part of her Paris 
 most valuable population to submit to the alterna 
 tive of exile or apostasy. 
 
 So mad an act as this does not stand on the 
 record of modern times. The apostate has no 
 spiritual country ; the exile has no geographical 
 country. The men who are faithful to their reli 
 gious convictions are faithful to their patriotic du 
 ties. What a premium was set upon falsehood, 
 what a price upon faith, when all who held the 
 supremacy of conscience a higher fact than the 
 supremacy of Rome were told to renounce this 
 confession or to depart ! 
 
 If Paris gives to our mind some of the most 
 brilliant pictures imaginable, she also gives us some 
 of the most dismal. While her drawing-rooms 
 were light and elegant, her streets were dark and 
 wicked. Among her hungry and ignorant popu 
 lace, Crime planted its bitter seeds and ripened its 
 bloody crop. Police annals show us that Eugene 
 Sue has not exaggerated the truth in his portraits 
 of the vicious population of the great city. Lon 
 don has its hideous dens of vice, but Paris has, too, 
 its wicked institutions. 
 
 Its greatest offences, upon which I can only touch, 
 regard the relations between men and women. Its 
 police regulations bearing upon this point are dis 
 honoring to any Christian community. Its social 
 
 63 
 
Paris tone in this respect is scarcely better. Men who 
 have the dress and appearance of gentlemen will 
 show great insolence to a lady who dares to walk 
 alone, however modestly. Marriage is still a mat 
 ter of bargain and interest, and the modes of con 
 duct which set its obligations at naught are more 
 open and recognized here than elsewhere. The 
 city would seem, indeed, to be the great market 
 for that host of elegant rebels against virtue who 
 are willing to be admired without being respected, 
 and who, with splendid clothes and poor and mean 
 characteristics, are technically called the demi-monde, 
 the half-world of Paris. 
 
 The corruption of young men and young women 
 which this state of things at once recognizes and 
 fosters is such as no state can endure without griev 
 ous loss of its manhood and womanhood. The 
 Turks knew their power when they could compel 
 from the Greeks the tribute of their children, to be 
 trained as Turks, not as Christians. Must not the 
 Spirit of evil in like manner exult at his hold upon 
 the French nation, when it allows him to enslave 
 its youth so largely, consoling itself for the same 
 with a shrug at the inevitable nature of human 
 folly, or with some witty saying which will be at 
 once acknowledgment of and excuse for what can 
 not be justified ? 
 
 Gambling has been one of the crying vices of the 
 French metropolis, and the " hells " of Paris were 
 
 64 
 
familiarly spoken of in my youth. These were Paris 
 the gambling-houses, in that day among the most 
 brilliant and ruinous of their kind. Government 
 has since then interfered to abolish them. Still, I 
 suppose that much money is lost and won at play 
 in Paris. From this and other irregularities, many 
 suicides result. One sees in numerous places in 
 Paris, particularly near the river, placards announc 
 ing " help to the drowned and asphyxiated," a 
 plunge into the Seine, and a sitting with a pan of 
 charcoal being the favorite methods of self-destruc 
 tion. All have heard of the Morgue, a building 
 in which, every day, the lifeless bodies found in the 
 river are exposed upon marble slabs, in order that 
 the friends of the dead if they have any may 
 recognize and claim them. I believe that this sad 
 place is rarely without its appropriate occupants. 
 
 Through the kindness of our minister, I was 
 able, some years since, to attend more than one 
 session of the French Parliament. This body, like 
 our own Congress, consists of two houses. An 
 outsider does not see any difference of demeanor 
 between these two. An American visiting either 
 the French Senate or the Chamber of Deputies 
 will be surprised at the noise and excitement which 
 prevail. The presiding officer agitates his bell 
 again and again, to no purpose. He constantly 
 cries, in a piteous tone : " Gentlemen, a little si- 
 
 65 
 
Paris lence, if you please." In the Senate, one of the 
 ushers with great pride pointed out to me Victor 
 Hugo in his seat. 
 
 I have seen this venerable man of letters several 
 times, once in his own house, and once at a con 
 gress of literary people in Paris, where, as president 
 of the congress, he made the opening address. This 
 he read from a manuscript, in a sonorous voice, and 
 with much dignity of manner. He was heard with 
 great interest, and was interrupted by frequent 
 applause. 
 
 A number of invitations were given for this first 
 meeting of the literary congress, which was held in 
 one of the largest theatres of the city. I had been 
 fortunate enough to receive one of these cards, but 
 upon seeking for admission to the subsequent sit 
 tings of the congress, I was told that no ladies were 
 admitted to them. So you see that Lucy Stone s 
 favorite assertion that " women are people " does 
 not hold good everywhere. 
 
 An esteemed Parisian friend had offered me an 
 introduction to Victor Hugo, and the great man 
 had signified his willingness to receive a visit from 
 me. On the evening appointed for this visit, I 
 called at his house, accompanied by my daughter. 
 We were first shown into an anteroom, and pres 
 ently into a small drawing-room, of which the walls 
 and furniture were covered with a striped satin 
 material, in whose colors red predominated. The 
 
 66 
 
venerable viscount kissed my hand and that of my Paris 
 young companion with the courtesy belonging to 
 other times than the present. He was of middle 
 height, reasonably stout. His eyes were dark and 
 expressive, and his hair and beard snow-white. 
 Several guests were present, among others, the 
 widow of one of his sons, recently married to a sec 
 ond husband. 
 
 Victor Hugo seated himself alone upon a sofa, 
 and talked to no one. While the rest of the com 
 pany kept up a desultory conversation, a servant 
 announced M. Louis Blanc, and our expectations 
 were raised only to be immediately lowered, for at 
 this announcement Victor Hugo arose and with 
 drew into another room, from which we were able 
 to hear the two voices in earnest conversation, but 
 from which neither gentleman appeared. Was not 
 this disappointment like one of those dreams in 
 which, just as you are about to attain some object 
 of intense desire, the power of sleep deserts you, 
 and you awake to life s plain prose ? 
 
 The shops of Paris are wonderfully well mounted 
 and well served. The display in the windows is 
 not so large in proportion to the bulk of merchan 
 dise as it is apt to be with us. Still, these windows 
 do unfold a catalogue of temptations longer than 
 that of Don Giovanni s sins. 
 
 Among them all, the jewellers shops attract 
 
 67 
 
Paris most. The love of human beings for jewelry is a 
 feature almost universal. The savage will give 
 land for beads. The women of Christendom will 
 do the same thing. I have seen fine displays of 
 this kind in London, Rome, and Geneva. But in 
 Paris, these exhibits seem to characterize a certain 
 vivid passion for adornment, which is kindled and 
 kept alive in the minds of French women, and is 
 by them communicated to the feminine world at 
 large. 
 
 The French woman of condition wears nothing 
 which can be called outre. She loves costly attire, 
 but her taste, and that of her costumer, are perfect. 
 She wears the most delicate and harmonious shades, 
 and the most graceful forms. She never carica 
 tures the fashion by exaggerating it. English 
 women of the same social position are more in 
 clined to what is tawdry, and have surely a less 
 perfect sense of color and adaptation. 
 
 Parisians are very homesick people when obliged 
 to forsake their capital. Madame de Stael, in full 
 view of the beautiful lake of Geneva, said that she 
 would much prefer a view of the gutter in the Rue 
 de Bac, which in her day had not the attractions of 
 the Bon Marche emporium, so powerful to-day. 
 
 I should deserve ill of my subject if I failed to 
 say that the great issues of progress are to-day 
 dearly and soberly held to by the intelligence of 
 
 68 
 
the French people, and the good faith of their rep- Paris 
 resentatives. In the history of the present repub 
 lic, the solid interests of the nation have slowly 
 and steadfastly gained ground. 
 
 The efforts which forward these seem to me to 
 culminate in the measures which are intended at 
 once to establish popular education and to defend 
 it from ecclesiastical interference. The craze for 
 military glory is also yielding before the march of 
 civilization, and the ambitions which build up 
 society are everywhere gaining upon the passions 
 which destroy it. 
 
 In the last forty-five years, the social relations of 
 France to the civilized world have undergone much 
 alteration. The magnificent traditions of ancient 
 royalty have become entirely things of the past. 
 The genius of the first Napoleon has passed out of 
 people s minds. The social prestige of France is 
 no longer appealed to, no longer felt. 
 
 We read French novels, because French novel 
 ists have an admirable style of narrating, but we 
 no longer go to them for powerful ideals of life 
 and character. The modern world has outgrown 
 the Gallic theories of sex. We are tired of hearing 
 about the women whose merit consists in their lov 
 ing everything better than their husbands. In this 
 light artillery of fashion and fiction, France no 
 longer holds the place which was hers of old. 
 
 In losing these advantages, she has, I think, 
 
Paris gained better things. The struggle of the French 
 people to establish and maintain a republic in the 
 face of and despite monarchical Europe is a heroic 
 one, worthy of all esteem and sympathy. In sci 
 ence, France has never lost her eminence. In 
 serious literature, in the practical philosophy of 
 history, in criticism of the highest order, the 
 French are still masters in their own way. Not 
 withstanding their evil legislation regarding women, 
 their medical authorities have been most generous 
 to our women students of medicine. Many of 
 these have crossed the Atlantic to seek in France 
 that clinical study and observation from which 
 they have been in great measure debarred in our 
 own country. 
 
 There is still much bigotry and intolerance, 
 much shallow scepticism and false philosophy ; 
 but there is also, underneath all this, the germ of 
 great and generous qualities which place the nation 
 high in the scale of humanity. 
 
 I should be glad to bind together these scattered 
 statements into some great, instructive lesson for 
 France and for ourselves. Perhaps the best thing 
 that I can do in this direction will be to suggest 
 to Americans the careful study of French history 
 and of French character. The great divisions of the 
 world to-day are invaded by travel, and the iron 
 horse carries civilization far and wide. Many of 
 those who go abroad may, however, be found to 
 
 70 
 
have less understanding regarding foreign countries Paris 
 than those who have learned all that may be learned 
 concerning them from history and literature. To 
 many Americans, Paris is little more than the place 
 of shops and of fashions. I have been mortified 
 sometimes at the familiarity which our travellers 
 show with all that may be bought and sold on the 
 other side of the ocean, combined with an arrant 
 and arrogant ignorance concerning the French peo 
 ple and the country in which they live. 
 
 Even to the most careful observer, the French 
 are not easy to be understood. The most oppo 
 site statements may be made about them. Some call 
 them noble ; others, ignoble. To some, they ap 
 pear turbulent and ferocious ; to others, slavish and 
 cowardly. Great thinkers do not judge them in 
 this offhand way, and from such we may learn to 
 make allowances for the fact that monarchic and 
 aristocratic rule create and foster great inequalities 
 of character and intelligence among the nations in 
 which they prevail. Limitations of mind and of 
 opinion are inherited from generations which have 
 been dwarfed by political and spiritual despotism ; 
 and in such countries, the success of liberal insti 
 tutions, even if emphatically assured, is but slowly 
 achieved and established. 
 
 A last word of mine shall commend this Paris 
 to those who are yet to visit it. Let me pray such 
 as may have this experience not to suppose that 
 
 7 1 
 
Paris they have read the wonderful riddle of this city s 
 life when they shall have seen a few of its shops, 
 palaces, and picture-galleries. If they wish to un 
 derstand what the French people are, and why they 
 are what they are, they will have to study history, 
 politics, and human nature pretty deeply. 
 
 If they wish to have an idea of what the French 
 may become, they must keep their faith in all that 
 America finds precious and invaluable, in free 
 institutions, in popular education, and, above all, 
 in the heart of the people. Never let them believe 
 that while freedom ennobles the Anglo-Saxon, it 
 brutalizes the Gaul. Despotism brutalizes for long 
 centuries, and freedom cannot ennoble in a mo 
 ment. But give it time and room, and it will en 
 noble. And let Americans who go to Paris re 
 member that they should there represent republican 
 virtue and intelligence. 
 
 How far this is from being the case some of us 
 may know, and others guess. Americans who visit 
 Paris very generally relax their rules of decorum 
 and indulge in practices which they would not ven 
 ture to introduce at home. Hence they are looked 
 upon with some disfavor by the more serious part 
 of the French people, while the frivolous ridicule 
 them at will. But I could wish that, in visiting a 
 nation to whom we Americans owe so much, we 
 could think of something besides our own amuse 
 ment and the buying of pretty things to adorn our 
 
 72 
 
persons and our houses. I could wish that we Paris 
 might visit schools, prisons, Protestant churches, 
 and hear something of the chanties and reforms of 
 the place, and of what the best thinkers are doing 
 and saying. I blush to think of the gold which 
 Americans squander in Paris, and of the bales of 
 merchandise of all sorts which we carry away. Far 
 better would it be if we made friends with the best 
 people, exchanging with them our best thought and 
 experience, helping and being helped by them in 
 the good works which redeem the world. Better 
 than the full trunk and empty purse, which usu 
 ally mark a return from Paris, will be a full heart 
 and a hand clasping across the water another hand, 
 pure and resolute as itself, the hand of progress, 
 the hand of order, the hand of brotherly kindness 
 and charity. 
 
 73 
 
Greece Revisited 
 
Greece Revisited 
 
 TSPEAK of a country to which all civilized 
 Acountries are deeply indebted. 
 
 The common speech of Europe and America 
 shows this. In whatever way the languages of the 
 western world have been woven and got together, 
 they all show here and there some golden gleam 
 which carries us back to the Hellenic tongue. 
 Philosophy, science, and common thought alike 
 borrow their phraseology from this ancient source. 
 
 I need scarcely say by what a direct descent all 
 arts may claim to have been recreated by Greek 
 genius, nor can I exaggerate the importance of the 
 Greek poets, philosophers, and historians in the 
 history of literature. Rules of correct thinking 
 and writing, the nice balance of rhetoric, the meth 
 ods of oratory, the notions of polity, of the corre 
 lations of social and national interests, in all of 
 these departments the Greeks may claim to have 
 been our masters, and may call us their slow and 
 blundering pupils. 
 
 A wide interval lies between these glories and 
 the Greece of to-day. Nations, like individuals, 
 have their period of growth and decay, their limit 
 of life, which human devices seem unable to pro- 
 
 77 
 
Greece long. But while systems of government and social 
 Revisited organization change, race perseveres. The Greeks, 
 like the Hebrews, when scattered and powerless at 
 home, have been potent abroad. Deprived for 
 centuries of political and national existence, the 
 spirit of their immortal literature, the power of 
 their subtle and ingenious mind, have leavened and 
 fashioned the mind, not of Europe only, but of the 
 thinking world. 
 
 Let us recall the briefest outline of the story. 
 The states of ancient Greece, always divided among 
 themselves, in time invited the protection of the 
 Roman Empire, hoping thereby to attain peace 
 and tranquillity. Rome of to-day shows how her 
 officials of old plundered the temples and galleries 
 of the Greeks, while her literary men admired and 
 imitated the Hellenic authors. 
 
 At a later day, the beauty of the Orient seduced 
 the stern heart of Roman patriotism. A second 
 Rome was built on the shores of the Bosphorus, 
 a city whose beauty of position excelled even the 
 dignity of the seven hills. Greek and Roman, east 
 ern and western, became mingled and blent in a con 
 fusion with which the most patient scholar finds it 
 difficult to deal. Then came a political division, 
 eastern and western empires, eastern and western 
 churches, the Bishop of Rome and the Patriarch of 
 Constantinople. Other great changes follow. The 
 western empire crumbles, takes form again under 
 
Charlemagne, finally disappears. The eastern em- Greece 
 pire follows it. The Turk plants his standard on Revisited 
 the shores of the Bosphorus. The sacred city 
 falls into his hands, without contradiction, so far 
 as Europe is concerned. The veil of a dark and 
 bloody barbarism hides the monuments of a most 
 precious civilization. It is the age of blood. The 
 nations of Western Europe have still the faith and 
 the attributes of bandits. The Turkish ataghan is 
 stronger than the Greek pen and chisel. The new 
 race has a military power of which the old could 
 only faintly dream. 
 
 And so the last Constantine falls, and Mahmoud 
 sweeps from earth the traces of his reign. In the 
 old Church of St. Sophia, now the Mosque of 
 Omar, men show to-day, far up on one of the col 
 umns, the impress of the conqueror s bloody hand, 
 which could only strike so high because the floor 
 beneath was piled fathom-deep with Christian 
 corpses. 
 
 Another period follows. The Turk establishes 
 himself in his new domain, and employs the Greek 
 to subjugate the Greek. Upon each Greek family 
 the tribute of a male child is levied ; and this child 
 is bred up in Turkish ways, and taught to turn his 
 weapon against the bosom of his mother country. 
 From these babes of Christian descent was formed 
 the corps of the Janissaries, a force so dangerous 
 and deadly that the representative of Turkish rule 
 
 79 
 
Greece was forced at a later day to plan and accomplish its 
 Revisited destruction. 
 
 The name " Greek " in this time no longer sug 
 gested a nation. I myself, in my childhood, knew 
 a young Greek, escaped from the massacres of Scio, 
 who told me that when, having learned English, he 
 heard himself spoken of as " the Greek," his first 
 thought was that those who so spoke of him were 
 waiting to cut his throat. 
 
 Now follows another epoch. Western Europe 
 is busied in getting a little civilization. Baptized 
 mostly by force, vi et armis, she has still to be 
 Christianized : she has America to discover and to 
 settle. She has to go to school to the ghosts of 
 Greece and Arabia, in order to have a grammar and 
 to learn arithmetic. There are some wars of relig 
 ion, endless wars for territorial aggrandizement. 
 Europe is still a congress of the beasts, lion, 
 tiger, boar, rhinoceros, all snared together by the 
 tortuous serpent of diplomacy. 
 
 I pause, for out of this dark time came your ex 
 istence and mine. A small barque crosses the sea ; 
 a canoe steals toward the issue of a mighty river. 
 Such civilization as Europe has plants itself out 
 in a new country, in a virgin soil ; and in the new 
 domain are laid the foundations of an empire whose 
 greatness is destined to reside in her peaceful and 
 beneficent offices. Her task it shall be to feed the 
 starving emigrant, to give land and free citizenship 
 
 80 
 
to those dispossessed of both by the greed of the Greece 
 old feudal systems. Revisited 
 
 In the fulness of this young nation s life, a cry 
 arose from that ancient mother of arts and sciences. 
 The Greek had arisen from his long sleep, had 
 become awake to the fact that civilization is more 
 potent than barbarism. Strong in this faith, Greece 
 had closed in a death struggle with the assassin of 
 her national life. Through the enthusiasm of in 
 dividuals, not through the policy of governments, 
 the desperate, heroic effort received aid. From the 
 night of ages, from the sea of blood, Greece arose, 
 shorn of her fair proportions, pointing to her 
 ruined temples, her mutilated statues, her dis 
 honored graves. 
 
 Americans may be thankful that this strange 
 resurrection was not beheld by our fathers with 
 indifference. From their plenty, a duteous tribute 
 more than once went forth to feed and succor the 
 country to which all owe so much. And so an 
 American, to-day, can look upon the Acropolis 
 without a blush though scarcely without a tear. 
 
 Contenting myself with this brief retrospect, I 
 must turn from the page of history to the record 
 of individual experience. 
 
 My first visit to Athens was in the year 1867. 
 The Cretans were at this time engaged in an 
 energetic struggle for their freedom, and my hus 
 band was the bearer of certain funds which he 
 
 81 
 
Greece and others had collected in America for the relief 
 Revisited of the destitute families of the insurgents. A part 
 of this money was employed in sending provisions 
 to the Island of Crete, where the women and chil 
 dren had taken refuge in the fortresses of the mount 
 ains, subject to great privations, and in danger of 
 absolute starvation. 
 
 With the remainder of the fund, schools were 
 endowed in Athens for the children of the Cretan 
 refugees. My husband s efforts were seconded by 
 an able Greek committee ; and when, at the close 
 of his labors, he turned his face homeward, he was 
 followed by the prayers and thanksgivings of those 
 whose miseries he had been enabled to relieve. 
 
 Nearly ten years later than the time just spoken 
 of, I again threaded my way between the isles of 
 Greece and arrived at the Piraeus, the ancient port 
 of Athens. A railway now connects these two 
 points ; but on this occasion, we did not avail our 
 selves of it, preferring to take a carriage for the 
 short distance. 
 
 In approaching Athens for the second time, my 
 first surprise was to find that it had grown to nearly 
 double the size which I remembered ten years be 
 fore. The cleanly, thrifty, and cheerful aspect of 
 the city presented the greatest contrast to the squa 
 lor and filth of Constantinople, which I had just 
 left. The perfect blue of the heavens brought out 
 
 82 
 
in fine effect the white marble of the new buildings, Greece 
 some of which are costly and even magnificent. Revisited 
 Yet there, in full sight, towering above everything 
 else, stood the unattainable beauty, the unequalled, 
 unrivalled Parthenon. 
 
 I made several pilgrimages to the Acropolis, 
 eager to revive my recollection respecting the 
 design and history of its various monuments. I 
 listened again and again to the statements of well- 
 read archaeologists concerning the uses of the tem 
 ples, the positions of the statues and bas-reliefs, 
 the hundred gates, and the triumphal road which 
 led up to the height crowned with glories. 
 
 But while I gave ear to what is more easily for 
 gotten than remembered, the story of the long- 
 vanished past, my eyes received the impression 
 of a beauty that cannot perish. I did not say to 
 the Parthenon : Thou wert, but, Thou art so beau 
 tiful, in thy perfect proportion, in thy fine work 
 manship ! 
 
 What silver chisel turned the tender leaves of 
 this marble foliage ? Here is a little bit, a yard or 
 so, which has escaped the gnawing of the elements, 
 lying turned away from the course of the winds and 
 rains ! No king of to-day, in building his palace, 
 can order such a piece of work. Artist he can find 
 none to equal it. And I am proud to say that no 
 king nor millionaire to-day can buy this, or any 
 
 83 
 
Greece other fragment belonging to this sacred spot. What 
 Revisited England took before Greece became a power again, 
 she may keep, because the British Museum is a 
 treasure-house for the world. But she will never 
 repeat the theft : she is too wise to-day. Christen 
 dom is too wise, and the Greeks have learned the 
 value of what they still possess. 
 
 At the Acropolis, the theatre of Bacchus had 
 been excavated a short time before my previous 
 visit. Near it they have now brought to light 
 the temple of ^Esculapius. This temple, with the 
 theatre of Bacchus and that of Herodius Atticus, 
 occupies the base of the Acropolis, on the side 
 that looks toward the sea. 
 
 As one stands in the light of the perfect sky, 
 discerning in the distance that perfect sea, some 
 thing of the cheerfulness of the ancient Greeks 
 makes itself felt, seems to pervade the landscape. 
 Descending to the theatre of Bacchus, the visitor 
 may call up in his mind the vision of the high 
 feast of mirth and hilarity. Here was the stage ; 
 here are, still entire, the marble seats occupied by 
 the priests and other high dignitaries, with one or 
 two interesting bas-reliefs of the god. 
 
 When I visited Greece in 1867, I found no 
 proper museum containing the precious fragments 
 and works of art still left to the much-plundered 
 country. Some of these were preserved in the 
 
 84 
 
Theseion, a fine temple well known to many by Greece 
 engravings. They were, however, very ill-arranged, Revisited 
 and could not be seen with comfort. I now found 
 all my old favorites and many others enshrined in 
 the three museums which had been added to the 
 city during my absence. 
 
 One of them is called the Barbakion. It con 
 tains, among other things, a number of very ancient 
 vases, on one of which the soul is represented by 
 a female figure with wings. Among these vases is 
 
 i r i 
 
 a series relating to family events, one showing a 
 funeral, one a nativity, while two others commemo 
 rate a bridal occasion. In one of these last, the 
 bride sits holding Eros in her arms, while her 
 attendants present the wedding gifts ; in the other, 
 moves the bridal procession, accompanied by music. 
 Here are preserved many small figures in clay, com 
 monly spoken of in Greece as the Tanagra dolls. 
 A fine collection of these has been given to the 
 Boston Art Museum by a well-known patron of 
 all arts, the late Thomas G. Appleton. Here we 
 saw a cremating pot of bronze, containing the 
 charred remains of a human body. I afterwards 
 saw at the Keramika, an ancient cemetery the 
 stone vase from which this pot was taken. 
 
 Among the objects shown at this museum was a 
 beautiful set of gold jewelry found in the cemetery 
 just mentioned. It consisted of armlets, bracelets, 
 
 85 
 
Greece ear-rings, and a number of finger-rings, among 
 Revisited which was one of the coiled serpents so much in 
 vogue to-day. I found here some curious flat-bot 
 tomed pitchers, with a cocked-hat cover nicely fitted 
 on. This Greek device may have supplied the pat 
 tern for the first cocked hat, Dr. Holmes has told 
 us about the last. 
 
 But nothing in this collection impressed me more 
 than did an ancient mask cast from a dead face. 
 This mask had lately been made to serve as a ma 
 trix ; and a plaster cast, newly taken from it, gave 
 us clearly the features and expression of the coun 
 tenance, which was removed from us by aeons of 
 time. 
 
 A second museum is that built at the Acropolis, 
 which contains many fragments of sculpture, among 
 which I recognized a fine bas-relief representing 
 three women carrying water-jars, and a small figure 
 of wingless Victory, both of which I had seen 
 twelve years before, exposed to the elements. 
 
 But the principal museum of the city, a fine 
 building of dazzling white marble, is the patriotic 
 gift of a wealthy Greek, who devoted to this object 
 a great part of his large fortune. In this building 
 are arranged a number of the ancient treasures 
 brought to light through the persevering labors of 
 Dr. and Mrs. Schliemann. As the doctor has pub 
 lished a work giving a detailed account of these ar 
 ticles, I will mention only a few of them. 
 
 86 
 
Very curious in form are the gold cups found in Greece 
 the treasury of Agamemnon. They are shaped a Revisited 
 little like a flat champagne glass, but do not expand 
 at the base, standing somewhat insecurely upon the 
 termination of their stems. Here, too, are masks 
 of thin beaten gold, which have been laid upon the 
 faces of the dead. Rings, ear-rings, brooches, and 
 necklaces there are in great variety ; among the 
 first, two gold signet rings of marked beauty. I 
 remember, also, several sets of ornaments, resem 
 bling buttons, in gold and enamel. 
 
 From the main building, we passed into a fine 
 gallery filled with sculptures, many of which are 
 monumental in character. I will here introduce 
 two pages from my diary, written almost on the 
 spot : 
 
 Nothing that I have seen in Athens or elsewhere impresses 
 me like the Greek marbles which I saw yesterday in the museum, 
 most of which have been found and gathered since my visit in 
 1867. A single monumental slab had then been excavated, 
 which, with the help of Pausanias, identified the site of the 
 ancient Keramika, a place of burial. Here have been found 
 many tombs adorned with bas-reliefs, with a number of vases and 
 several statues. How fortunate has been the concealment of 
 these works of art until our time, by which, escaping Roman 
 rapacity and Turkish barbarism, they have survived the wreck of 
 ages, to show us, to-day, the spirit of family life among the 
 ancient Greeks ! Italy herself possesses no Greek relics equal 
 in this respect to those which I contemplated yesterday. For 
 any student of art or of history, it is worth crossing the ocean 
 and encountering all fatigues to read this imperishable record of 
 
 87 
 
Greece human sentiment and relation ; for while the works of ancient 
 
 r> t d art alreac ty ^miliar to the public show us the artistic power and 
 
 KeviSlte ^ c ^^^ o j- k eautv w j t h w hich this people were so marvellously 
 
 endowed, these marbles make evident the feelings with which 
 
 they regarded their dead. 
 
 Perhaps the first lesson one draws from their contemplation is 
 the eternity, so to speak, of the family affections. No words nor 
 work have ever portrayed a regard more tender than is shown in 
 these family groups, in which the person about to depart is rep 
 resented in a sitting posture, while his nearest friends or relatives 
 stand near, expressing in their countenances and action the sorrow 
 and pathos of the final separation. Here an aged father gives the 
 last blessing to the son who survives and mourns him. Here a 
 dying mother reclines, surrounded by a group of friends, one of 
 whom bears in her arms the infant whose birth, presumably, cost 
 the mother her life. Two other slabs represent partings between 
 a mother and her child. In one of these the young daughter 
 holds to her bosom a dove, in token of the innocence of her ten 
 der age. In the other, the mother is bending over the daughter 
 with a sweet, sad seriousness. Other groups show the parting of 
 husband and wife, friend from friend ; and I now recall one of 
 these in which the expression of the clasped hands of two indi 
 viduals excels in tenderness anything that I have ever seen in 
 paint or marble. The Greeks, usually so reserved in their por 
 trayal of nature, seem in these instances to have laid aside the 
 calm cloak of restraint which elsewhere enwrapped them, in order 
 to give permanent expression to the tender and beautiful associ 
 ations which hallow death. 
 
 TWO DRAMAS 
 
 In the Bacchus theatre, 
 
 With the wreck of countless years, 
 The thought of the ancient jollity 
 
 Moved me almost to tears. 
 
 88 
 
Bacchus, the god who brightens life Greece 
 
 With sudden, rosy gleam Re-visited 
 
 Lighting the hoary face or Age 
 With Youth s surpassing dream, 
 
 The tide that swells the human heart 
 
 With inspiration high, 
 Ebbing and sinking at sunset fall 
 
 To dim eternity. 
 
 In the halls where treasured lie 
 
 The monumental stones 
 That stood where men no longer leave 
 
 The mockery of their bones, 
 
 Why did I smile at the marble griefs 
 
 Who wept for the bygone joy ? 
 Within that sorrow dwells a good 
 
 That Time can ne er destroy. 
 
 Th immortal depths of sympathy 
 
 All measurements transcend, 
 And in man s living marble seal 
 
 The love he bears his friend. 
 
 It would take me long to tell how much Athens 
 has been enriched by the munificence of her wealthy 
 merchants, whose shrewdness and skill in trade are 
 known all over the world. Of some of these, dy 
 ing abroad, the words may well be quoted : " Mori- 
 ens reminiscitur Argos" as they have bequeathed for 
 the benefit of their beloved city the sums of money 
 
 
 
Greece which have a permanent representation in the pub- 
 Revisited lie buildings I have mentioned, and many others. 
 Better still than this, a number of individuals of 
 this class have returned to Greece, to end their days 
 beneath their native skies, and the social resources 
 of the metropolis are enlarged by their presence. 
 
 This leads us to what may interest many more 
 than statements concerning buildings and antiqui 
 ties, the social aspect of Athens. 
 
 The court and high society, or what is called 
 such, asks our first attention. The royal palace, 
 a very fine one, was built by King Otho. The 
 present King and Queen are very simple in their 
 tastes. One meets them walking among the ruins 
 and elsewhere in plain dress, with no other escort 
 than a large dog. The visit which I now describe 
 took place in Carnival time, and we heard, on our 
 arrival, of a court ball, for which we soon received 
 cards. We were admonished by the proper parties 
 to come to the palace before nine o clock, in order 
 that we might be in the ball-room before the en 
 trance of the King and Queen. We repaired thither 
 accordingly, and, passing through a hall lined with 
 officials and servants in livery, ascended the grand 
 staircase, and were soon in a very elegant ball-room, 
 well filled with a creditable beau monde. The ser 
 vants of the palace all wore Palikari costume, 
 the white skirt and full-sleeved shirt, with embroid 
 ered vest and leggings. The ladies present were 
 
 9 
 
attired with a due regard for Paris in general, and Greece 
 for Worth in particular. The gentlemen were Revisited 
 either in uniform, or in that inexpressibly sleek and 
 mournful costume which is called " evening dress." 
 
 We were presently introduced to the maids of 
 honor, one of whom bore the historic name of 
 Kolokotronis. They were dressed in white, and 
 wore badges on which the crown and the King s 
 initial letter were wrought in small brilliants. Many 
 of the ladies displayed beautiful diamonds. 
 
 Presently a hush fell on the rapidly talking as 
 sembly. People ranged themselves in a large cir 
 cle, and the sovereigns entered. The Queen wore 
 a dress of white tulle embroidered with red over 
 white silk, and a garland of flowers in which the 
 same color predominated. Her corsage was 
 adorned with knots of diamonds and rubies, and 
 she wore a complete parure of the same costly 
 stones. Their majesties made the round of the 
 circle. We, as strangers, were at once presented to 
 the Queen, who with great affability said to me : 
 <c I hear that you have been in Egypt, and that your 
 daughter ascended the great Pyramid." I made as 
 low a courtesy as was consistent with my dignity as 
 president of a number of clubs. One or two fur 
 ther remarks were interchanged, and the lovely, 
 gracious blonde moved on. 
 
 When the presentations and salutations were 
 over, the royal pair proceeded to open the ball, hav- 
 
 9 1 
 
Greece ing each some high and mighty partner for the first 
 Revisited contredanse. The Queen is very fond of dancing, 
 and is happier than some other queens in being al 
 lowed to waltz to her heart s content. 
 
 There were at the ball three of our fellow-coun 
 trymen who could dance. Two of them wore the 
 uniform of our navy, and had kept it very fresh 
 and brilliant. These Terpsichorean gentlemen were 
 matched by three ladies well versed in the tactics of 
 the German. Suddenly a swanlike, circling move 
 ment began to distinguish itself from the quick, 
 hopping, German waltz which prevails everywhere 
 in Europe. People looked on with surprise, which 
 soon brightened into admiration. And if any one 
 had said to me : " What is that, mother ? " I should 
 have replied : " The Boston, my child." 
 
 Lest the Queen s familiarity with my movements 
 should be thought to imply some previous ac 
 quaintance between us, I must venture a few words 
 of explanation. 
 
 In the first place, I must mention a friend, Mr. 
 Paraskevai des, who had been very helpful to Dr. 
 Howe and myself on the occasion of our visit to 
 Athens in 1867. This gentleman was one of the 
 first to greet my daughter and myself, when she,, 
 for the first, and I, for the second time, arrived in 
 Athens. It was from him that we heard of the 
 court ball just mentioned, and through him that we 
 received the cards enabling us to attend it. I had 
 
 92 
 
given Mr. Paraskevaides a copy of the Woman s Greece 
 Journal, published in Boston, containing a letter of Revisited 
 mine describing a recent visit to Cairo and the Pyr 
 amids. Our friend called at the palace to speak of 
 my presence in Athens to the proper authorities, 
 and by chance encountered the Queen as she was 
 stepping into her carriage for a drive. He told 
 her that the widow and daughter of Dr. Howe 
 would attend the evening s ball. She asked what 
 he held in his hand. " A paper, printed in Boston, 
 containing a letter written by Mrs. Howe." " Lend 
 it to me/ said the Queen. " I wish to read Mrs. 
 Howe s letter." Thus it was that the Queen was 
 able to greet me with so pleasant a mark of interest. 
 The King and Queen withdrew just before sup 
 per was announced, which was very considerate on 
 their part ; for, as royal personages may not eat 
 with others, we could not have had our supper if 
 they had not taken theirs elsewhere. We were then 
 escorted to the banquet hall, where were spread a 
 number of tables, at which the guests stood, and 
 regaled themselves with such customary viands as 
 cold chicken, salad, sandwiches, ices, and fruit. 
 All of the usual wines were served in profusion, 
 with nice black coffee to keep people awake for the 
 German, or, as it is called in Europe, the cotillon. 
 And presently we marched back to the ball-room, 
 and the sovereigns re-appeared. The Germanises 
 took chairs, the chaperons kept their modest dis- 
 
 93 
 
Greece tance, and the thing that hath no end began, the 
 Revisited Queen making the first loop in the mazy weaving 
 of the dance. The next thing that I remember 
 was, three o clock in the morning, a sleepy drive in 
 a carriage, and the talk that you always hear going 
 home from a party. Now, I ask, was not this or 
 thodox ? 
 
 This being the gay season of the year, we were 
 present at various festivities whose elegance would 
 have done honor to London or Paris. I particu 
 larly remember, among these, a fancy ball at the 
 house of Mr. and Mrs. Zyngros. Our hostess was 
 a beautiful woman, and looked every inch a queen, 
 as she stood at the head of her stately marble stair 
 way, in the gold and crimson costume of Catherine 
 de Medici. The ball-room was thronged with 
 Spanish gipsies, Elizabethan nobles, harlequins, 
 Arcadian shepherds, and Greek peasants. I may 
 also mention another ball, at which a band of 
 maskers made their appearance, splendidly attired, 
 and voluble with the squeaking tone which usually 
 accompanies a mask. The master and mistress of 
 the house were prepared for this interruption, 
 which added greatly to the gaiety of the occasion. 
 
 I have given a little outline of these gay doings, 
 in order that you may know that the modern 
 Athens is entitled to boast that she possesses all 
 the appliances of civilization. Now let me say a 
 
 94 
 
few words of things more interesting to people of Greece 
 thoughtful minds. Revisited 
 
 I remember with great pleasure an evening passed 
 beneath the roof of Dr. and Mrs. Schliemann. 
 Well known as is Dr. Schliemann by reputation, it 
 is less generally known that his wife, a Greek 
 woman, has had very much to do with both his 
 studies and the success of his excavations. She is 
 considered in Greece a woman of unusual culture, 
 being well versed in the ancient literature of her 
 country. I was present once at a lecture which 
 she gave in London, before the Royal Historical 
 Society. At the close of the lecture, Lord Talbot 
 de Malahide announced that Mrs. Schliemann had 
 been elected a member of the society. The Duke 
 of Argyll was present on this occasion, and among 
 those who commented upon the opinions advanced 
 in the lecture was Mr. Gladstone. Mrs. Schlie 
 mann, however, bears her honors very modestly, 
 and is a charming hostess, gracious and friendly, 
 thoroughly liked and esteemed in this her native 
 country, and elsewhere. 
 
 The soiree at Mrs. Schliemann s was merely a con 
 ventional reception, with dancing to the music of 
 a pianoforte. We were informed that our hostess 
 was suffering from the fatigues undergone in assist 
 ing her husband s labors, and that the music and 
 dancing were introduced to spare her the strain of 
 
 95 
 
Greece overmuch conversation. She was able, however, 
 Revisited to receive morning visitors on one day of every 
 week, and I took advantage of this opportunity to 
 see her again. I spoke of her little boy, a child 
 of two years, who had been pointed out to me in 
 the Park, by my friend Paras kevaides. He bore 
 the grandiose name of Agamemnon. Presently we 
 heard the voice of a child below stairs, and Mrs. 
 Schliemann said: "That is my baby; he has just 
 come in with his nurse." I asked that we might 
 see him, and the nurse brought him into the draw 
 ing-room. At sight of us, he began to kick and 
 scream. Wishing to soothe him, I said : " Poor 
 little Agamemnon !" Mrs. Schliemann rejoined: 
 " I say, nasty little Agamemnon ! " 
 
 Is it to be supposed that I entered and left Ath 
 ens without uttering the cabalistic word " club " ? 
 By no means. I found myself one day invited to 
 speak to a number of ladies, at a friend s house, 
 upon a theme of my own choosing ; and this theme 
 was, " The Advancement of Women as Promoted 
 by Association." My audience, numbering about 
 forty, was the best that could be gathered in Ath 
 ens. I found there, as I have found elsewhere in 
 Europe, great need of the new life which associa 
 tion gives, but little courage to take the first step 
 in a new direction. I could only scratch my furrow, 
 drop my seed, and wait, like Miss Flyte, in " Bleak 
 96 
 
House," for a result, if need be, "on the day of Greece 
 } udgment." Revisited 
 
 It is a delight to speak of a deeper furrow which 
 was drawn, ten years earlier, by an abler hand than 
 mine, though several of us gave some help in the 
 work done at that time. I allude to the efforts 
 made by my dear husband in behalf of the suffering 
 Cretans, when they were struggling bravely for the 
 freedom which Europe still denies them. Some of 
 the money raised by his earnest efforts, as I have 
 already said, found its way to the then desolate 
 island, in the shape of provisions and clothing for 
 the wives and children of the combatants. Some 
 of it remained in Athens, and paid for the educa 
 tion of a whole generation of Cretan children ex 
 iled from their homes, and rendered able, through 
 the aid thus afforded, to earn their own support. 
 
 Some of the money, moreover, went to found 
 an industrial establishment in Athens, which has 
 since been continued and enlarged by funds derived 
 from other sources. This establishment began with 
 two or three looms, the Cretan women being expert 
 weavers, and the object being to enable them to 
 earn their bread in a strange city. And it now has 
 at least a dozen looms, and the Dorian mothers, 
 stately and powerful, sit at them all day long, weav 
 ing dainty silken webs, gossamer stuffs, strong 
 cotton fabrics, and serviceable carpets. 
 
 97 
 
Greece In those days I saw Marathon for the first time, 
 
 Revisited and learned the truth of Lord Byron s lines : 
 
 The mountains look on Marathon, 
 And Marathon looks on the sea. 
 
 This expedition occupied the whole of a winter 
 day. We started from the hotel after early break 
 fast, and did not regain it until long after dark. 
 Our carriages were accompanied by an escort of 
 dragoons, which the Greek government supplies, 
 not in view of any real danger from brigands, but 
 in order to afford strangers every possible security. 
 A drive of some three hours brought us to the 
 spot. 
 
 A level plain, between the mountains and the 
 sea ; a mound, raised at its centre, marking the 
 burial-place of those who fell in the famous battle ; 
 a sea-beach, washed by blue waves, and basking in 
 the golden Attic sunlight this is what we saw 
 at Marathon. 
 
 Here we gathered pebbles, and I preserved for 
 some days a knot of daisies growing in a grassy 
 clod of earth. But my mind saw in Marathon an 
 earnest of the patriotic spirit which has lifted Greece 
 from such ruin as the Persians were never able to 
 inflict upon her. Worthy descendants of those 
 ancient heroes were the patriots who fought, in our 
 own century, the war of Greek independence. I 
 am glad to think that all heroic deeds have a 
 
 98 
 
fatherhood of their own, whose line never becomes Greece 
 extinct. Revisited 
 
 Those who would institute a comparison between 
 ancient and modern art should first compare the 
 office of art in ancient times with the function as 
 signed it in our own. 
 
 The sculptures of classic Greece were primarily 
 the embodiment of its popular theology and the 
 record of its patriotic heroism. They are not, as 
 we might think them, fancy-free. The marble gods 
 of Hellas characterize for us the morale of that an 
 cient community. They expressed the religious 
 conviction of the artist, and corresponded to the 
 faith of the multitude. If we recognize the free 
 dom of imagination in their conception, we also 
 feel the reverence which guided the sculptor in their 
 execution. As Emerson has said : 
 
 Himself from God he could not free. 
 
 How necessary these marbles were to the devo 
 tion of the time, we may infer from the complaint 
 reported in one of Cicero s orations, that a cer 
 tain Greek city had been so stripped of its marbles 
 that its people had no god left to pray to. 
 
 In the city of the Caesars, this Greek art became 
 the minister of luxury. The ethics of the Roman 
 people chiefly concerned their relation to the state, 
 to which their church was in great measure subserv- 
 
 99 
 
Greece ient. The statues stolen from the worship of the 
 Revisited Greeks adorned the baths and palaces of the Em 
 perors. This we must think providential for us, 
 since it is in this way that they have escaped the 
 barbarous destruction which for ages swept over the 
 whole of Greece, and to whose rude force, column, 
 monument, and statue were only raw material for 
 the lime-kiln. 
 
 Still more secondary is the position of sculpture 
 in the civilization of to-day. Here and there a 
 monument or statue commemorates some great 
 name or some great event. But these are still out 
 side the current of our daily life. Marble is to us 
 a gospel of death, and we grow less and less fond 
 of its cold abstraction. The glitter of bric-a-brac, 
 bits of color, an unexpected shimmer here and there 
 such are the favorite aspects of art with us. 
 
 In saying this, I remember that many beautiful 
 works of art have been purchased by wealthy 
 Americans, and that a surprising number of our 
 people know what is worth purchasing in this line. 
 And yet I think that in the houses of these very 
 people, art is rather the servant of luxury than the 
 embodiment of any strong and sincere affection. 
 
 We cannot turn back the tide of progress. We 
 cannot make our religion sculpturesque and pictur 
 esque. God forbid that we should ! But we can 
 look upon the sculptures of ancient Greece with 
 
 100 
 
reverent appreciation, and behold in them a record Greece 
 of the naive and simple faith of a great people. Revisited 
 
 If we must speak thus of plastic art, what shall 
 we say of the drama ? 
 
 Sit down with me before this palace of CEdipus, 
 whose faade is the only scenic aid brought to help 
 the illusion of the play. See how the whole secret 
 and story of the hero s fate is wrought out before 
 its doors, which open upon his youthful strength 
 and glory, and close upon his desolate shame and 
 blindness. Follow the majestic tread of the verse, 
 the perfect progress of the action, and learn the 
 deep reverence for the unseen powers which lifts 
 and spiritualizes the agony of the plot. 
 
 Where shall we find a parallel to this in the 
 drama of our day ? The most striking contrast to 
 it will be furnished by what we call a " realistic " 
 play, which is a play devised upon the supposition 
 that those who will attend its representation are not 
 possessed of any imagination, but must be dazzled 
 through their eyes and deafened through their ears, 
 until the fatigue of the senses shall take the place 
 of intellectual pleasure. The denouement will, no 
 doubt, present, as it can, the familiar moral that 
 virtue is in the end rewarded, and vice punished. 
 But such virtue ! and such vice ! How shall we be 
 sure which is which ? 
 
 During this visit, 1 had an interview which 
 
 101 
 
Greece brought me face to face with some of the Cretan 
 
 Revisited chiefs, who were exiles in Athens at the time of 
 
 my visit, in consequence of their participation in 
 
 the more recent efforts of the Islanders to free 
 
 themselves from the Turkish rule. 
 
 I received, one day, official notice that a com 
 mittee, appointed by a number of the Cretan exiles, 
 desired permission to wait upon me, with the view 
 of presenting an address which should recognize 
 the efforts made by Dr. Howe in behalf of their 
 unfortunate country. In accordance with this re 
 quest, I named an hour on the following day, and 
 at the appointed time my guests made their appear 
 ance. The Cretan chiefs were five in number. All 
 of them, but one, were dressed in the picturesque 
 costume of their country. This one was Katzi 
 Michaelis, the youngest of the party, and somewhat 
 more like the world s people than the others. Two 
 of these were very old men, one of them numbering 
 eighty-four years, and bearing a calm and serene 
 front, like one of Homer s heroes. This was old 
 Korakas, who had only laid down his arms within 
 two years. The chiefs were accompanied by sev 
 eral gentlemen, residents of Athens. One of these, 
 Mr. Rainieri, opened proceedings by a few remarks 
 in French, setting forth the object of the visit, and 
 introducing the address of the Cretan committee, 
 which he read in their own tongue : 
 
 IO2 
 
MADAM, Greece 
 
 We, the undersigned, emigrants from Crete, who await in 
 free Greece the complete emancipation of our country, have 
 learned with pleasure the fact of your presence in Athens. We 
 feel assured that we shall faithfully interpret the sentiments of 
 our fellow-countrymen by saluting your return to this city, and 
 by assuring you, at the same time, that the remembrance of the 
 benefits conferred by your late illustrious husband is always living 
 in our hearts. When the sun of liberty shall arise upon the 
 Island of Crete, the Cretans will, no doubt, decree the erection 
 of a monument which will attest to succeeding generations the 
 gratitude of our country toward her noble benefactor. For the 
 moment, Madam, deign to accept the simple expression of our 
 sentiments, and our prayers for the prosperity of your family and 
 your nation, to which we and our children shall ever be bound 
 by the ties of gratitude. 
 
 The substance of my reply to Mr. Rainieri was 
 as follows : 
 
 MY DEAR. SIR, 
 
 I beg that you will express to these gentlemen my gratitude 
 for their visit, and for the sentiments communicated in the address 
 to which I have just listened. I am much moved by the mention 
 made of the services which my late illustrious husband was able 
 to render to the cause of Greece in his youth, and to that of 
 Crete in his later life. It is true that his earliest efforts, outside 
 of his native country, were for Greek independence, and that his 
 latest endeavors in Europe were made in aid of the Cretans, who 
 have struggled with so much courage and perseverance to deliver 
 their country from the yoke of Turkish oppression. Pray assure 
 these gentlemen that my children and I will never cease to pray 
 for the welfare of Greece, and especially for the emancipation of 
 
 103 
 
Greece Crete. Though myself already in the decline of life, I yet hope 
 
 r> -, j that I shall live long enough to see the deliverance of your island, 
 
 1 rjv toevOtpfa r 
 
 A Greek newspaper s report of this occasion 
 remarked : 
 
 The last words of Mrs. Howe s reply, spoken in Greek, 
 brought tears to the eyes of the heroes, most of whom had known 
 the ever-memorable Dr. Howe in the glorious days of the war of 
 1821, and had fought with him against the oppressors. Mr. 
 Rainieri interpreted the meaning of Mrs. Howe s words to his 
 fellow-citizens. After this, Mrs. Howe gave orders for refresh 
 ments, and began to talk slowly, but distinctly, in Greek, to the 
 great pleasure of all present, who heard directly from her the 
 voice of her heart. 
 
 I will only add that all parties stood during the 
 official part of the interview. This being at an end, 
 coffee and cordials were brought, and we sat at 
 ease, and chatted as well as my limited use of the 
 modern Greek tongue allowed. Before we sepa 
 rated, one of the Greeks present invited the chiefs 
 and myself and daughter to a feast which he pro 
 posed to give at Phaleron, in honor of the meeting 
 which I have just described. 
 
 Some account of this festivity may not be unin 
 teresting to my readers. I must premise that it 
 was to be no banquet of modern fashion, but a feast 
 of the Homeric sort, in which a lamb, roasted whole 
 in the open air, would be the principal dish. Pha 
 leron, where it was appointed to take place, is an 
 
 104 
 
ancient port, only three miles distant from Athens. Greece 
 The sea view from this point is admirable. The Revisited 
 bay is small, and its surroundings are highly pict 
 uresque. Classic as was the occasion, the unclassic 
 railway furnished our conveyance. 
 
 The Cretan chiefs came punctually to the station, 
 and presently we all entered a parlor-car, and were 
 whisked off to the scene of action. This was the 
 hotel at Phaleron, where we found a long table hand 
 somely set out, and adorned with fruits and flowers. 
 The company dispersed fora short time, some 
 to walk by the shore ; some to see the lambs roast 
 ing on their spit in the courtyard ; I, to sit quietly 
 for half an hour, after which interval, dinner was 
 announced. 
 
 Mr. Rainieri gave me his arm, and seated me on 
 his right. On my right sat Katzi Michaelis. My 
 daughter and a young cousin were twined in like 
 blooming roses between the gray old chieftains. 
 Paraskevai des, the giver of the feast, looked all 
 aglow with pleasure and enthusiasm. Our soup 
 was served, quite a worldly, French soup. But 
 the Greeks insist that the elaborate style of cook 
 ery usually known as French originated with 
 them. Then came a Cretan dish consisting of the 
 liver and entrails of the lambs, twisted and toasted 
 on a spit. Some modern entremets followed, and 
 then, as piece de resistance, the lambs, with accompa 
 nying saiad. Each of the elder chiefs, before tast- 
 
 105 
 
Greece ing his first glass of wine, rose and saluted the com- 
 Revisited pany, making especial obeisance to the master of 
 the feast. 
 
 The Homeric rage of hunger and thirst having 
 been satisfied, it became time for us to make the 
 most of a reunion so rare in its elements, and nec 
 essarily so brief. I will here quote partially the re 
 port given in one of the Greek papers of the time. 
 The writer says : " During dinner many warm 
 toasts were drunk. Mr. Rainieri drank to the 
 health of Mrs. Howe. Mr. Paraskevai des drank 
 to the memory of Dr. Howe and the health of all 
 freedom-loving Americans, giving his toast first in 
 Greek and afterwards in English. To all this, 
 Mrs. Howe made answer in French, with great 
 sympathy and eloquence." So the paper said, but 
 I will only say that I did as well as I was able. 
 
 At the mention of Dr. Howe s name, old Ko- 
 rakas rose, and said : " I assure Mrs. Howe that 
 when, with God s will, Crete becomes free, the 
 Cretans will erect a statue to the memory of her 
 ever-memorable husband." At this time, I thought 
 it only right to propose the memory of President 
 Felton, former president of Harvard University, 
 in his day an ardent lover of Greek literature, and 
 of the land which gave it birth. The eldest son of 
 this lamented friend sat with us at the table, and 
 had become so proficient in the language of the 
 country as to be able to acknowledge the compli- 
 106 
 
ment in Greek, which the reporter qualifies as ex- Greece 
 cellent. Apropos of this same reporter, let me Revisited 
 say that he entered so heartily into the spirit of 
 the feast as to improvise on the spot some lines 
 of poetry, of which the following is a free trans 
 lation : 
 
 I greet the warriors of brave Crete 
 
 Assembled in this place. 
 
 Each of them represents her mountains, 
 
 Each her heart, each her breath. 
 
 If life may be measured by struggles, 
 
 So great is her life, 
 
 That on the day when she becomes free 
 
 Two worlds will be filled with the joy of her freedom. 
 
 The report says truly that the heroes of Crete, 
 with their white beards, resembled gods of Olym 
 pus. The three oldest Korakas, Kriaris, and 
 Syphacus spoke of the days in which Dr. Howe, 
 while taking part with them in the military opera 
 tions of the war of Greek independence, at the 
 same time made his medical skill availing to the 
 sick and wounded. 
 
 When we had risen from the board, passing into 
 another room, my daughter saw a ball lying on the 
 table, and soon engaged the ancient chiefs in the 
 pastime of throwing and catching it. " See/ said 
 one of the company, "Dr. Howe s daughter is 
 playing with the men who, fifty years ago, were 
 her father s companions in arms." 
 
 107 
 
Greece After the simple patriarchal festivity, the return, 
 
 Revisited even to Athens, seemed a return to the common 
 place. 
 
 A word regarding the Greek church belongs 
 here. Its ritual represents, without doubt, the 
 most ancient form of worship which can have rep 
 resentation in these days. The church calls itself 
 simply orthodox. It classes Christians as ortho 
 dox, Romanist, and Protestant, and condemns the 
 two last-named confessions of faith equally as here 
 sies. The Greek church in Greece has little zeal 
 for the propaganda of its special doctrine, but it 
 has great zeal against the introduction of any other 
 sect within the boundaries of its domain. Protest 
 ant and Catholic congregations are tolerated in 
 Greece, but the attempt to educate Greek children 
 in the tenets held by either is not tolerated, is in 
 fact prohibited by government. I found the relig 
 ious quiet of Athens somewhat disturbed by the 
 presence of several missionaries, supported by 
 funds from America, who persisted in teaching 
 and preaching ; one, after the form of the Baptist, 
 another, after that of the Presbyterian body. The 
 schools formerly established in connection with 
 these missions have been forcibly closed, because 
 those in charge of them would not submit them to 
 the religious authority of the Greek priesthood. 
 
 The Sunday preaching of the missionaries, on the 
 other hand, still went on, making converts from 
 108 
 
time to time, and supplying certainly a direct and Greece 
 vivid influence quite other than the extremely for- Revisited 
 mal teaching of the state church. The most prom 
 inent of these missionaries are Greeks who have 
 received their education in America, and who com 
 bine a fervent love for their mother country with 
 an equally fervent desire for her religious progress. 
 One can easily understand the attachment of the 
 Greeks to their national church. It has been the 
 ark of safety by which their national existence has 
 been preserved. 
 
 When the very name of Hellene was almost ob 
 literated from the minds of those entitled to bear 
 it, the Greek priesthood were unwearied in keeping 
 alive the love of the ancient ritual and doctrine, the 
 belief in the Christian religion. This debt of grat 
 itude is warmly remembered by the Greeks of to 
 day, and their church is still to them the symbol of 
 national, as well as of religious, unity. On the 
 other hand, the progress of religious thought and 
 culture carries inquiring minds beyond the domain 
 of ancient and literal interpretation, and the out 
 ward conformity which society demands is counter 
 balanced by much personal scepticism and indiffer 
 ence. The missionaries, who cannot compete in 
 polite learning with the elite of their antagonists, 
 are yet much better informed than the greater part 
 of the secular clergy, and represent, besides, some 
 thing of American freedom, and the right and duty 
 
 109 
 
Greece of doing one s own thinking in religious matters, 
 Revisited and of accepting doctrines, if at all, with a living 
 faith and conviction, not with a dead and formal 
 assent. It is one of those battles between the Past 
 and the Future which have to fight themselves out 
 to an issue that outsiders cannot hasten. 
 
 Shall I close these somewhat desultory remarks 
 with any attempt at a lesson which may be drawn 
 from them ? Yes ; to Americans I will say : Love 
 Greece. Be glad of the men who rose up from your 
 midst at the cry of her great anguish, to do battle 
 in her behalf. Be glad of the money which you or 
 your fathers sent to help her. America never spends 
 money better than in this way. Remember what 
 this generation may be in danger of forgetting, 
 that we can never be so great ourselves as to be 
 absolved from regarding the struggle for freedom, 
 in the remotest corners of the earth, with tender 
 sympathy and interest. And in the great reactions 
 which attend human progress, when self-interest is 
 acknowledged as the supreme god everywhere, and 
 the ideals of justice and honor are set out of sight 
 and derided, let the heart of this country be strong 
 to protest against military usurpation, against bar 
 barous rule. Let America invite to her shores the 
 dethroned heroes of liberal thought and policy, say 
 ing to them : " Come and abide with us ; we have a 
 country, a hand, a heart, for you/ 
 
 no 
 
The Salon in America 
 
The Salon in America 
 
 THE word " society " has reached the develop- The 
 ment of two opposite meanings. The generic Salon in 
 term applies to the body politic en masse ; the spe- America 
 cine term is technically used to designate a very 
 limited portion of that body. The use, nowa 
 days, of the slang expression " sassiety " is evi 
 dence that we need a word which we do not as yet 
 possess. 
 
 It is with this department of the human fellow 
 ship that I now propose to occupy myself, and es 
 pecially with one of its achievements, considered by 
 some a lost art, the salon. 
 
 This prelude of mine is somewhat after the man 
 ner of Polonius, but, as Shakespeare must have had 
 occasion to observe, the mind of age has ever a ret 
 rospective turn. Those of us who are used to 
 philosophizing must always go back from a partic 
 ular judgment to some governing principle which 
 we have found, or think we have found, in long ex 
 perience. The question whether salons are possi 
 ble in America leads my thoughts to other ques 
 tions which appear to me to lie behind this one, 
 and which primarily concern the well-being of civ 
 ilized man. 
 
The The uses of society, in the sense of an assem- 
 
 Salon in blage for social intercourse, may be briefly stated 
 America as follows : first of all, such assemblages are needed, 
 in order to make people better friends. Secondly, 
 they are needed to enlarge the individual mind by 
 the interchange of thought and expression with 
 other minds. Thirdly, they are needed for the util 
 ization of certain sorts and degrees of talent which 
 would not be available either for professional, busi 
 ness, or educational work, but which, appropriately 
 combined and used, can forward the severe labors 
 included under these heads, by the instrumentality 
 of sympathy, enjoyment, and good taste. 
 
 Any social custom or institution which can ac 
 complish one or more of these ends will be found 
 of important use in the work of civilization ; but 
 here, as well as elsewhere, the ends which the hu 
 man heart desires are defeated by the poverty of 
 human judgment and the general ignorance con 
 cerning the relation of means to ends. Society, 
 thus far, is a sort of lottery, in which there are few 
 prizes and many blanks , and each of these blanks 
 represents some good to which men and women are 
 entitled, and which they should have, and could, if 
 they only knew how to come at it. 
 
 Thus, social intercourse is sometimes so ordered 
 that it develops antagonism instead of harmony, 
 and makes one set of people the enemies of another 
 114 
 
set, dividing not only circles, but friendships and The 
 families. This state of things defeats society s first Salon in 
 object, which, in my view, is to make people better America 
 friends. Secondly, it will happen, and not seldom, 
 that the frequent meeting together of a number of 
 people, necessarily restricted, instead of enlarging 
 the social horizon of the individual, will tend to 
 narrow it more and more, so that sets and cliques 
 will revolve around small centres of interest, and 
 refuse to extend their scope. 
 
 In this way, end number two, the enlargement 
 of the individual mind is lost sight of, and, end 
 number three, the interchange of thought and ex 
 perience does not have room to develop itself. 
 
 People say what they think others want to hear : 
 they profess experiences which they have never had. 
 Here, consequently, a sad blank is drawn, where 
 we might well look for the greatest prize ; and, 
 end number four, the utilization of secondary or 
 even tertiary talents is defeated by the application 
 of a certain fashion varnish, which effaces all features 
 of individuality, and produces a wondrously dull 
 surface, where we might have hoped for a brilliant 
 variety of form and color. 
 
 These defects of administration being easily rec 
 ognized, the great business of social organizations 
 ought to be to guard against them in such wise that 
 the short space and limited opportunity of indi- 
 
 "5 
 
The vidual life should have offered to it the possibility 
 Salon in of a fair and generous investment, instead of the 
 America uncertain lottery of which I spoke just now. 
 
 One of the great needs of society in all times is 
 that its guardians shall take care that rules or in 
 stitutions devised for some good end shall not 
 become so perverted in the use made of them as 
 to bring about the result most opposed to that 
 which they were intended to secure. This, I take 
 it, is the true meaning of the saying that " the price 
 of liberty is eternal vigilance/ no provision to se 
 cure this being sure to avail, without the constant 
 direction of personal care to the object. 
 
 The institution of the salon might, in some 
 periods of social history, greatly forward the sub 
 stantial and good ends of human companionship. 
 I can easily fancy that, in other times and under 
 other circumstances, its influence might be detri 
 mental to general humanity and good fellowship. 
 We can, in imagination, follow the two processes 
 which I have here in mind. The strong action of 
 a commanding character, or of a commanding inter 
 est, may, in the first instance, draw together those 
 who belong together. Fine spirits, communicative 
 and receptive, will obey the fine electric force which 
 seeks to combine them, the great wits, and the 
 people who can appreciate them ; the poets, and 
 their fit hearers ; philosophers, statesmen, econ 
 omists, and the men and women who will be able 
 116 
 
and eager to learn from the informal overflow of The 
 their wisdom and knowledge. Salon in 
 
 Here we may have a glimpse of a true republic America 
 of intelligence. What should overthrow it ? Why 
 should it not last forever, and be handed down 
 from one generation to another ? 
 
 The salon is an insecure institution ; first, be 
 cause the exclusion of new material, of new men 
 and new ideas, may so girdle such a society that its 
 very perfection shall involve its death. Then, on 
 account of the false ideas and artificial methods 
 which self-limiting society tends to introduce, in 
 time the genuine basis of association disappears 
 from view : the great name is wanted for the repu 
 tation of the salon, not the great intelligence for its 
 illumination. The moment that you put the name 
 in place of the individual, you introduce an ele 
 ment of insincerity and failure. 
 
 There is a sort of homage quite common in so 
 ciety, which amounts to such flattery as this : 
 " Madam, I assure you that I consider you an em 
 inently brilliant and successful sham. Will you 
 tell me your secret, or shall I, a worker in the same 
 line, tell you mine ? " Again, the contradictory 
 objects of our desired salon are its weakness. We 
 wish it to exclude the general public, but we dread 
 fully desire that it shall be talked about and envied 
 by the general public. These two opposite aims 
 a severe restriction of membership, and an un- 
 
 117 
 
The limited extension of reputation are very likely 
 Salon in to destroy the social equilibrium of any circle, cote- 
 America rie, or association. 
 
 Such contradictions have deep roots ; even the 
 general conduct of neighborhood evinces them. 
 People are often concerned lest those who live near 
 them should infringe upon the rights and reserves 
 of their household. In large cities, people some 
 times boast with glee that they have no acquaint 
 ance with the families dwelling on either side of 
 them. And yet, in some of those very cities, social 
 intercourse is limited by regions, and one street of 
 fine houses will ignore another, which is, to all ap 
 pearances, as fine and as reputable. Under these 
 circumstances, some may naturally ask : " Who is 
 my neighbor ? " In the sense of the good Samar 
 itan, mostly no one. 
 
 Dante has given us pictures of the ideal good 
 and the ideal evil association. The company of his 
 demons is distracted by incessant warfare. Weap 
 ons are hurled back and forth between them, curses 
 and imprecations, while the solitary souls of great 
 sinners abide in the torture of their own flame. As 
 the great poet has introduced to us a number of 
 his acquaintance in this infernal abode, we may 
 suppose him to have given us his idea of much of 
 the society of his own time. Such appeared to him 
 that part of the World which, with the Flesh and 
 the Devil, completes the trinity of evil. But, in 
 118 
 
his Paradiso, what glimpses does he give us of the The 
 lofty spiritual communion which then, as now, re- Salon in 
 deemed humanity from its low discredit, its spite America 
 and malice ! 
 
 Resist as we may, the Christian order is prevail 
 ing, and will more and more prevail. At the two 
 opposite poles of popular affection and learned per 
 suasion, it did overcome the world, ages ago. In 
 the intimate details of life, in the spirit of ordinary 
 society, it will penetrate more and more. We may 
 put its features out of sight and out of mind, but 
 they are present in the world about us, and what 
 we may build in ignorance or defiance of them will 
 not stand. Modern society itself is one of the re 
 sults of this world conquest which was crowned 
 with thorns nearly two thousand years ago. In 
 spite of the selfishness of all classes of men and 
 women, this conquest puts the great goods of life 
 within the reach of all. 
 
 I speak of Christianity here, because, as I see it, 
 it stands in direct opposition to the natural desire 
 of privileged classes and circles to keep the best 
 things for their own advantage and enjoyment. 
 " What, then ! " will you say, " shall society become 
 an agrarian mob ? " By no means. Its great do 
 main is everywhere crossed by boundaries. All 
 of us have our proper limits, and should keep 
 them, when we have once learned them. 
 
 But all of us have a share, too, in the good and 
 
 119 
 
The gl r y f human destiny. The free course of intel- 
 Salon in ligence and sympathy in our own commonwealth 
 America establishes here a social unity which is hard to find 
 elsewhere. Do not let any of us go against this. 
 Animal life itself begins with a cell, and slowly un 
 folds and expands until it generates the great elec 
 tric currents which impel the world of sentient be 
 ings. 
 
 The social and political life of America has passed 
 out of the cell state into the sweep of a wide and 
 brilliant efficiency. Let us not try to imprison 
 this truly cosmopolitan life in cells, going back to 
 the instinctive selfhood of the barbaric state. 
 
 Nature starts from cells, but develops by cen 
 tres. If we want to find the true secret of social 
 discrimination, let us seek it in the study of cen 
 tres, central attractions, each subordinated to the 
 governing harmony of the universe, but each work 
 ing to keep together the social atoms that belong 
 together. There was a time in which the stars in 
 our beautiful heaven were supposed to be kept in 
 their places by solid mechanical contrivances, the 
 heaven itself being an immense body that revolved 
 with the rest. The progress of science has taught 
 us that the luminous orbs which surround us are 
 not held by mechanical bonds, but that natural laws 
 of attraction bind the atom to the globe, and the 
 globe to its orbit. 
 
 Even so is it with the social atoms which com- 
 
 120 
 
pose humanity. Each of them has his place, his The 
 right, his beauty ; and each and all are governed Salon in 
 by laws of belonging which are as delicate as the America 
 tracery of the frost, and as mighty as the frost 
 itself. 
 
 The club is taking the place of the salon to-day, 
 and not without reason. I mean by this the study, 
 culture, and social clubs, not those modern for 
 tresses in which a man rather takes refuge from 
 society than really seeks or finds it. I have just 
 said that mankind are governed by centres of nat 
 ural attraction, around which their lives come to 
 revolve. In the course of human progress, the 
 higher centres exercise an ever-widening attraction, 
 and the masses of mankind are brought more and 
 more under their influence. 
 
 Now, the affection of fraternal sympathy and 
 good-will is as natural to man, though not so imme 
 diate in him, as are any of the selfish instincts. 
 Objects of moral and intellectual worth call forth 
 this sympathy in a high and ever-increasing degree, 
 while objects in which self is paramount call forth 
 just the opposite, and foster in one and all the self 
 ish principle, which is always one of emulation, dis 
 cord, and mutual distrust. While a salon may be 
 administered in a generous and disinterested man 
 ner, I should fear that it would often prove an 
 arena in which the most selfish leadings of human 
 nature would assert themselves. 
 
 121 
 
The In the club, a sort of public spirit necessarily 
 
 Salon in develops itself. Each of us would like to have 
 America his place there, yes, and his appointed little 
 time of shining, but a worthy object, such as 
 will hold together men and women on an intel 
 lectual basis, gradually wins for itself the place of 
 command in the affections of those who follow it 
 in company. Each of these will find that his un 
 aided efforts are insufficient for the furthering and 
 illustration of a great subject which all have greatly 
 at heart. I have been present at a forge on which 
 the pure gold of thought has been hammered by 
 thinkers into the rounded sphere of an almost per 
 fect harmony. One and another and another gave 
 his hit or his touch, and when the delightful hour 
 was at an end, each of us carried the golden sphere 
 away with him. 
 
 The club which I have in mind at this moment 
 had an unfashionable name, and was scarcely, if at 
 all, recognized in the general society of Boston. It 
 was called the Radical Club, and the really rad 
 ical feature in it was the fact that the thoughts pre 
 sented at its meetings had a root, and were, in that 
 sense, radical. These thoughts, entertained by in 
 dividuals of very various persuasions, often brought 
 forth strong oppositions of opinion. Some of us 
 used to wax warm in the defence of our own con 
 viction ; but our wrath was not the wrath of the 
 peacock, enraged to see another peacock unfold its 
 
 122 
 
brilliant tail, but the concern of sincere thinkers The 
 that a subject worth discussing should not be pre- Salon in 
 sented in a partial and one-sided manner, to which America 
 end, each marked his point and said his say ; and 
 when our meeting was over, we had all had the 
 great instruction of looking into the minds of those 
 to whom truth was as dear as to ourselves, even if 
 her aspect to them was not exactly what it was to us. 
 
 Here I have heard Wendell Phillips and Oliver 
 Wendell Holmes ; John Weiss and James Free 
 man Clarke ; Athanase Coquerel, the noble French 
 Protestant preacher ; William Henry Channing, 
 worthy nephew of his great uncle; Colonel Hig- 
 ginson, Dr. Bartol, and many others. Extravagant 
 things were sometimes said, no doubt, and the equi 
 librium of ordinary persuasion was not infrequently 
 disturbed for a time ; but the satisfaction of those 
 present when a sound basis of thought was vindi 
 cated and established is indeed pleasant in remem 
 brance. 
 
 I feel tempted to introduce here one or two 
 magic-lantern views of certain sittings of this re 
 nowned club, of which I cherish especial remem 
 brance. Let me say, speaking in general terms, 
 that, albeit the club was more critical than devout, 
 its criticism was rarely other than serious and ear 
 nest. I remember that M. Coquerel s discourse 
 there was upon " The Protestantism of Art," and 
 that in it he combated the generally received idea 
 
 123 
 
The that the church of Rome has always stood first in 
 Salon in the patronage and inspiration of art. The great 
 America Dutch painters, Holbein, Rembrandt, and their fel 
 lows, were not Roman Catholics. Michael Angelo 
 was protestant in spirit ; so was Dante. I cannot 
 recall with much particularity the details of things 
 heard so many years ago, but I remember the pres 
 ence at this meeting of Charles Sumner, George 
 Hillard, and Dr. Hedge. Mr. Sumner declined 
 to take any part in the discussion which followed 
 M. Coquerel s discourse. Colonel Higginson, 
 who was often present at these meetings, main 
 tained his view that Protestantism was simply the 
 decline of the Christian religion. Mr. Hillard 
 quoted St. James s definition of religion, pure and 
 undefiled, to visit the fatherless and widows in 
 their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from 
 the world. Dr. Hedge, who was about to with 
 draw, paused for a moment to say : " The word 
 f religion is not rightly translated there ; it should 
 mean" I forgot what. The doctor s tone and 
 manner very much impressed a friend, who after 
 wards said to me : " Did he not go away ( like one 
 who wraps the drapery of his couch about him ? " 
 Or it might be that John Weiss, he whom a lady 
 writer once described as " four parts spirit and one 
 part flesh," gave us his paper on Prometheus, or 
 one on music, or propounded his theory of how 
 the world came into existence. Colonel Higginson 
 124 
 
would descant upon the Greek goddesses, as repre- The 
 senting the feminine ideals of the Greek mythology, Salon in 
 which he held to be superior to the Christian ideals America 
 of womanhood, dear Elizabeth Peabody and I 
 meeting him in earnest opposition. David Wasson, 
 powerful in verse and in prose, would speak against 
 woman suffrage. When driven to the wall, he con 
 fessed that he did not believe in popular suffrage at 
 all ; and when forced to defend this position, he 
 would instance the wicked and ill-governed city of 
 New York as reason enough for his views. I re 
 member his going away after such a discussion very 
 abruptly, not at all in Dr. Hedge s grand style, but 
 rather as if he shook the dust of our opinions from 
 his feet ; for no one of the radicals would counte 
 nance this doctrine, and though we freely confessed 
 the sins of New York, we believed not a whit the 
 less in the elective franchise, with amendments and 
 extensions. 
 
 Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, one day, if I re 
 member rightly, gave a very succinct and clear 
 statement of the early forms of Calvinistic doc 
 trine as held in this country, and Wendell Phillips 
 lent his eloquent speech to this and to other dis 
 cussions. 
 
 When I think of it, I believe that I had a salon 
 once upon a time. I did not call it so, nor even 
 think of it as such ; yet within it were gathered 
 people who represented many and various aspects 
 
 125 
 
The of life. They were real people, not lay figures 
 Salon in distinguished by names and clothes. The earnest 
 America humanitarian interests of my husband brought to 
 our home a number of persons interested in reform, 
 education, and progress. It was my part to mix 
 in with this graver element as much of social grace 
 and geniality as I was able to gather about me. I 
 was never afraid to bring together persons who 
 rarely met elsewhere than at my house, confronting 
 Theodore Parker with some archpriest of the old 
 orthodoxy, or William Lloyd Garrison with a dec 
 ade, perhaps, of Beacon Street dames. A friend 
 said, on one of these occasions : " Our hostess de 
 lights in contrasts." I confess that I did ; but I 
 think that my greatest pleasure was in the lessons 
 of human compatibility which I learned on this 
 wise. I started, indeed, with the conviction that 
 thought and character are the foremost values in 
 society, and was not afraid nor ashamed to offer 
 these to my guests, with or without the stamp of 
 fashion and position. The result amply justified 
 my belief. 
 
 Some periods in our own history are more favor 
 able to such intercourse than others. The agony 
 and enthusiasm of the civil war, and the long period 
 of ferment and disturbance which preceded and fol 
 lowed that great crisis, these social agitations 
 penetrated the very fossils of the body politic. 
 People were glad to meet together, glad to find 
 126 
 
strength and comfort among those who lived and The 
 walked by solid convictions. We cannot go back Salon in 
 to that time ; we would not, if we could ; but it America 
 was a grand time to live and to work in. 
 
 I am sorry when I see people build palaces in 
 America. We do not need them. Why should 
 we bury fortune and life in the dead state of rooms 
 which are not lived in ? Why should we double 
 and triple for ourselves the dangers of insufficient 
 drainage or defective sanitation ? Let us have such 
 houses as we need, comfortable, well aired, well 
 lighted, adorned with such art as we can appreciate, 
 enlivened by such company as we can enjoy. Sim 
 ilarly, I believe that we should, individually, come 
 much nearer to the real purpose of a salon by re 
 stricting the number of our guests and enlarging 
 their variety. 
 
 If we are to have a salon, do not let us think 
 too much about its appearance to the outside 
 world, how it will be reported, and extolled, and 
 envied. Mr. Emerson withdrew from the Boston 
 Radical Club because newspaper reports of its 
 meetings were allowed. We live too much in pub 
 lic to-day, and desire too much the seal of public 
 notice. 
 
 There is not room in our short human life for 
 both shams and realities. We can neither pursue 
 nor possess both. I think of this now entirely 
 with application to the theme under consideration. 
 
 127 
 
The Let us not exercise sham hospitality to sham 
 Salon in friends. Let the heart of our household be sin- 
 America cere ; let our home affections expand to a wider 
 human brotherhood and sisterhood. Let us be 
 willing to take trouble to gather our friends to 
 gether, and to offer them such entertainment as we 
 can, remembering that the best entertainment is 
 mutual. 
 
 But do not let us offend ourselves or our friends 
 with the glare of lights, the noise of numbers, in 
 order that all may suffer a tedious and joyless being 
 together, and part as those who have contributed 
 to each other s ennui, all sincere and reasonable 
 intercourse having been wanting in the general en 
 counter. 
 
 We should not feel bound, either, to the literal 
 imitation of any facts or features of European life 
 which may not fit well upon our own. In many 
 countries, the currents of human life have become 
 so deepened and strengthened by habit and custom 
 as to render change very difficult, and growth al 
 most impossible. In our own, on the contrary, 
 life is fresh and fluent. Its boundaries should be 
 elastic, capable even of indefinite expansion. 
 
 In the older countries of which I speak, political 
 power and social recognition are supposed to ema 
 nate from some autocratic source, and the effort 
 and ambition of all naturally look toward that 
 source, and, knowing none other, feel a personal 
 128 
 
interest in maintaining its ascendency, the statu quo. The 
 In our own broad land, power and light have no Salon in 
 such inevitable abiding-place, but may emanate America 
 from an endless variety of points and personalities. 
 
 The other mode of living may have much to 
 recommend it for those to whom it is native and 
 inherited, but it is not for us. And when we apol 
 ogize for our needs and deficiencies, it should not 
 be on the ground of our youth and inexperience. 
 If the settlement of our country is recent, we have 
 behind us all the experience of the human race, and 
 are bound to represent its fuller and riper man 
 hood. Our seriousness is sometimes complained 
 of, usually by people whose jests and pleasantries 
 fail to amuse us. Let us not apologize for this, 
 nor envy any nation its power of trifling and of 
 persiflage. We have mighty problems to solve; 
 great questions to answer. The fate of the world s 
 future is concerned in what we shall do or leave 
 undone. 
 
 We are a people of workers, and we love work 
 shame on him who is ashamed of it ! When we 
 are found, on our own or other shores, idling our 
 life away, careless of vital issues, ignorant of true 
 principles, then may we apologize, then let us make 
 haste to amend. 
 
 129 
 
Aristophanes 
 
Aristophanes 
 
 WHEN I learned, last season, that the atten- Aristoph- 
 tion of the school * this year would be in a anes 
 good degree given to the dramatists of ancient 
 Greece, I was seized with a desire to speak of one 
 of these, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude. This 
 is the great Aristophanes, the first, and the most 
 illustrious, of comic writers for the stage, first 
 and best, at least, of those known to Western lit 
 erature. 
 
 In the chance talk of people of culture, one 
 hears of him all one s life long, as exceedingly 
 amusing. From my brothers in college, I learned 
 the " Frog Chorus " before I knew even a letter of 
 the Greek alphabet. Many a decade after this, I 
 walked in the theatre of Bacchus at Athens, and 
 seeing the beauty of the marble seats, still ranged in 
 perfect order, and feeling the glory and dignity of 
 the whole surrounding, I seemed to guess that the 
 comedies represented there were not desired to 
 amuse idle clowns nor to provoke vulgar laughter. 
 
 At the foot of the Acropolis, with the Parthenon 
 in sight and the colossal statue of Minerva tower- 
 
 * Read before the Concord School of Philosophy. 
 
 133 
 
Aristoph- ing above the glittering temples, the poet and his 
 anes audience surely had need to bethink themselves of 
 
 the wisdom which lies in laughter, of the ethics of 
 the humorous, a topic well worth the considera 
 tion of students of philosophy. The ethics of the 
 humorous, the laughter of the gods ! " He that 
 sitteth in the heavens shall laugh them to scorn." 
 Did not even the gentle Christ intend satire when, 
 after recognizing the zeal with which an ox or an 
 ass would be drawn out of a pit on the sacred day, 
 he asked : "And shall not this woman, whom Satan 
 hath bound, lo ! these eighteen years, be loosed 
 from her infirmity on the sabbath day ? " 
 
 When a Greek tragedy is performed before us, 
 we are amazed at its force, its coherence, and its 
 simplicity. What profound study and quick sense 
 of the heroic in nature must have characterized 
 the man who, across the great gulf of centuries, 
 can so sweep our heart-strings, and draw from them 
 such responsive music ! Our praise of these great 
 works almost sounds conceited. It would be more 
 fitting for us to sit in silence and bewail our own 
 smallness. Comedy, too, has her grandeur ; and 
 when she walks the stage in robe and buskins, she, 
 too, is to receive the highest crown, and her lessons 
 are to be laid to heart. 
 
 I will venture a word here concerning the sub 
 jective side of comedy. Is it the very depth and 
 
quick of our self-love which is reached by the Aristoph- 
 subtle sting which calls up a blush where no ser- anes 
 monizing would have that effect ? Deep satire 
 touches the heroic within us. " Miserable sinners 
 are ye all," says the preacher, " vanity of vanities ! " 
 and we sit contentedly, and say Amen. But here 
 comes some one who sets up our meannesses and 
 incongruities before us so that they topple over 
 and tumble down. And then, strange to say, we 
 feel in ourselves this same power ; and considering 
 our follies in the same light, we are compelled to 
 deride, and also to forsake them. 
 
 The miseries of war and the desirableness of peace 
 were impressed strongly on the mind of Aristoph 
 anes. The Peloponnesian War dragged on from 
 year to year with varying fortune ; and though vic 
 tory often crowned the arms of the Athenians, its 
 glory was dearly paid for by the devastation which 
 the Lacedaemonians inflicted upon the territory of 
 Attica. " The Acharnians," " The Knights," and 
 " Peace " deal with this topic in various forms. In 
 the first of these is introduced, as the chief charac 
 ter, Dikaeopolis, a country gentleman who, in conse 
 quence of the Spartan invasion, has been forced to 
 forsake his estates, and to take shelter in the city. 
 He naturally desires the speedy conclusion of hos 
 tilities, and to this end attends the assembly, deter 
 mined, as he says : 
 
 35 
 
AristOph- To bawl, to abuse, to interrupt the speakers 
 
 Whenever I hear a word of any kind, 
 Except for an immediate peace. 
 
 This method reminds us of the obstructionists 
 in the British Parliament. One man speaks of 
 himself as loathing the city and longing to return 
 
 To my poor village and my farm 
 That never used to cry: " Come buy my charcoal," 
 Nor " buy my oil," nor " buy my anything," 
 But gave me what I wanted, freely and fairly, 
 Clear of all cost, with never a word of buying. 
 
 After various laughable adventures, Dikaeopolis 
 finds it possible to conclude a truce with the invad 
 ers on his own account, in which his neighbors, the 
 Acharnians, are not included. He returns to his 
 farm, and goes forth with wife and daughter to per 
 form the sacrifice fitting for the occasion. 
 
 DIK^EOPOLIS 
 
 Silence! Move forward, the Canephora. 
 You, Xanthias, follow close behind her there 
 In a proper manner, with your pole and emblem. 
 
 WIFE 
 
 Set down the basket, daughter, and begin 
 The ceremony. 
 
 DAUGHTER 
 
 Give me the cruet, mother, 
 
 And let me pour it on the holy cake. 
 
 136 
 
Aristoph- 
 
 O blessed Bacchus, what a joy it is 
 
 To go thus unmolested, undisturbed, 
 
 My wife, my children, and my family, 
 
 With our accustomed joyful ceremony, 
 
 To celebrate thy festival in my farm. 
 
 Well, here s success to the truce of thirty years. 
 
 WIFE 
 
 Mind your behavior, child. Carry the basket 
 In a modest, proper manner ; look demure ; 
 Mind your gold trinkets, they 11 be stolen else. 
 
 Dikaeopolis now intones a hymn to Bacchus, but 
 is interrupted by the violent threats of his war- 
 loving neighbors, the Acharnians, who break out 
 in injurious language, and threaten the life of the 
 miscreant who has made peace with the enemies of 
 his country solely for his own interests. With a 
 good deal of difficulty, he persuades the enraged 
 crowd to allow him to argue his case before them, 
 and this fact makes us acquainted with another 
 leading trait in Aristophanes ; viz., his polemic 
 opposition to the poet Euripides. Dikaeopolis, 
 wishing to make a favorable impression upon the 
 rustics, hies to the house of Euripides, whose servant 
 parleys with him in true transcendental language. 
 
 DIK^OPOLIS 
 
 Euripides within ? 
 
 137 
 
Aristaphr SERVANT 
 
 anes Within, and not within. You comprehend me ? 
 
 DIKJEOPOLIS 
 
 Within and not within ! What do you mean ? 
 
 SERVANT 
 
 His outward man 
 Is in the garret writing tragedy ; 
 While his essential being is abroad 
 Pursuing whimsies in the world of fancy. 
 
 The visitor now calls aloud upon the poet : 
 
 Euripides, Euripides, come down, 
 
 If ever you came down in all your life ! 
 
 Tis I, Dikaeopolis, from Chollidae. 
 
 This Chollidae probably corresponded to the Pea 
 Ridge often quoted in our day. Euripides de 
 clines to come down, but is presently made visible 
 by some device of the scene-shifter. In the dia 
 logue that follows, Aristophanes ridicules the per 
 sonages and the costumes brought upon the stage 
 by Euripides, and reflects unhandsomely upon the 
 poet s mother, who was said to have been a vender 
 of vegetables. Dikaeopolis does not seek to bor 
 row poetry or eloquence from Euripides, but prays 
 him to lend him " a suit of tatters from a worn-out 
 tragedy." 
 
 For mercy s sake, for I J m obliged to make 
 
 A speech in my own defence before the chorus, 
 
 138 
 
A long pathetic speech, this very day, Aristoph- 
 
 And if it fails, the doom of death betides me. anes 
 
 Euripides now asks what especial costume would 
 suit the need of Dikaeopolis, and calls over the 
 most pitiful names in his tragedies : " Do you want 
 the dress of Oineos ? " " Oh, no ! something 
 much more wretched." "Phoenix?" "No; 
 much worse than Phoenix." " Philocletes ? " 
 " No." "Lame Bellerophon ? " Dikaeopolis says : 
 
 Twas not Bellerophon, but very like him, 
 
 A kind of smooth, fine-spoken character ; 
 
 A beggar into the bargain, and a cripple 
 
 With a grand command of words, bothering and begging. 
 
 Euripides by this description recognizes the per 
 sonage intended, viz., Telephus, the physician, and 
 orders his servant to go and fetch the ragged suit, 
 which he will find "next to the tatters of Thyestes, 
 just over Ino s." Dikaeopolis exclaims, on seeing 
 the mass of holes and patches, but asks, further, a 
 little Mysian bonnet for his head, a beggar s staffj 
 a dirty little basket, a broken pipkin ; all of which 
 Euripides grants, to be rid of him. All this inso 
 lence the visitor sums up in the following lines : 
 
 I wish I may be hanged, my dear Euripides, 
 If ever I trouble you for anything, 
 Except one little, little, little boon, 
 A single lettuce from your mother s stall. 
 
 39 
 
Aristoph- This is more than Euripides can bear, and the 
 anes gates are now shut upon the intruder. 
 
 Later in the play, Dikaeopolis appears in com 
 pany with the General Lamachus. A sudden call 
 summons this last to muster his men and march 
 forth to repel a party of marauders. Almost at 
 the same moment, Dikaeopolis is summoned to 
 attend the feast of Bacchus, and to bring his best 
 cookery with him. In the dialogue that follows, 
 the valiant soldier and the valiant trencherman 
 appear in humorous contrast. 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 Boy, boy, bring out here my haversack. 
 
 DIKAEOPOLIS 
 
 Boy, boy, hither bring my dinner service. 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 Bring salt flavored with thyme, boy, and onions. 
 
 DIK^OPOLIS 
 
 Bring me a cutlet. Onions make me ill. 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 Bring hither pickled fish, stale. 
 
 DIK^OPOLIS 
 
 And to me a fat pudding. I will cook it yonder. 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 Bring me my plumes and my helmet. 
 140 
 
Aristoph- 
 Bring me doves and thrushes. anes 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 Fair and white is the plume of the ostrich. 
 
 DIK^EOPOLIS 
 
 Fair and yellow is the flesh of the dove. 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 O man ! leave off laughing at my weapons. 
 
 DIK^EOPOLIS 
 
 O man ! don t you look at my thrushes. 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 Bring the case that holds my plumes. 
 
 DIK^OPOLIS 
 And bring me a dish of hare. 
 
 LAMACHUS 
 
 But the moths have eaten my crest. 
 
 Dikaeopolis makes some insolent rejoinder, at 
 which the general takes fire. He calls for his lance ; 
 Dikseopolis, for the spit, which he frees from the 
 roast meat. Lamachus raises his Gorgon-orbed 
 shield; Dikseopolis lifts a full-orbed pancake. La 
 machus then performs a mock act of divination : 
 
 Pour oil upon the shield. What do I trace 
 In the divining mirror ? T is the face 
 
AristOph- Of an olc * cowar< ^ fortified with fear, 
 
 That sees his trial for desertion near. 
 
 anes 
 
 DIKJEOPOLIS 
 
 Pour honey on the pancake. What appears ? 
 A comely personage, advanced in years, 
 Firmly resolved to laugh at and defy 
 Both Lamachus and the Gorgon family. 
 
 In " The Frogs," god and demigod, Bacchus 
 and Hercules, are put upon the stage with audacious 
 humor. The first has borrowed the costume of 
 the second, in which unfitting garb he knocks at 
 Hercules door on his way to Hades, his errand 
 being to find and bring back Euripides. The dearth 
 of clever poets is the reason alleged for this under 
 taking. Hercules suggests to him various poets 
 who are still on earth. Bacchus condemns them 
 as " warblers of the grove ; poor, puny wretches ! " 
 He now asks Hercules for introductions to his 
 friends in the lower regions, and for 
 
 Any communication about the country, 
 
 The roads, the streets, the bridges, public houses 
 
 And lodgings, free from bugs and fleas, if possible. 
 
 Hercules mentions various ways of arriving at 
 the infernal regions: "The hanging road, rope 
 and noose ?" " That s too stifling." "The 
 pestle and mortar, then, the beaten road ? " 
 " No ; that gives one cold feet." " Go, then, to 
 
 142 
 
the tower of the Keramicus, and throw yourself Aristoph- 
 headlong." No ; Bacchus does not wish to have anes 
 his brains dashed out. He would go by the road 
 which Hercules took. Of this, Hercules gives an 
 alarming account, beginning with the bottomless 
 lake and the boat of Charon. Bacchus determines 
 to set forth, but is detained by the recalcitrance 
 of his servant, Xanthias, who refuses to carry his 
 bundle any further. 
 
 A funeral now comes across the stage. Bacchus 
 asks the dead man if he is willing to carry some 
 bundles to Hell for him. The dead man demands 
 two drachmas for the service. Bacchus offers him 
 ninepence, which he angrily refuses, and is carried 
 out of sight. Charon presently appears, and makes 
 known, like a good ferryman, the points at which 
 he will deliver passengers. 
 
 Who wants the ferryman ? 
 
 Anybody waiting to remove from the sorrows of life ? 
 A passage to Lethe s wharf? to Cerberus Beach ? 
 To Tartarus ? to Tenaros ? to Perdition ? 
 
 Just so, in my youth, sailing on the Hudson, 
 one heard all night the sound of Peekskill land 
 ing ! Fishkill landing ! Rhinebeck landing ! 
 with darkness and swish of steam quite infernal 
 enough. 
 
 Charon takes Bacchus on board, but compels him 
 to do his part of the rowing, promising him : " As 
 
 43 
 
Aristofh- soon as you begin you shall have music that will 
 
 anes teach you to keep time." 
 
 This music is the famous " Chorus of the Frogs," 
 beginning, " Brokekekesh, koash, koash," and run 
 ning through many lines, with this occasional re 
 frain, of which Bacchus soon tires, as he does of the 
 oar. His servant Xanthias is obliged to make the 
 journey by land and on foot, Charon bidding him 
 wait for his master at the Stone of Repentance, by 
 the Slough of Despond, beyond the Tribulations. 
 After encountering the Empousa, a nursery hob 
 goblin, they meet the spirits of the initiated, sing 
 ing hymns to Bacchus whom they invoke as 
 Jacchus and to Ceres. This part of the play, in 
 tended, Frere says, to ridicule the Eleusinian mys 
 teries, is curiously human in its incongruity, a 
 jumble of the beautiful and the trivial, I must 
 quote from it the closing strophe ; 
 
 Let us hasten, let us fly 
 Where the lovely meadows lie, 
 Where the living waters flow, 
 Where the roses bloom and blow. 
 Heirs of immortality, 
 Segregated safe and pure, 
 Easy, sorrowless, secure, 
 Since our earthly course is run, 
 We behold a brighter sun. 
 
 Such sweet words we to-day could expect to hear 
 from the lips of our own dear ones, gone before. 
 144 
 
Very incongruous is certainly this picture of Aristofh- 
 Bacchus, in a cowardly and ribald state of mind, anes 
 listening to the hymn which celebrates his divine 
 aspect. Jacchus, whom the spirits invoke, is the 
 glorified Bacchus, the highest ideal of what was vital 
 religion in those days. But the god himself is not 
 professionally, only personally, present, and, wear 
 ing the disguise of Hercules, in no way notices or 
 responds to the strophes which invoke him. He 
 asks the band indeed to direct him to Pluto s house, 
 which turns out to be near at hand. 
 
 Before its door, Bacchus is seized with such a fit 
 of timidity that, instead of knocking, he asks his 
 servant to tell him how the native inhabitants of 
 the region knock at doors. Reproved by the ser 
 vant, he knocks, and announces himself as the val 
 iant Hercules. ^Eacus, the porter, now rushes out 
 upon him with violent abuse, reviling him for having 
 stolen, or attempted to steal, the watch-dog,Cerberus, 
 and threatening him with every horror which Hell 
 can inflict, ^acus departs, and Bacchus persuades 
 his servant to don the borrowed garb of Hercules, 
 while he loads himself with the baggage which the 
 other was carrying. Proserpine, however, sends her 
 maid to invite the supposed Hercules to a feast of 
 dainties. Xanthias now assumes the manners befit 
 ting the hero, at which Bacchus orders him to change 
 dresses with him once more, and assume his own 
 costume, which he does. Hardly have they done 
 
Aristoph- this, when Bacchus is again set upon by two frantic 
 anes women, who shriek in his ears the deeds of glut 
 
 tony committed by Hercules in Hades, and not 
 paid for. 
 
 There; that s he 
 
 That came to our house, ate those nineteen loaves. 
 Aye ; sure enough. That s he, the very man ; 
 And a dozen and a half of cutlets and fried chops, 
 At a penny ha penny apiece. And all the garlic, 
 And the good green cheese that he gorged at once. 
 And then, when I called for payment, he looked fierce 
 And stared me in the face, and grinned and roared. 
 
 The women threaten the false Hercules with the 
 pains and penalties of swindling. He now pre 
 tends to soliloquize : " I love poor Xanthias dearly ; 
 that I do." 
 
 " Yes," says Xanthias, " I know why ; but it s 
 of no use. I won t act Hercules." Xanthias, how 
 ever, allows himself to be persuaded, and when 
 jEacus, appearing with a force, cries : " Arrest me 
 there that fellow that stole the dog," Xanthias con 
 trives to make an effectual resistance. Having thus 
 gained time, he assures ^Eacus that he never stole 
 so much as a hair of his dog s tail ; but gives him 
 leave to put Bacchus, his supposed slave, to the 
 torture, in order to elicit from him the truth. ^Ea- 
 cus, softened by this proposal, asks in which way 
 the master would prefer to have his slave tortured. 
 Xanthias replies : 
 
 146 
 
In your own way, with the lash, with knots and screws, Aristoth- 
 
 With the common, usual, customary tortures, anes 
 
 With the rack, with the water torture, any sort of way, 
 With fire and vinegar all sorts of ways. 
 
 Bacchus, thus driven to the wall, proclaims his 
 divinity, and claims Xanthias as his slave. The 
 latter suggests that if Bacchus is a divinity, he may 
 be beaten without injury, as he will not feel it. 
 Bacchus retorts, " If you are Hercules, so may 
 you." ^Eacus, to ascertain the truth, impartially 
 belabors them both. Each, in turn, cries out, and 
 pretends to have quoted from the poets. JEacus, 
 unable to decide which is the god and which the 
 impostor, brings them both before Proserpine and 
 Pluto. 
 
 In the course of a delicious dialogue between the 
 two servants, ^Eacus and Xanthias, it is mentioned 
 that Euripides, on coming to the shades, had 
 driven ^Eschylus from the seat of honor at Pluto s 
 board, holding himself to be the worthier poet. 
 .^Eschylus has objected to this, and the matter is 
 now to be settled by a trial of skill in which Bac 
 chus is to be the umpire. 
 
 The shades of Euripides and ^Eschylus appear 
 in the next scene, with Bacchus between them. 
 ^Eschylus wishes the trial had taken place else 
 where. Why ? Because while his tragedies live 
 on earth, those of Euripides are dead, and have 
 descended with him to bear him company in Hell. 
 
Aristoph- The encounter of wits between the two is of the 
 anes grandiose comic, each taunting the other with his 
 
 faults of composition. Euripides says of JEs- 
 
 chylus : 
 
 He never used a simple word 
 
 But bulwarks and scamanders and hippogriffs and Gorgons, 
 
 Bloody, remorseless phrases. 
 
 ./Eschylus rejoins : 
 
 Well, then, thou paltry wretch, explain 
 What were your own devices ? 
 
 Euripides says that he found the Muse 
 
 Puffed and pampered 
 With pompous sentences, a cumbrous huge virago. 
 
 In order to bring her to a more genteel figure : 
 
 I fed her with plain household phrase and cool familiar salad, 
 
 With water gruel episode, with sentimental jelly, 
 
 With moral mince-meat, till at length I brought her into compass. 
 
 I kept my plots distinct and clear to prevent confusion. 
 
 My leading characters rehearsed their pedigrees for prologues. 
 
 " For all this," says ^Eschyius, " you ought to 
 have been hanged." ^Eschylus now speaks of the 
 grand old days, of the great themes and works of 
 early poetry : 
 
 148 
 
Such is the duty, the task of a poet, Aristoph- 
 
 Fulfilling in honor his duty and trust. anes 
 
 Look to traditional history, look; 
 
 See what a blessing illustrious poets 
 
 Conferred on mankind in the centuries past. 
 
 Orpheus instructed mankind in religion, 
 
 Reclaimed them from bloodshed and barbarous rites. 
 
 Musaeus delivered the doctrine of medicine, 
 
 And warnings prophetic for ages to come. 
 
 Next came old Hesiod, teaching us husbandry, 
 
 Rural economy, rural astronomy, 
 
 Homely morality, labor and thrift. 
 
 Homer himself, our adorable Homer, 
 
 What was his title to praise and renown ? 
 
 What but the worth of the lessons he taught us, 
 
 Discipline, arms, and equipment of war. 
 
 And here the poet comes to speak of a question 
 which is surely prominent to-day in the minds of 
 thoughtful people. ^schylus, in his argument 
 against Euripides, speaks of the noble examples 
 which he himself has brought upon the stage, re 
 proaches his adversary with the objectionable stories 
 of Sthenobaeus and Phaedra, with which he, Eu 
 ripides has corrupted the public taste. 
 
 Euripides alleges in his own defence that he did 
 not invent those stories. " Phaedra s affair was a 
 matter of fact." ^Eschylus rejoins : 
 
 A fact with a vengeance, but horrible facts 
 Should be buried in silence, not bruited abroad, 
 
 149 
 
AristoDh- Nor brought forth on the stage, nor emblazoned in poetry. 
 
 Children and boys have a teacher assigned them ; 
 anes The bard is a master for manhood and youth, 
 
 Bound to instruct them in virtue and truth 
 
 Beholden and bound. 
 
 I do not know which of the plays of Aristoph 
 anes is considered the best by those who are com 
 petent to speak authoritatively upon their merits ; 
 but of those that I know, this drama of " The 
 Frogs " seems to me to exhibit most fully the scope 
 and extent of his comic power. Condescending in 
 parts to what is called low comedy, / . e. y the farci 
 cal, based upon the sense of what all know and ex 
 perience, it rises elsewhere to the highest domain 
 of literary criticism and expression. 
 
 The action between Bacchus and his slave forci 
 bly reminds us of Cervantes, though master and 
 man alike have in them more of Sancho Panza than 
 of Quixote. In the journey to the palace of Pluto, 
 I see the prototype of what the great mediaeval poet 
 called " The Divine Comedy." I find in both the 
 same weird imagination, the same curious inter- 
 braiding of the ridiculous and the grandiose. This, 
 of course, with the difference that the Greek poet 
 affords us only a brief view of Hell, while Dante 
 detains us long enough to give us a realizing sense 
 of what it is, or might be. This same mingling of 
 the awful and the grotesque suggests to me passages 
 in our own Hawthorne, similarly at home with the 
 
 150 
 
supernatural, which underlies the story of " The Aristopk- 
 Scarlet Letter," and flashes out in " The Celestial anes 
 Railroad." But I must come back to Dante, who 
 can amuse us with the tricks of demons, and can 
 lift us to the music of the spheres. So Aristoph 
 anes can show us, on the one hand, the humorous 
 relations of a coward and a clown ; and, on the 
 other, can put into the mouth of the great JEschy- 
 lus such words as he might fitly have spoken. 
 
 Perhaps the very extravagance of fun is carried 
 even further in the drama of " The Birds " than in 
 those already quoted from. Its conceits are, at 
 any rate, most original, and, so far as I know, it is 
 without prototype or parallel in its matter and 
 manner. 
 
 The argument of the play can be briefly stated. 
 Peisthetairus, an Athenian citizen, dissatisfied with 
 the state of things in his own country, visits the 
 Hoopoe with the intention of securing his assist 
 ance in founding a new state, the dominion of the 
 birds. He takes with him a good-natured simple 
 ton of a friend, Well-hoping, by name. Now the 
 Hoopoe in question, according to the old legend, had 
 been known in a previous state of being as Tereus, 
 King of Thrace, and the metamorphosis which 
 changed him to a bird had changed his subjects also 
 into representatives of the various feathered tribes. 
 These, however, far from sharing the polite and 
 hospitable character of their master, become enraged 
 
Aristofh- at the intrusion of the strangers, and propose to 
 anes attack them in military style. The visitors seize 
 
 a spit, the lid of a pot, and various other culinary 
 articles, and prepare to make what defence they 
 may, while the birds " present beaks," and prepare 
 to charge. The Hoopce here interposes, and claims 
 their attention for the project which Peisthetairus 
 has to unfold. 
 
 The wily Athenian begins his address with pro 
 digious flattery, calling the feathered folk " a people 
 of sovereigns," more ancient of origin than man, 
 his deities, or his world. In support of this last 
 clause, he quotes a fable of jEsop, who narrates 
 that the lark was embarrassed to bury his father, 
 because the earth did not exist at the time of his 
 death. Sovereignty, of old, belonged to the birds. 
 The stride of the cock sufficiently shows his royal 
 origin, and his authority is still made evident by 
 the alacrity with which the whole slumbering world 
 responds to his morning reveille. The kite once 
 reigned in Greece ; the cuckoo in Sidon and Egypt. 
 Jupiter has usurped the eagle s command, but dares 
 not appear without him, while 
 
 Each of the gods had his separate fowl, 
 Apollo the hawk and Minerva the owl. 
 
 Peisthetairus proposes that, in order to recover 
 their lost sovereignty, the birds shall build in the 
 air a strongly fortified city. This done, they shall 
 
 152 
 
send a herald to Jove to demand his immediate Aristoph- 
 abdication. If the celestials refuse to govern them- anes 
 selves accordingly, they are to be blockaded. This 
 blockade seems presently to obtain, and heavenly 
 Iris, flying across the sky on a message from the 
 gods, is caught, arraigned, and declared worthy of 
 death, the penalty of non-observance. The pros 
 pective city receives the name of " Nephelococca 
 gia," and this is scarcely decided upon before a 
 poet arrives to celebrate in an ode the mighty 
 Nephelococcagia state. 
 
 Then comes a soothsayer to order the appropri 
 ate sacrifices ; then an astronomer, with instruments 
 to measure the due proportions of the city ; then 
 a would-be parricide, who announces himself as a 
 lover of the bird empire, and especially of that law 
 which allows a man to beat his father. Peisthe- 
 tairus confesses that, in the bird domain, the 
 chicken is sometimes applauded for clapper-claw 
 ing the old cock. When, however, his visitor ex 
 presses a wish to throttle his parent and seize upon 
 his estate, Peisthetairus refers him to the law of 
 the storks, by which the son is under obligation to 
 feed and maintain the parent. This law, he says, 
 prevails in Nephelococcagia, and the parricide ac 
 cordingly betakes himself elsewhere. 
 
 All this admirable fooling ends in the complete 
 success of the birds. Jupiter sends an embassy to 
 treat for peace, and by a curious juggle, imitating, 
 
 53 
 
Aristofh- no doubt, the political processes of those days, 
 
 anes Peisthetairus becomes recognized as the lawful 
 
 sovereign of Nephelococcagia, and receives, on his 
 
 demand, the hand of Jupiter s favorite queen in 
 
 marriage. 
 
 I have given my time too fully to the Greek 
 poet to be able to make any extended comparison 
 between his works and those of the Elizabethan 
 dramatists. But from the plays which trifle so 
 with the grim facts of nature, I can fly to the 
 " Midsummer Night s Dream," and alight for a 
 moment on one of its golden branches. Shake 
 speare s Athenian clowns are rather Aristophanic 
 in color. The play of " Pyramus and Thisbe " 
 might have formed one interlude on that very stage 
 which had in sight the glories of the Parthenon. 
 The exquisite poetry which redeems their nonsense 
 has its parallel in the lovely " Chorus of the 
 Clouds," the ode to Peace, and other glimpses of 
 the serious Aristophanes, which here and there look 
 out from behind the mask of the comedian. 
 
 I am very doubtful whether good Greek schol 
 ars will think my selections given here at all the 
 best that could be made. I will remind them of 
 an Eastern tale in which a party of travellers were 
 led, in the dark, through an enchanted region in 
 which showers of some unknown substance fell 
 around them, while a voice cried : " They that do 
 not gather any will grieve, and they who do gather 
 54 
 
will grieve that they did not gather more, for these Aristoph- 
 that fall are diamonds." So, of these bright dia- anes 
 monds of matchless Greek wit, I have tried to 
 gather some, but may well say I grieve that I have 
 not gathered more, and more wisely. 
 
 These works are to us exquisite pieces of humor- 
 istic extravagance, but to the people of the time 
 they were far more than this ; viz. y the lesson of 
 ridicule for what was tasteless and ridiculous in 
 Athenian society, and the punishment of scathing 
 satire for what was unworthy. Annotators tell us 
 that the plays are full of allusions to prominent 
 characters of the day. Some of these, as is well 
 known, the poet sets upon the stage in masquer 
 ades which reveal, more than they conceal, their 
 true personality. For the demagogue Cleon, and 
 for the playwright Euripides, he has no mercy. 
 
 The patient student of Aristophanes and his com 
 mentators will acquire a very competent knowl 
 edge of the politics of the wise little city at the 
 time of which he treats, also of its literary person 
 ages, pedants or sophists. The works give us, I 
 think, a very favorable impression of the public 
 to whose apprehension they were presented, a 
 quick-witted people, surely, able to follow the sud 
 den turns and doublings of the poet s fancy ; not 
 to be surprised into stupidity by any ambush 
 sprung upon them out of obscurity. 
 
 Compare with this the difficulty of commending 
 
 55 
 
Aristoph- anything worth thinking of to the attention of a 
 anes modern theatre audience. It is true that much of 
 
 this Greek wit must needs have been caviare to the 
 multitude, but its seasoning, no doubt, penetrated 
 the body politic. I remember, a score or more of 
 years ago, that a friend said that it was good and 
 useful to have some public characters Beecherized, 
 alluding to the broad and bold presentment of them 
 given from time to time by our great clerical hu 
 morist, Henry Ward Beecher. Very efficacious, 
 one thinks, must have been this scourge which the 
 Greek comic muse wielded so merrily, but so un 
 mercifully. 
 
 Although Aristophanes is very severe upon in 
 dividuals, he does not, I think, foster any class en 
 mities, except, perhaps, against the sophists. Al 
 though a city man, he treats the rustic population 
 with great tenderness, and the glimpses he gives us 
 of country life are sweet and genial. In this, he 
 contrasts with the French playwrights of our time, 
 to whom city life is everything, and the province 
 synonymous with all that is dull and empty of in 
 terest. 
 
 How can I dismiss the comedy of that day with 
 out one word concerning its immortal tragedy, 
 Socrates, the divine man, compared and compara 
 ble to Christ, chained in his dungeon and con 
 demned to die? The most blameless life could 
 not save that sacred head. Its illumination, in 
 
 156 
 
which we sit here to-day, drew to it the shafts of Aristoph- 
 
 superstition, malice, and wickedness. The comic anes 
 
 poet might present on the stage such pictures of 
 
 the popular deities as would make the welkin ring 
 
 with the roar of laughter. This was not impiety. 
 
 But Socrates, showing no disrespect to these idols 
 
 of the current persuasion, only daring to discern 
 
 beyond them God in his divineness, truth in her 
 
 awful beauty, be must die the death of the 
 
 profane. 
 
 It is a bitter story, surely, but "it must needs 
 be that offences come." Where should we be to 
 day if no one in human history had loved high doc 
 trine well enough to die for it ? At such cost were 
 these great lessons given us. How can we thank 
 God or man enough for them ? 
 
 The athletics of human thought are the true 
 Olympian games. Human error is wise and log 
 ical in its way. It confronts its antagonist with 
 terrific weapons ; it seizes and sways him with a 
 Titanic will force. It knows where to attack, and 
 how. It knows the spirit that would be death to 
 it, could that spirit prevail. It closes in the death 
 grapple ; the arena is red with the blood of its vic 
 tim, but from that blood immortal springs a new 
 world, a new society. 
 
 One word, in conclusion, about the Greek lan 
 guage. Valuable as translations are, they can never, 
 to the student, take the place of originals. I have 
 
Aristo-ph- stumbled through these works with the lamest 
 anes knowledge of Greek, and with no one to help me. 
 
 I have quoted from admirable renderings of them 
 into English. Yet, even in such delicate handling 
 as that of Frere, the racy quality of the Greek 
 phrase evaporates, like some subtle perfume ; while 
 the music of the grand rhythm, which the ear seems 
 able to get through the eye, is lost. 
 
 The Greek tongue belongs to the history of 
 thought. The language that gives us such distinc 
 tions as nous and logos, as gy and kosmos, has been 
 the great pedagogue of our race, has laid the foun 
 dations of modern thought. Let us, by all means, 
 help ourselves with Frere, with Jowett, and a mul 
 titude of other literary benefactors. But let us 
 all get a little Greek on our own account, for the 
 sake of our Socrates and of our Christ. And as 
 the great but intolerant Agassiz had it for his 
 motto that " species do not transmute," let this 
 school have among its mottoes this one: "True 
 learning does not de-Hellenize." 
 
The Halfness of Nature 
 
The Halfness of Nature 
 
 THE great office of ethics and aesthetics is the 
 reconciliation of God and man ; that is, of the 
 divine and disinterested part of human nature with 
 its selfish and animal opposite. 
 
 This opposition exists, primarily, in the individ 
 ual ; secondarily, in the society formed out of indi 
 viduals. Human institutions typify the two, with 
 their mutual influence and contradictions. The 
 church represents the one ; the market, the other. 
 The battle-field and the hospital, the school and 
 the forum, are further terms of the same antithesis. 
 Nature does so much for the man, and the material 
 she furnishes is so indispensable to all the con 
 structions which we found upon it, that the last 
 thing a teacher can afford to do is to undervalue 
 her gifts. When critical agencies go so far as to do 
 this, revolution is imminent : Nature reasserts her 
 self. 
 
 Equally impotent is Nature where institutions 
 do not supply the help of Art. When this state of 
 things perseveres, she dwindles instead of growing. 
 She becomes meagre, not grandiose. Men hunt, 
 but do not cultivate. Women drudge and bear off 
 spring, but neither comfort nor inspire. 
 
 161 
 
The Let us examine a little into what Nature gives, 
 
 Hal/ness and into what she does not give. In the domain of 
 
 of Nature thought and religion, people dispute much on this 
 
 head, and are mostly ranged in two parties, of 
 
 which one claims for her everything, while the other 
 
 allows her nothing. 
 
 In this controversy, we can begin with one point 
 beyond dispute. Nature gives the man, but she 
 certainly does not give the clothes. Having re 
 ceived his own body, he has to go far and work 
 hard in order to cover it. 
 
 Nature again scarcely gives human food. Roots, 
 berries, wild fruit, and raw flesh would not make a 
 very luxurious diet for the king of creation. Even 
 this last staple Nature does not supply gratis, and 
 the art of killing is man s earliest discovery in the 
 lesson of self-sustenance. So Death becomes the 
 succursal of life. The sense of this originates, 
 first, the art of hunting; secondly, the art of war. 
 
 Nature gives the religious impulse, originating 
 in the further pole of primal thought. The alter 
 nation of night and day may first suggest the op 
 position of things seen and not seen. The world 
 exists while the man sleeps exists independently 
 of him. Sleep and its dreams are mysterious to the 
 waking man. His first theology is borrowed from 
 this conjunction of invisible might and irrational 
 intellection. 
 
 But Nature does not afford the church. Art 
 
 162 
 
does this, laboring long and finishing never, The 
 coming to a platform of rest, but coming at the Halfness 
 same time to a higher view, inciting to higher ef- of Nature 
 fort. Temple after temple is raised. Juggernaut, 
 Jove, Jesus ! India does not get beyond Jugger 
 naut. Rome could not get beyond Jove. Chris 
 tendom is far behind Jesus. In all religions, Art 
 founds on Nature, and aspires to super-nature. In 
 all, Art asserts the superiority of thought over un- 
 thought, of measure over excess, of conscience over 
 confidence. The latest evangel alone supplies a 
 method of popularizing thought, of beautifying 
 measure, of harmonizing conscience, and is, there 
 fore, the religion that uses most largely from the 
 race, and returns most largely to it. 
 
 Time permits me only a partial review of this 
 great system of gifts and deficiencies. The secret 
 of progress seems an infinitesimal seed, dropped 
 in some bosoms to bear harvest for all. Seed and 
 soil together give the product which is called 
 genius. But genius is only half of the great man. 
 No one works so hard as he does to obtain the 
 result corresponding to his natural dimensions and 
 obligations. The gift and the capacity to employ 
 it are simply boons of Nature. The resolution to 
 do so, the patience and perseverance, the long tasks 
 bravely undertaken and painfully carried through 
 these come of the individual action of the moral 
 man, and constitute his moral life. The wonder- 
 
The fully clever people we all know, who fill the society 
 
 Halfness toy-shop with what is needed in the society work- 
 of Nature shop, are people who have not consummated this 
 resolution, who have not had this bravery, this 
 perseverance. Death does not waste more of im 
 mature life than Indolence wastes of immature 
 genius. The law of labor in ethics and aesthetics 
 corresponds to the energetic necessities of hygiene, 
 and is the most precious and indispensable gift of 
 one generation to its successors. 
 
 In ethics, Nature supplies the first half, but Re 
 ligion, or the law of duty, supplies the other. 
 Nature gives the enthusiasm of love, but not the 
 tender and persevering culture of friendship, which 
 carries the light of that tropical summer into the 
 winter of age, the icy recesses of death. 
 
 Art has no need to intervene in order to bring 
 together those whom passion inspires, whom in 
 clination couples. But in crude Nature, passion 
 itself remains selfish, brutal, and short-lived. 
 
 The tender and grateful recollection of transient 
 raptures, the culture and growth of generous sym 
 pathies, resulting in noble co-operation Art 
 brings these out of Nature by the second birth, 
 of which Christ knew, and at which Nicodemus 
 marvelled. 
 
 Nature gives the love of offspring. Human 
 parents share the passionate attachment of other 
 animals for their young. With the regulation of 
 
 164 
 
this attachment Art has much to do. You love the The 
 child when it delights you by day ; you must also Halfness 
 love it when it torments you at night. This latter of Nature 
 love is not against Nature, but Conscience has to 
 apply the whip and spur a little, or the mother will 
 take such amusement as the child can afford, and 
 depute to others the fatigues which are its price. 
 
 A graver omission yet Nature makes. She does 
 not teach children to reverence and cherish their 
 parents when the relation between them reverses 
 itself in the progress of time, and those who once 
 had all to give have all to ask. Moses was not 
 obliged to say : " Parents, love your children." 
 But he was obliged to say : " Honor thy father and 
 thy mother," in all the thunder of the Decalogue. 
 The gentler and finer spirits value the old for their 
 useful council and inestimable experience. 
 
 You know to-day ; but your father can show you 
 yesterday, bright with living traditions which his 
 tory neglects and which posterity loses. We do 
 not profit as we might by this source of knowledge. 
 Elders question the young for their instruction. 
 Young people, in turn, should question elders on 
 their own account, not allowing the personal values 
 of experience to go down to the grave unrealized. 
 But Youth is cruel and remorseless. The young, 
 in their fulness of energy, in their desire for scope 
 and freedom, are often in unseemly haste to see the 
 old depart. 
 
Here Religion comes in with strong hands to 
 Hal/ness moderate the tyrannous impulse, the controversy 
 of Nature of the green with the ripe fruit. All religions 
 agree in this intervention. The worship of ances 
 tors in the Confucian ethics shows this conscious 
 ness and intention. The aristocratic traditions of 
 rank and race are an invention to the same end. I 
 Vanity, too, will often lead a man to glorify him 
 self in the past and future, as well as in the 
 present. 
 
 Still, the instinct to get rid of elders is a feature 
 in unreclaimed nature. It shows the point at which 
 the imperative suggestions of personal feeling stop, 
 the spot where Nature leaves a desert in order 
 that Art may plant a garden. " Why don t you 
 give me a carriage, now ? " said an elderly wife to 
 an elderly husband. " When we married, you would 
 scarcely let me touch the ground with my feet. I 
 need a conveyance now far more than I did then." 
 " That was the period of my young enthusiasm," 
 replied the husband. The statement is one of un 
 usual candor, but the fact is one of not unusual 
 occurrence. 
 
 I think that in the present study I have come 
 upon the true and simple sense of the parable of 
 the talents. Of every human good, the initial half 
 is bestowed by Nature. But the value of this half 
 is not realized until Labor shall have acquired the 
 other half. Talents are one thing: the use of them 
 166 
 
is another. The first depend on natural condi- The 
 tions ; the second, on moral processes. The great- Halfness 
 est native facilities are useless to mankind without of Nature 
 the discipline of Art. So in an undisciplined life, 
 the good that is born with a man dwindles and de 
 cays. The sketch of childhood, never filled out, 
 fades in the objectless vacancy of manhood ; and 
 from the man is " taken away even that which he 
 seemeth to have." Not judicial vengeance this, 
 but inevitable consequence. 
 
 Education should clearly formulate this prob 
 lem : Given half of a man or woman, to make a 
 whole one. This, I need not say, is to be done 
 by development, not by addition. Kant says that 
 knowledge grows per intus susceptionem, and not per 
 appositionem. The knowledges that you adjoin to 
 memory do not fill out the man unless you reach, 
 in his own mind, the faculty that generates thought. 
 A single reason perceived by him either in numbers 
 or in speech will outweigh in importance all the 
 rules which memory can be taught to supply. 
 With little skill and much perseverance, Education 
 hammers upon the man until somewhere she strikes 
 a nerve, and the awakened interest leads him to 
 think out something for himself. Otherwise, she 
 leaves the man a polite muddle, who makes his best 
 haste to forget facts in forms, and who cancels the 
 enforced production of his years of pedagogy by a 
 lifelong non-production. 
 
 167 
 
The What Nature is able to give, she does give with 
 
 Halfness a wealth and persistence almost pathetic. The good 
 of Nature gifts afloat in the world which never take form un 
 der the appropriate influence, the good material 
 which does not build itself into the structures of 
 society, you and I grieve over these sometimes. 
 And here I come upon a doctrine which Fourier, I 
 think, does not state correctly. He maintains that 
 inclinations which appear vicious and destructive 
 in society as at present constituted would become 
 highly useful in his ideal society. I should prefer 
 to state the matter thus : The given talent, not 
 receiving its appropriate education, becomes a neg 
 ative instead of a positive, an evil instead of a good. 
 Here we might paraphrase the Scripture saying, 
 and affirm that the stone which is not built into the 
 corner becomes a stumbling-block for the wayfarer 
 to fall over. So great mischief lies in those uned 
 ucated, unconsecrated talents ! This cordial com 
 panion becomes a sot. This could-be knight re 
 mains a prize-fighter. This incipient mathema 
 tician does not get beyond cards or billiards. This 
 clever mechanic picks locks and robs a bank, in 
 stead of endowing one. 
 
 Modern theories of education do certainly point 
 toward the study, by the party educating, of the 
 party appointed to undergo education. But this 
 education of others is a very complex matter, not 
 to be accomplished unless the educator educates 
 168 
 
himself in the light afforded him by his pupils. The 
 The boys or girls committed to you may study Halfness 
 what you will : be sure, first of all, that you study of Nature 
 them to your best ability. Education in this re 
 spect is forced to a continual rectification of her 
 processes. The greatest power and resource are 
 needed to awaken and direct the energies of the 
 young. No speech in Congress is so important as 
 are the lessons in the primary school ; no pulpit 
 has so great a field of labor as the Sunday school. 
 The Turkish government showed a cruel wisdom 
 of instinct when it levied upon Greece the tribute 
 of Christian children to form its corps of Janis 
 saries. It recognized alike the Greek superiority 
 of race, and the invaluable opportunity of training 
 afforded by childhood. 
 
 The work, then, of education demands an inves 
 tigation of the elements which Nature has granted 
 to the individual, with the view of matching that 
 in which he is wanting with that which he has. 
 I have heard of lovers who, in plighting their faith, 
 broke a coin in halves, whose matching could only 
 take place with their meeting. In true education 
 as in the love, these halves should correspond. 
 
 " What hast thou ? " is, then, the first question 
 of the educator. His second is, "What hast thou 
 not ? " The third is, " How can I help thee to 
 this last ? " 
 
 To my view, the man remains incomplete his 
 
 169 
 
The whole life long. Most incomplete is he, however, 
 
 Halfness in the isolations of selfishness and of solitude. Study 
 of Nature is not necessarily solitude, but ideal society in the 
 highest grade in which human beings can enjoy it. 
 It is, nevertheless, dangerous to suffer the ideal to 
 distance the real too largely. Desk-dreamers end 
 by being mental cripples. Divorce of this sort is 
 not wholesome, nor holy. Life is a perpetual mar 
 riage of real and ideal, of endeavor and result. The 
 solitary departure of physical death is hateful, as 
 putting asunder what God has joined together. 
 
 Must I go hence as lonely as I was born ? My 
 mother brought me into the infinite society : I 
 go into the absolute dissociation. I go many steps 
 further back than I came, to the ur mother, 
 the common matrix which bears plants, animals, 
 and human creatures. Where, oh where, shall I find 
 that infinite companionship which my life should 
 have earned for me ? My friendship has been 
 hundred-handed. My love has consumed the 
 cities of the plain, and built the heavenly Jerusalem. 
 And I go, without lover or friend, in a box, into 
 an earth vault, from which I cannot even turn into 
 violets and primroses in any recognizable and con 
 scious way. 
 
 The completeness of our severance or deficiency 
 
 may be, after all, the determining circumstance of 
 
 our achievement. What I would have is cut so 
 
 clean off from what I have as to leave no sense of 
 
 170 . 
 
wholeness in my continuing as I am. Something The 
 of mine is mislaid or lost. It is more mine than Halfness 
 anything that I have, but where to find it ? Who of Nature 
 has it ? I reach for it under this bundle and under 
 that. After my life s trial, I find that I have pur 
 sued, but not possessed it. What I have gained of 
 it in the pursuit, others must realize. I bequeath, 
 and cannot take it with me. Did Dante regard the 
 parchments of his " Divina Commedia " with a sigh, 
 foreseeing the long future of commentators and 
 booksellers, he himself absolving them beforehand 
 by the quitclaim of death ? You and I may also 
 grieve to part from certain unsold volumes, from 
 certain manuscripts of doubtful fate and eventuality. 
 Oh ! out of this pang of death has come the scheme 
 and achievement of immortality. " Non omnis mo- 
 riar." " I am the resurrection and the life. * " It 
 is sown a natural body ; it is raised a spiritual 
 body." 
 
 This tremendous leap and feat of the human soul 
 across the bridge of dark negativity would never 
 have been made without the sharp spur and bitter 
 pang of death. " My life food for worms ? No ; 
 never. I will build and bestow it in arts and char 
 ities, spin it in roads and replicate it in systems ; 
 but to be lopped from the great body of humanity, 
 and decay like a black, amputated limb ? My man 
 hood refuses. The infinite hope within me gener 
 ates another life, realizable in every moment of my 
 
 171 
 
The natural existence, whose moments are not in time, 
 
 Half ness whose perfect joys are not measured by variable 
 of Nature duration. Thus every day can be to me full of im 
 mortality, and the matter of my corporeal decease 
 full of indifference, as sure to be unconscious. * 
 
 I think this attainment the first, fundamental to 
 all the others. We console the child with a simple 
 word about heaven. He is satisfied, and feels its 
 truth. How to attain this deathlessness is the next 
 problem whose solution he will ask of us. We 
 point him to the plane on which he will roll ; for 
 our life is a series of revolutions, no straight 
 forward sledding, but an acceleration by ideal weight 
 and propulsion, through which our line becomes a 
 circle, and our circle itself a living wheel of action, 
 creating out of its mobile necessity a past and a 
 future. 
 
 The halfness of the individual is literally shown 
 in the division of sex. The Platonic fancy runs 
 into an anterior process, by which what was orig 
 inally one has been made two. We will say that 
 the two halves were never historically, though al 
 ways ideally, one. Here Art comes to the assist 
 ance, of Nature. The mere contrast of sex does 
 not lift society out of what is animal and slavish. 
 The integrity of sex relation is not to be found 
 in a succession or simultaneity of mates, easily 
 taken and as easily discarded. This great value of 
 a perfected life is to be had only through an abid- 
 172 
 
ing and complete investment, the relations of The 
 sex lifted up to the communion of the divine, uni- Halfness 
 fied by the good faith of a lifetime, enriched by a of Nature 
 true sharing of all experience. This august part 
 nership is Marriage, one of the most difficult and 
 delicate achievements of society. Too sadly does 
 its mockery afflict us in these and other days. 
 Either party, striving to dwarf the other, dwarfs 
 itself. This mystic selfhood, inexpressible in lit 
 eral phrases, is at once the supreme of Nature and 
 the sublime of institutions. The ideal human 
 being is man and woman united on the ideal plane. 
 The church long presented and represented this 
 plane. The state is hereafter to second and carry out 
 its suggestions. The ideal assembly, which we figure 
 by the communion of the saints, is a coming to 
 gether of men and women in the highest aims and 
 views to which Humanity can be a party. 
 
 Passing from immediate to projected conscious 
 ness, I can imagine expression itself to spring from 
 want. The sense of the incompleteness of life in 
 itself and in each of its acts calls for this effort to 
 show, at least, what life should be, to vindicate 
 the shortcoming of action out of the fulness of 
 speech. This that eats and sleeps is so little of 
 the man ! These processes are so little what he 
 understands by life ! Listen ; let him tell you 
 what life means to him. 
 
 And so sound is differentiated into speech, and 
 
 1 73 
 
The hammered into grammar, and built up into litera- 
 
 Halfness ture all of whose creations are acoustic palaces 
 
 of Nature of imagination. For the eye in reading is only the 
 
 secondary sense : the written images the spoken 
 
 word. 
 
 How the rhythm of the blood comes to be em 
 bodied in verse is more difficult to trace. But the 
 justification of Poetry is obvious. When you have 
 told the thing in prose, you have /nade it false by 
 making it literal. Poesy lies a little to complete 
 the truth which Honesty lacks skill to embody. 
 Her artifices are subtle and wonderful. You glance 
 
 O 
 
 sideways at the image, and you see it. You look 
 it full in the face, and it disappears. 
 
 The plastic arts, too. This beautiful face com 
 mands me to paint from it a picture twice as beau 
 tiful. Its charm of Nature I cannot attain. My 
 painting must not try for the edge of its flesh and 
 blood forms, the evanescence of its color, the light 
 and shadow of its play of feature. But something 
 which the beautiful face could not know of itself 
 the artist knows of it. That deep interpretation 
 of its ideal significance marks the true master, who 
 is never a Chinese copyist. Some of the portraits 
 that look down upon you from the walls of Rome 
 and of Florence calmly explain to you a whole eter 
 nity. Their eyes seem to have seized it all, and to 
 hold it beyond decay. This is what Art gives in 
 the picture, not simply what appears and dis- 
 
 74 
 
appears, but that which, being interpreted, abides The 
 with us. Halfness 
 
 Who shall say by what responsive depths the of Nature 
 heights of architecture measure themselves ? The 
 uplifted arches mirror the introspective soul. So 
 profoundly did I think, and plot, and contrive ! 
 So loftily must my stone climax balance my cogi 
 tations ! To such an amount of prayer allow so 
 many aisles and altars. The pillars of cloisters 
 image the brotherhood who walked in the narrow 
 passages ; straight, slender, paired in steadfastness 
 and beauty, there they stand, fair records of amity. 
 Columns of retrospect, let us hope that the souls 
 they image did not look back with longing upon 
 the scenes which they were called upon to forsake. 
 
 Critical belief asks roomy enclosures and win 
 dows unmasked by artificial impediments. It comes 
 also to desire limits within which the voice of the 
 speaker can reach all present. Men must look 
 each other in the face, and construct prayer or 
 sermon with the human alphabet. We are glad 
 to see the noble structures of older times main 
 tained and renewed ; but we regret to see them 
 imitated in our later day. (St. Peter s is, in all 
 save dimension, a church of Protestant architecture 
 so is St. Paul s, of London.) The present has 
 its own trials and agonies, its martyrdoms and de 
 liverances. With it, the old litanies must sink to 
 sleep ; the more Christian of to-day efface the most 
 
 175 
 
Ike Christian of yesterday. The very attitude of saint- 
 
 llalfness ship is changed. The practical piety of our time 
 
 of Nature looks neither up nor down, but straight before it, 
 
 at the men and women to be relieved, at the work 
 
 to be done. Religion to-day is not " height nor 
 
 depth nor any other creature," but God with us. 
 
 There is a mystic birth and Providence in the 
 succession of the Arts ; yet are they designed to 
 dwell together, each needing the aid of all. Peo 
 ple often speak of sculpture as of an art purely 
 and distinctively Grecian. But the Greeks pos 
 sessed all the Arts, and more, too, the substra 
 tum of democracy and the sublime of philosophy. 
 No natural jealousy prevails in this happy house 
 hold. The Arts are not wives, of whom one must 
 die before another has proper place. They are sis 
 ters, whose close communion heightens the charm 
 of all by the excellence of each. The Christian 
 unanimity is as favorable to Art as to human 
 society. 
 
 We may say that the Greeks attained a great 
 perfection in sculpture, and have continued in this 
 art to offer the models of the world. 
 
 When the great period of Italian art attained its 
 full splendor, it seemed as if the frozen crystals of 
 Greek sculpture had melted before the fire of 
 Christian inspiration. But this transformation, 
 like the transfiguration of Hindoo deities, did not 
 destroy the anterior in its issue. 
 
 176 
 
The soul of sculpture ripened into painting, but The 
 Sculpture, the beautiful mother, still lived and Ha/fness 
 smiled upon her glowing daughter. See Michael of Nature 
 Angelo studying the torso ! See the silent gal 
 leries of the Vatican, where Form holds you in one 
 room, Color presently detaining you in another ! 
 And what are our Raphaels, Angelos, making to 
 day ? Be sure they are in the world, for the divine 
 spirit of Art never leaves itself without a witness. 
 But what is their noble task ? They are moulding 
 character, embodying the divine in human culture 
 and in human institutions. The Greek sculptures 
 indicate and continue a fitting reverence for the 
 dignity and beauty of the human form ; but the 
 reverence for the human soul which fills the world 
 to-day is a holier and happier basis of Art. From 
 it must come records in comparison with which 
 obelisk and pyramid, triumphal arch and ghostly 
 cathedral, shall seem the toys and school appliances 
 of the childhood of the race. 
 
 To return to our original problem, how shall 
 we attain the proper human stature, how add the 
 wanting half to the half which is given ? 
 
 I answer : By labor and by faith, in which there 
 is nothing accidental or arbitrary. The very world 
 in which we live is but a form, whose spirit, breath 
 ing through Nature and Experience, slowly creates 
 its own interpretation, adding a new testament to 
 an old testament, lifting the veil between Truth 
 
 177 
 
The and Mercy, clasping the mailed hand of Righteous- 
 
 Halfness ness in the velvet glove of Peace. 
 
 of Nature The spirit of Religion is the immanence of the 
 divine in the human, the image of the eternal in 
 the transitory, of things infinite in things limited. 
 I have heard endless discussions and vexed state 
 ments of how the world came out of chaos. From 
 the Mosaic version to the last rationalistic theory, 
 I have been willing to give ear to these. It is 
 a subject upon which human ingenuity may exer 
 cise itself in its allowable leisure. One thing con 
 cerns all of us much more ; viz., how to get heaven 
 out of earth, good out of evil, instruction out of 
 opportunity. 
 
 This is our true life work. When we have done 
 all in this that life allows us, we have not done 
 more than half, the other half lying beyond the 
 pale struggle and the silent rest. Oh ! when we 
 shall reach that bound, whatever may be wanting, 
 let not courage and hope forsake us. 
 
Dante and Beatrice 
 
Dante and Beatrice 
 
 DANTE and Beatrice names linked together 
 by holy affection and high art. Ary Scheffer has 
 shown them to us as in a beatific vision, the stern 
 spirit which did not fear to confront the horrors of 
 Hell held in a silken leash of meekness by the 
 gracious one through whose intervention he passed 
 unscathed through fire and torment, bequeathing 
 to posterity a record unique in the annals alike of 
 literature and of humanity. 
 
 My first studies of the great poet are in the 
 time long past, antedating even that middle term 
 of life which was for him the starting-point of a 
 new inspiration. Yet it seems to me that no part 
 of my life, since that reading, has been without 
 some echo of the " Divine Comedy " in my mind. 
 In the walk through Hell, I strangely believe. Its 
 warnings still admonish me. I see the boat of 
 Charon, with its mournful freight. I pass before 
 the judgment seat of Midas. I see the souls tor 
 mented in hopeless flame. I feel the weight of the 
 leaden cloaks. I shrink from the jar of the flying 
 rocks, hurled as weapons. For me, dark Ugolino 
 still feeds upon his enemy. Francesca still mates 
 with her sad lover. 
 
 181 
 
Dante From this hopeless abyss, I emerge to the 
 and kindlier pain of Purgatory, whose end is almost 
 Beatrice Heaven. And of that blessed realm, my soul still 
 holds remembrance of its solemn joy, of its un 
 folding revelation. The vision of that mighty 
 cross in which all the stars of the highest heaven 
 range themselves is before me, on each fair cluster 
 the word " Cristo " outshining all besides. 
 
 Among my dearest recollections is that of an 
 Easter sermon devised by me for an ignorant black 
 congregation in a far-off West Indian isle, in which 
 I told of this vision of the cross, and tried to make 
 it present to them. But this grateful remembrance 
 which I have carried through so many years does 
 not regard the poet alone. In the world s great 
 goods, as in its great evils, a woman has her part. 
 And this poem, which has been such a boon to 
 humanity, has for its central inspiration the mem 
 ory of a woman. 
 
 In the prologue, already we hear of her. It is 
 she who sends her poet his poet-guide. When he 
 shrinks from the painful progress which lies be 
 fore him, and deems the companionship even of 
 Virgil an insufficient pledge of safety, the words 
 of his lady, repeated to him by his guide, restore 
 his sinking courage, and give him strength for his 
 immortal journey. 
 
 Here are those words of Beatrice, spoken to 
 Virgil, and by him brought to Dante : 
 182 
 
courteous shade of Mantua ! thou whose fame T)ante 
 Yet lives and shall live long as Nature lasts ! and 
 
 A friend, not of my fortune, but myself, D f 
 
 On the wide desert in his road has met 
 Hindrance so great that he through fear has turned. 
 Assist him: so to me will comfort spring. 
 
 1 who now bid thee on this errand forth 
 Am Beatrice. 
 
 Who and what was Beatrice, whose message gave 
 Dante strength to explore the fearful depths of 
 evil and its punishment ? This we may learn 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Dante, passionate poet in his youth, has left to 
 posterity a work unique of its sort, the romance 
 of a childish love which grew with the growth of 
 the lover. In his adolescence, its intensity at 
 times overpowers his bodily senses. The years 
 that built up his towering manhood built up along 
 with it this ideal womanhood, which, whether real 
 ized or realizable, or neither, was the highest and 
 holiest essence which his imagination could infuse 
 into a human form. The sweet shyness of that 
 first peep at the Beautiful, of that first thrill of the 
 master chord of being, is rendered immortal for 
 us by the candor of this great master. We can see 
 the shamefaced boy, taken captive by the dazzling 
 vision of Beatrice, veiling the features of his un 
 reasonable passion, and retiring to his own closet, 
 there to hide his joy at having found on earth a 
 thing so beautiful. 
 
 183 
 
Dante Dante s love for Beatrice dates from the com- 
 and pletion of his own ninth year, and the beginning 
 Beatrice of hers. He first sees her at a May party, at the 
 house of her father, Folco Polinari. Her apparel, 
 he says, " was of a most noble tincture, a subdued 
 and becoming crimson ; and she wore a girdle and 
 ornaments becoming her childish years." At the 
 sight of her, his heart began to beat with painful 
 violence. A master thought had taken possession 
 of him, and that master s name was well known to 
 him, as how should it not have been in that day 
 when, if ever in this world, Love was crowned lord 
 of all ? Urged by this tyrant, from time to time, 
 to go in search of Beatrice, he beheld in her, he 
 says, a demeanor so praiseworthy and so noble as 
 to remind him of a line of Homer, regarding 
 Helen of Troy : 
 
 "From heaven she had her birth, and not from mortal clay. * 
 
 These glimpses of her must have been transient 
 ones, for the poet tells us that his second meeting, 
 face to face, with Beatrice occurred nine years after 
 their first encounter. Her childish charm had now 
 ripened into maidenly loveliness. He beholds her 
 arrayed in purest white, walking between two noble 
 ladies older than herself. "As she passed along 
 the street, she turned her eyes toward the spot 
 where I, thrilled through and through with awe, 
 was standing ; and in her ineffable courtesy, which 
 
 184 
 
now hath its guerdon in everlasting life, she saluted Dante 
 me in such gracious wise that I seemed in that and 
 moment to behold the utmost bounds of bliss." Beatrice 
 
 He now begins to dream of her in his sleeping 
 moments, and to rhyme of her in his waking hours. 
 In his first vision, Love appears with Beatrice in 
 his arms. In one hand he holds Dante s flaming 
 heart, upon which he constrains her to feed ; after 
 which, weeping, he gathers up his fair burthen and 
 ascends with her to Heaven. This dream seemed 
 to Dante fit to be communicated to the many 
 famous poets of the time. He embodies it in a 
 sonnet, which opens thus : 
 
 To every captive soul and gentle heart 
 
 Into whose sight shall come this song of mine, 
 
 That they to me its matter may divine, 
 
 Be greeting in Love s name, our master s, sent. 
 
 And now begins for him a season of love-lorn 
 pining and heart-sickness. The intensity of the 
 attraction paralyzes in him the power of approach 
 ing its object. His friends notice his altered looks, 
 and ask the cause of this great change in him. He 
 confesses that it is the master passion, but so mis 
 leads them as to the person beloved, as to bring 
 upon another a scandal by his feigning. For this 
 he is punished by the displeasure of Beatrice, who, 
 passing him in the street, refuses him that saluta 
 tion the very hope of which, he says, kindled such 
 
Dante a flame of charity within him as to make him for- 
 and get and forgive every offence and injury. 
 Beatrice Love now visits him in his sleep, in the guise of 
 a youth arrayed in garments of exceeding white 
 ness, and desires him to indite certain words in 
 rhyme, which, though not openly addressed to 
 Beatrice, shall yet assure her of what she partly 
 knows, that the poet s heart has been hers from 
 boyhood. The ballad which he composes in obedi 
 ence to his love s command is not a very literal 
 rendering of his story. 
 
 He now begins to have many conflicting thoughts 
 about Love, two of which constitute a very respect 
 able antinomy. One of these tells him that the 
 empire of Love is good, because it turns the in 
 clinations of its vassal from all that is base. The 
 opposite thought is : " The empire of Love is not 
 good, since the more absolute the allegiance of his 
 vassal, the more severe and woful are the straits 
 through which he must perforce pass." 
 
 These conflicting thoughts sought expression in 
 a sonnet, of which I will quote a part : 
 
 Of Love, Love only, speaks my every thought ; 
 
 And all so various they be that one 
 
 Bids me bow down to his dominion, 
 
 Another counsels me his power is naught. 
 
 One, flushed with hopes, is all with sweetness fraught ; 
 
 Another makes full oft my tears to run. 
 
 186 
 
Where, then, to turn, what think, I cannot tell. Dante 
 
 Fain would I speak, yet know not what to say. an j 
 
 While these uncertainties still possess him,Dante ea rt 
 is persuaded by a friend to attend a bridal festivity, 
 where it is hoped that the sight of much beauty 
 may give him great pleasure. 
 
 " Why have you brought me among these 
 ladies?" he asks. "In order that they may be 
 properly attended," is the answer. 
 
 Small attendance can Dante give upon these 
 noble beauties. A fatal tremor seizes him ; he 
 looks up and, beholding Beatrice, can see nothing 
 else. Nay, even of her his vision is marred by 
 the intensity of his feeling. The ladies first won 
 der at his agitation, and then make merry over it, 
 Beatrice apparently joining in their merriment. 
 His friend, chagrined at his embarrassment, now 
 asks the cause of it ; to which question Dante re 
 plies : " I have set my foot in that part of life to 
 pass beyond which, with purpose to return, is 
 impossible." 
 
 With these words the poet departs, and in his 
 chamber of tears persuades himself that Beatrice 
 would not have joined in the laughter of her friends 
 if she had really known his state of mind. Then 
 follows, naturally, a sonnet : 
 
 With other ladies thou dost flaunt at me, 
 
 Nor thinkest, lady, whence doth come the change, 
 
 187 
 
]) an t e What fills mine aspect with a trouble strange 
 
 When I the wonder of thy beauty see. 
 
 * . If thou didst know, thou must, for charity, 
 
 Beatrice Forswear the wonted rigor of thine eye. 
 
 With this poetic utterance comes the plain prose 
 question : " Seeing thou dost present an aspect so 
 ridiculous whenever thou art near this lady, where 
 fore dost thou seek to come into her presence ? " 
 
 It takes two sonnets to answer this question. 
 He is not the only person who asks it. Meeting 
 with some merry dames, he is thus questioned by 
 her of them who seems " most gay and pleasant of 
 discourse : " " Unto what end lovest thou this 
 lady, seeing that her near presence overwhelms 
 thee ? " In reply, he professes himself happy in 
 having words wherewith to speak the praises of his 
 lady, and going thence, determines in his heart to 
 devote his powers of expression to that high theme. 
 He leaves the cramping sonnet now, and expands 
 his thought in the canzone^ of which I need only 
 repeat the first line : - 
 
 Ladies who have the intellect of Love. 
 
 Why the course of this true love never did run 
 smooth, we know not. Beatrice, at the proper age, 
 was given in marriage to Messer Simone dei Bardi. 
 It is thought that she was wedded to him before 
 the occasion on which Dante s love-lorn appearance 
 moved her to a mirth which may have been feigned. 
 
 1 88 
 
Still, the thought of her continues to be his great- Dante 
 est possession, and he and his master, Love, hold and 
 many arguments together concerning the bliss and Beatrice 
 bane of this high fancy. He has great comfort in 
 the general esteem in which his lady is held, and is 
 proud and glad when those who see her passing in 
 the street hasten to get a better view of her. He 
 sees the controlling power of her loveliness in its 
 influence on those around her, who are not thrown 
 into the shade, but brightened, by her radiance. 
 
 Such virtue rare her beauty hath, in sooth 
 
 No envy stirs in other ladies* breast; 
 
 But in its light they walk beside her, dressed 
 
 In gentleness, and love, and noble truth. 
 
 Her looks whate er they light on seem to bless ; 
 
 Nor her alone make lovely to the view, 
 
 But all her peers through her have honor, too. 
 
 Dante was still engaged in interpreting the merits 
 of Beatrice to the world when that most gentle 
 being met the final conflict, and received the crown 
 of immortality. His first feeling is that Florence 
 is made desolate by her loss. He can think of no 
 words but those with which the prophet Jeremiah 
 bewailed the spoiling of Jerusalem : " How doth 
 the city sit desolate!" The princes of the earth, 
 he thinks, should learn the loss of this more than 
 princess. He speaks of her in sonnet and canzone. 
 
 The passing of a band of pilgrims in the street 
 suggests to him the thought that they do not know 
 
 189 
 
Dante of his sweet saint, nor of her death, and that if 
 and they did, they would perforce stop to weep with 
 Beatrice him : 
 
 Tell me, ye pilgrims, who so thoughtful go, 
 
 Musing, mayhap, on what is far away, 
 
 Come ye from climes so far, as your array 
 
 And look of foreign nurture seem to shew, 
 
 That from your eyes no tears of pity flow, 
 
 As ye along our mourning city stray, 
 
 Serene of countenance and free, as they 
 
 Who of her deep disaster nothing know ? 
 
 Oh ! she hath lost her Beatrice, her saint, 
 
 And what of her her co-mates can reveal 
 
 Must drown with tears even strangers hearts, perforce. 
 
 On the first anniversary of his lady s death, as 
 he sits absorbed in thoughts of her, he sketches 
 the figure of an angel upon his tablets. Turning 
 presently from his work, he sees near him some 
 gentlemen of his acquaintance, who are watching 
 the movements of his pencil. He answers the 
 interruption thus : 
 
 Into my lonely thoughts that noble dame 
 Whom Love bewails, had entered in the hour 
 When you, my friends, attracted by his power, 
 To see the task that did employ me came. 
 
 Many a sigh of dole escapes his heart, he says, 
 
 But they which came with sharpest pang were those 
 Which said : " O intellect of noble mould, 
 A year to-day it is since thou didst seek the skies." 
 190 
 
We may find, perhaps, a more wonderful proof Dante 
 of his constancy in his stout-hearted resistance to and 
 the charms of a beautiful lady who regards him Beatrice 
 with that intense pity which is akin to love. To 
 her he says : 
 
 Never was Pity s semblance, or Love s hue 
 So wondrously in face of lady shown, 
 That tenderly gave ear to Sorrow s moan 
 Or looked on woful eyes, as shows in you. 
 
 To this new attraction he is on the point of 
 surrendering, when the vision of Beatrice rises 
 before him, as he first saw her, robed in crim 
 son, and bright with the angelic beauty of child 
 hood. All other thoughts are put to flight by 
 this, and with renewed faith he devotes himself to 
 the memory of Beatrice, hoping to say of her some 
 day " that which hath never yet been said of any 
 lady." 
 
 All who have been lovers and who has not ? 
 must feel, I think, that the " Vita Nuova " is the 
 romance of a true love. The Beatrice of the " Di- 
 vina Commedia" is this love, and much more. 
 Dante has had a deep and availing experience of 
 life. Statesman and scholar, he has laid his fiery 
 soul upon the world s great anvil, where Fate, with 
 heavy hammering and fiery blowing, has wrought 
 out of him a stern, sad man, so hunted and exiled 
 that the ways of Imagination alone are open to 
 
 191 
 
Dante him. In its domain, he calls around him the 
 and majestic shadows of those with whom his life has 
 Beatrice made him familiar. For him, the way to Heaven 
 lies through Hell and Purgatory. Into these re 
 gions, the blessed Beatrice cannot come. She sends, 
 however, the poet shade, who seems to her most fit 
 to be his guide. The classic refinement makes evi 
 dent to him the vulgarity of sin and the logic of 
 its consequences. He surveys the eternal, hope 
 less punishment, and passes through the cleansing 
 fires of Purgatory, at whose outer verge, a fair 
 vision conies to bless him. Beatrice, in a mystical 
 car, her beauty at first concealed by a veil of flow 
 ers which drop from the hands of attendant angels, 
 speaks to him in tones which move his penitential 
 grief. 
 
 The high love of his youth thus appears to him 
 as accusing Conscience, which stands to question 
 him with the offended majesty of a loving mother. 
 Through her rebukes, precious in their bitterness, 
 he attains to that view of his own errors without 
 which it would have been impossible for him to 
 forsake them. It is a real orthodox " repentance 
 and conviction of sin" with which the religious re 
 newal of his life begins. Tormented by this cruel 
 retrospect, the poet is mercifully bathed in the 
 waters of forgetfulness, and then, being made a new 
 creature, regains the society of Beatrice. 
 192 
 
Seated at the root of the great Tree of Human- Dante 
 ity, she bids him take note of the prophetic vision and 
 which symbolizes the history of the church. Of Beatrice 
 the sanctity of the tree, she thus admonishes him : 
 
 This whoso robs, 
 
 This whoso plucks, with blasphemy of deed 
 Sins against God, who for His use alone 
 Creating, hallowed it. 
 
 Dante drinks now of a stream whose sweetness 
 can never satiate, and from that holy wave returns, 
 
 Regenerate, 
 Pure, and made apt for mounting to the stars. 
 
 It appears to me quite simple and natural that 
 the image of the poet s earthly love, long lost from 
 physical sense, should prompt the awakening of his 
 higher nature, which, obscured, as he confesses, by 
 the disorders of his mortal life, asserts itself with 
 availing authority when Beatrice, the beloved, be 
 comes present to his mind. All progress, all heav 
 enly learning, is thenceforth associated with her. 
 High as he may climb, she always leads him. 
 Where he passes as a stranger, she is at home. 
 Where he poorly guesses, she wholly knows. Nor 
 does he part from her until he has attained the high 
 est point of spiritual vision, where he sees her 
 throned and crowned in immortal glory, and above 
 her, the lovely one of Heaven, the Virgin Mother 
 
 193 
 
Dante of Christ. What he sees after this, he says, cannot 
 and be told with mortal tongue. 
 
 Beatrice f 
 
 Here vigor failed the towering fantasy, 
 
 But yet the will rolled onward, like a wheel, 
 
 In even motion, by the love impelled 
 
 That moves the sun in heaven and all the stars. 
 
 Two opposite points in great authors give us 
 pleasure ; viz., the originality of their talent or 
 genius, and the catholicity of their sentiments and 
 interest, in other words, their likeness and their 
 unlikeness to the average of humanity. We are 
 delighted to find Plato at once so modern and so 
 ancient, his prevision and prophecy needing so lit 
 tle adaptation to make them germane to the wants 
 of our own or of any other time, his grasp of ap 
 prehension and comparison so peculiar to himself, 
 so unrivalled by any thinker of any time. In like 
 manner, the mediaeval pictures drawn by Dante 
 delight us, and the bold daring of his imagination. 
 At the same time, the perfectly sound and rational 
 common sense of many of his utterances seems 
 familiar from its accordance with the soundest 
 criticism of our own time : 
 
 Florence within her ancient circle set, 
 Remained in sober, modest quietness. 
 Nor chains had she, nor crowns, nor women decked 
 In gay attire, with splendid cincture bound, 
 More to be gazed at than the form itself. 
 194 
 
Not yet the daughter to the father brought 
 
 Fear from her birth, the marriage time and dower 
 
 Not yet departing from their fitting measure. 
 
 Nor houses had she, void of household life. 
 
 Sardanapalus had not haply shown 
 
 The deeds which may be hid by chamber walls. 
 
 I saw Bellincion Berti go his way 
 
 With bone and leather belted. From the glass 
 
 His lady moved, no paint upon her face. 
 
 I saw the Lords of Norti and del Vecchio content, 
 
 Their household dames engaged with spool and spindle. 
 
 The theory of the good old time, we see, is not a 
 modern invention. 
 
 Dante inherits the great heart of chivalry, wise 
 before its time in the uplifting of Woman. The 
 wonderful worship of the Virgin Mother, in which 
 are united the two poles of womanhood, completed 
 the ideal of the Divine Human, and cast a new 
 glory upon the sex. Can we doubt that knight 
 and minstrel found a true inspiration in the lady 
 of their heart ? A mere pretence or affection is a 
 poor thing to fight for or to sing for. Men will 
 not imperil their lives for what they know to be 
 a lie. 
 
 This newly awakened reverence for woman 
 shall we call it a race characteristic? It was a 
 golden gift to any race. Plato s deep doctrine that 
 all learning is a reminiscence may avail us in ques 
 tioning this. The human race does not carry the 
 bulk of its knowledge in its hand. Busy with its 
 
 1 95 
 
 Dante 
 
 and 
 
 Beatrice 
 
Dante tools and toys, it forgets its ancestral heirlooms, 
 and and leaves unexplored the legacy of the past. But 
 Beatrice in some mystical way, the treasures lost from re 
 membrance turn up and come to sight again. In 
 the far Caucasus, from which we came, there were 
 glimpses of this ideal wife and mother. 
 
 This history, whether real or imaginary, or both, 
 suggests to me the question whether the love which 
 brings together and binds together men and women 
 can in any way typify the supreme affections of the 
 soul ? That it was supposed to do so in mediaeval 
 times is certain. The sentimental agonies of trou 
 badours and minstrels make it evident. Even the 
 latest seedy sprout of chivalry, Don Quixote, shows 
 us this. Wishing to start upon a noble errand, the 
 succor of oppressed humanity, his almost first requi 
 site is a "lady of his heart," who, in his case, is a 
 mere lay figure upon which he drapes the fantastic 
 weaving of his imagination. 
 
 Another question, like unto the first, is this, 
 whether the heroic mode of loving is or is not a 
 lost art in our days. 
 
 That Plato and Socrates should busy themselves 
 with it, that mystics and philosophers should find 
 such a depth of interest in the attraction which one 
 nature exerts upon another, and that, per contra, in 
 our time, this mystical attraction should flatten, or, 
 as singers say, flat out into a decorous observance 
 of rules, assisting a mutual endurance what does 
 196 
 
it mean ? Is Pan dead, and are the other gods Dante 
 dead with him ? and 
 
 In an age widely, if not deeply, critical, we lose Beatrice 
 sight of the primitive affections and temperament 
 of our race. Affection s self becomes merged in 
 opinion. We contemplate, we compare, we are not 
 able to covet any but surface distinctions, surface 
 attractions. Even the poets who give us the ex 
 pression of a lively participation in human instincts 
 are disowned by us. Wordsworth is chosen, and 
 Byron is discarded, We are not too rich with both 
 of them. Inspired Browning for the man who 
 wrote " Pippa" and " Saul" was inspired loses 
 himself and his music in the dismal swamp of meta 
 physical speculation. Just at present, it seems to 
 me that the world has lost one of its noblest lead 
 ings ; viz., the desire for true companionship. 
 Arid love of pleasure, more arid worship of wealth, 
 paralyze those higher powers of the soul which 
 take hold on friendship and on love. To know 
 those only who can advance your personal objects, 
 be these amusement or ambition ; to marry at auc 
 tion, going, going, for so much, how can we who 
 have but one human life to live so cheat ourselves 
 out of its real rights and privileges ? 
 
 Is this a pathological symptom in the body 
 social, produced by a surfeit in the direction of 
 inclination ? One might think so, since asceticism 
 has no joylessness comparable to that of the blasted 
 
 197 
 
Dante roue or utter worldling. In France, where the bent 
 and of romantic literature has been the following of 
 Beatrice inclination, from George Sand, who consecrates 
 it, down to the latest scrofulous scribbler, who 
 outrages it, on the banks of this turbid stream 
 of literature, one constantly meets with the apples 
 of Sodom. " There is no other fruit," say the ven 
 ders. "You cultivate none other," is the fitting 
 reply. 
 
 The world of thought is ever full of problems 
 as contradictory of each other as the antinomies of 
 which I just now made a passing mention. The 
 right interpretation of these riddles is of great 
 moment in our spiritual and intellectual life. The 
 ages and aeons of human experience tend, on the 
 whole, to a gradual unification of persuasion and 
 conviction on the part of thinking beings, and much 
 that a prophet breathes into a hopeless blank ac 
 quires meaning in the light of succeeding centuries. 
 This great problem of love continues to be full 
 of contradictory aspects to those who would explore 
 it. We distinguish between divine love and human 
 love, but have yet to decide whether Love absolute 
 is divine or human ; for this deity is known to us 
 from all time in two opposite shapes, as a destruc 
 tive and as a constructive god. He unmakes the 
 man, he unmakes the woman, sucks up precious 
 years of human life like a sponge, sets Troy ablaze, 
 maddens harmless lo with a stinging gad-fly. 
 198 
 
On the other hand, where Love is not, nothing Dante 
 is. Luxurious Solomon praises a dinner of herbs and 
 enriched by his presence. All poetry, all doctrine, Beatrice 
 is founded upon human affection assumed as essen 
 tial to life, nay, as life itself; for when love of life 
 and its objects exists not, the vital flame flickers 
 feebly, and expires early. In ethics, social and re 
 ligious, what contradictions do we encounter under 
 this head ! From all inordinate and sinful affec 
 tions, good Lord, deliver us ! is a good prayer. 
 But how shall we treat the case when there are no 
 affections at all ? We might add a clause to our 
 litany, From lovelessness and all manner of in 
 difference, good Lord, deliver us ! What more 
 direful sentence than to say that a person has no 
 heart ? What sin more severely punished than any 
 extravagant action of this same heart P 
 
 These wonders of lofty sentiment and high im 
 agination are precious subjects of study. The con 
 struction of a great poem, of which the interest is 
 at once intense, various, and sustained, seems to us 
 a work more appropriate to other days than to our 
 own. I remember in my youth a fluent critic who 
 was fond of saying that if Milton had lived in this 
 day of the world, he would not have thought of 
 writing an epic poem. To which another of the 
 same stripe would reply : " If he did write such a 
 poem in these days, nobody would read it." I won 
 der how long the frisky impatience of our youth 
 
 199 
 
Dante will think it worth while to follow even Homer in 
 
 and his long narratives. 
 
 Beatrice More than this sustained power of the imagina 
 tion, does the heroic in sentiment seem to decrease 
 and to be wanting among us. Those lofty views 
 of human affection and relation which we find in 
 the great poets seem almost foreign to the civiliza 
 tion of to-day. I find in modern scepticism this 
 same impatience of weighty thoughts. He who 
 believes only in the phenomenal universe does not 
 follow a conviction. A fatal indolence of mind pre 
 vents him from following any lead which threatens 
 fatigue and difficult labor. Instead of a temple 
 for the Divine, our man of to-day builds a com 
 modious house for himself, at best, a club-house 
 for his set or circle. And the worst of it is, that 
 he teaches his son to do the same thing. 
 
 The social change which I notice to-day as a 
 decline in attachments simply personal is partly 
 the result of a political change which I, for one, 
 cannot deplore. The idea of the state and of 
 society as bodies in which each individual has a 
 direct interest gives to men and women of to-day 
 an enlarged sphere of action and of instruction. 
 The absolutely universal coincidence of the real 
 advantage of the individual with that of the com 
 munity, always true in itself, and neither now nor 
 at any time fully comprehended, gives the funda 
 mental tone to thought and education to-day. The 
 200 
 
result is a tendency to generality, to publicity, and Dante 
 a neglect of those relations into which external and 
 power and influence do not enter. The action of Beatrice 
 mind upon mind, of character upon character, out 
 side of public life, is intense, intimate, insensi 
 ble. Temperament is most valued nowadays for 
 its effect upon multitudes. We wish to be recog 
 nized as moving in a wide and exalted sphere. 
 The belle in the ball-room is glad to have it re 
 ported that the Prince of Wales admires her. The 
 lady who should grace a lady s sphere pines for the 
 stage and the footlights. Actions and appearances 
 are calculated to be seen of men. 
 
 I say no harm of this tendency, which has en 
 franchised me and many others from the cruel 
 fetters of a narrow and personal judgment. It is 
 safe and happy to have the public for a final court 
 of appeal, and to be able, when an issue is mis 
 judged or distorted, to call upon its great heart to 
 say where the right is, and where the wrong. But 
 let us, in our panorama of wide activities, keep 
 with all the more care these pictures of spirits that 
 have been so finely touched within the limits of 
 Nature s deepest reserve and modesty. This me 
 diaeval did not go to dancing-school nor to Har 
 vard College. He could not talk of the fellows 
 and the girls. But from his early childhood, he 
 holds fast the tender remembrance of a beautiful 
 and gracious face. The thought of it, and of the 
 
 2OI 
 
Dante high type of woman which it images, is to him 
 and more fruitful of joy and satisfaction than the amuse- 
 Beatrice ments of youth or the gaieties of the great world. 
 Death removes this beloved object from his sight, 
 but not from his thoughts. Years pass. His 
 genius reaches its sublime maturity. He becomes 
 acquainted with camps and courts, with the learn 
 ing and the world of his day. But when, with all 
 his powers, he would build a perfect monument to 
 Truth, he takes her perfect measure from the hand 
 of his child-love. The world keeps that work, and 
 will keep it while literature shall last. It has many 
 a subtle passage, many a wonderful picture, but at 
 its height, crowned with all names divine, he has 
 written, as worthy to be remembered with these, 
 the name of Beatrice. 
 
 202 
 
PRINTED AT THE EVERETT PRESS BOSTON MASS. 
 
USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped belpjv, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immedi; 
 
 -T( :CORC JUN25 94 
 
 XL*lhwr UAN 02 2001 
 
 LD21-35m-8, 72 
 (Q4189S10)476 A-32 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
II INI II I ill ii i Mil i mi 
 
 C 3 1 fl 3 1 5 2