pleasant gossip from a young and gifted American lady, at present
resident in the French metropolis. We hope to be similarly favored,
whenever our fair correspondent shall find leisure from the demands
of society to transcribe her fresh 'jottings-down' for our pages:
'WE went to the Hotel des Invalides this morning to see the plans
in relief of the fortified towns of France. They are exhibited to
the public only during one month in the year. The plans of those
cities I have visited interested me particularly. They are so
minute that Miss L----, who accompanied us, had no difficulty in
finding the country-house near Toulon where she spent some months
last year. I was much struck by the plan of Embrun, in Dauphiny,
that little town celebrated in both history and romance by the
pilgrimages so frequently made to it by devout Catholics. It is
strongly fortified and built on a rock of semi-circular form, which
rises so perpendicularly on one side from the meadows which lie
below, that one would suppose it must have been hewn away by the
hand of man. I was much interested, too, by the plan of Mont St.
Michel, in Normandy, the celebrated prison, built on a rock, which
the tide separates twice a day from the main land, and where the
political prisoners condemned after the _émeuté_, in May, 1839, are
confined. We were looking at the plan of a fort, on the pedestal
of which the name had not been labelled as on the others, when a
soldier standing near informed us it was that of Ham, where the
nephew of NAPOLEON is now a prisoner. It is in Picardy, which I am
told is the most arid and unfruitful province in France. It is built
around a quadrangular court, or I should rather say there are three
buildings and a terrace which form a hollow square. The prince, who
is said to be a remarkably good horseman, is allowed to ride on
this terrace, which is not shaded by trees; indeed, if this plan
be correct, which I suppose it must be, as it has just been made,
there is but one tree within the precincts of the fortress.... In
the evening, my friend, Madame D---- took me to the house of the
Polish Princess CZARTORYSKI. Prince ADAM CZARTORYSKI is from his
birth, his wealth, and his character, one of the most illustrious of
the Polish refugees. His life has been checkered by every extreme of
good or ill. In early youth, he served in the army of the republic
of Poland. He was at one time the captive of CATHERINE II., and in
1831 was at the head of the provisional government of Poland. After
the total defeat of the Polish army, Prince and Princess CZARTORYSKI
with some difficulty made their escape, with their three children,
the youngest of whom was not a year old. The Princess had not even a
change of linen with her, and no time to collect her jewels, which
were brought to her after she had reached the Austrian frontier, by
a soldier, whom she had never seen before, and who refused to tell
his name. It is impossible to imagine a greater contrast than that
offered by the present mode of life of the Prince and Princess,
and the splendor by which they were formerly surrounded. Prince
ADAM was one of the richest proprietors, and possessed not one,
but several, of the most magnificent palaces in Poland, and was
accustomed from childhood to every comfort and luxury which wealth
could devise. The house he now inhabits is as simple as possible;
but he remains at home every Monday evening for the purpose of
seeing his friends and countrymen; and his _salon_ is always crowded
with the most learned men and most fashionable women in Paris. These
weekly receptions are attended with but very little expense here,
as tea and lemonade are the only refreshments it is the custom to
offer. Prince CZARTORYSKI is a most venerable-looking man of about
seventy. The expression of his face is habitually melancholy, but
at times he is very animated in conversation. Like most Poles, he
speaks low and very slowly. I remarked that he was particularly
polite and attentive to young people, which in a man, who, from his
various misfortunes and trials, can take but little interest in
general society, is, I think, very striking. The Princess, who must
be almost thirty years younger than the Prince, is very lady-like
and prepossessing in her manners. She is much beloved by her
_compatriotes_: her efforts to relieve those who are in distressed
circumstances being unceasing. She employs all her leisure hours
in embroidering; and her embroidery, which is more beautiful than
any thing of the kind I have ever seen, is sold at a bazar, which
is opened during the last week of every year; new-year's day being
the time when the French make those presents to their friends
which in England and in our country are made on Christmas day. All
the ladies of the Princess's acquaintance of course contribute to
her bazar; and those who are remarkable for their beauty or their
talents, are invited by her to keep the stalls. * * * MRS. B----,
whose son, a lad of about sixteen, is now engaged in attending the
_cours de religion_, or religious lectures of M. COQUEREL, one of
the clergymen of the Reformed Church of Paris, took me this morning
to hear one of the lectures. M. COQUEREL is the nephew of the
celebrated HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS, by whom he was educated. He is the
most eloquent, and I believe the most learned, clergyman in Paris. I
had been much pleased with his sermons, and was therefore very glad
to have an opportunity of hearing one of his lectures. His class
was composed of about thirty young men, of different ages, from
sixteen to twenty-five. He has written a little book called '_Cours
de Religion_,' which he makes use of in his lectures. The method
he adopts is this: He reads a paragraph from this little volume,
and then comments upon it, and explains or developes it, often
relating interesting anecdotes suggested to him by the subject, or
asking questions which the foregoing lectures enable the scholars
to reply to. The young men take notes, write them out at home, and
bring these papers to Mr. COQUEREL at the next lesson. The lectures
for young men take place twice a week, from October to May, and
those for young ladies at different hours during the same period.
The scholars are admitted to take the sacrament at Pentecost. M.
COQUEREL is a most active and industrious man. Beside several
volumes of sermons, and innumerable papers for different religious
journals, he has published a very useful work, called '_Biographie
Sacrée_,' in which every name mentioned in the Bible is to be found.
His manner is very animated; and as each lecture lasts but an hour,
it is impossible that the attention of the young hearers should
become weary.... 'APRIL 19th. Went to the exhibition of paintings by
living artists, which is now open at the Louvre. The most beautiful
picture there, is one by M. COGNIET; 'TINTORETTO painting his dead
Daughter.' The biographers of the great master inform us, that he
had a daughter who evinced great talent for painting, to whom he was
devotedly attached, but who died when young. M. COGNIET has chosen
the moment when TINTORETTO, rising from his easel, on which rests
the unfinished portrait, stands gazing on his beloved daughter, who
is lying on a bed in the fore-ground of the picture. The father is
almost _de face_, but the lower part of his figure is concealed
by the bed. A crimson curtain falls behind him, and forms a rich
but not gaudy back-ground to the picture and, by throwing a slight
reflection on the daughter's face, relieves the whole from that
disagreeable effect, which, with less judgment and good taste on
the part of the artist, it must have produced, without taking from
it the solemnity which the subject required. This is, on the whole,
almost the only picture of the modern French school which pleases
me entirely; in which there is no exaggeration of expression or
gesture, and which deserves to be compared to those of the modern
school of painting in Germany. I have no doubt that the circumstance
of an exhibition taking place every year is a great disadvantage
to young artists, who hurry to finish a picture for that occasion,
in order that their names may be mentioned in the journals, and
that they may obtain a celebrity which lasts but a few weeks. If
the exhibition took place but once in five years, I am convinced we
should see more fine pictures at the Louvre. Among the portraits I
remarked one of Major POUSSIN, who resided for so many years in the
United States. It is painted by Mademoiselle GODEFROID, a pupil of
GERARD, and is a very good likeness. I was struck by a portrait of
M'lle de FAUVEAU. This lady is of a noble family of Brittany, and is
well known for her devotion to the cause of the DUCHESS DE BERRI,
and for the talent she has displayed in the art of sculpture. She
is neither young nor handsome; she is dressed in the costume of a
peasant of Brittany, a sort of _blouse_ or loose frock, with her
hair cut short in a strait line across her forehead, as we sometimes
see it in the portraits of the early French kings. There is a
portrait of the DUKE OF ORLEANS at the Louvre. It was painted from
memory by SCHEFFER, a very clever artist. Some of the fruit-pieces
and portraits, _au pastel_, in colored chalks, are very beautiful.
Indeed, the French excel in this style of drawing. Among the
paintings on porcelain we particularly admired a Holy Family, copied
from one of the old masters. It is a perfect bijou. The day after
our visit to the Louvre, Mrs. R---- took me to the _atelier_ of Mr.
HEALY, the young American artist. His portrait of WASHINGTON, copied
from one by STUART, gave great satisfaction to LOUIS PHILIPPE, and
has been placed in one of the historical galleries at Versailles.
Mr. HEALY has now a beautiful picture of two of Colonel THORNE's
daughters, which he is retouching, at his room. The attitudes,
particularly that of the eldest of the young ladies, are very
graceful, and the whole picture in very good taste.'
* * * * *
THE IRISH SKETCH-BOOK.--This capital work by 'Mr. M. A. TITMARSH,'
otherwise W. M. THACKERAY, Esq., author of 'The Yellowplush
Correspondence,' has just been published by Mr. WINCHESTER, at
the 'New World' office, in a very neat little pamphlet-volume,
illustrated with numerous engravings, from the pencil of the author.
Our readers have had repeated evidences of the high estimation in
which we hold the writings of Mr. THACKERAY; and they may trust our
judgment in this, that they will find the volume before us to be
second to no previous work of the writer. It is, in fact, Ireland
on canvass; its various cities and towns; its ludicrous modes of
travel, and more ludicrous travellers; its wretched poverty, its
generous hospitality; its suffering, and its indomitable good-humor.
We were not until now aware that Mr. TITMARSH was 'given to song'
as well as to romance and painting; but his 'Peg of Limavaddy,' a
handsome kettle-scrubber, who handed him his 'rummer' of ale, and
laughed so joyously at an accident which befel it, establishes the
'soft impeachment:'
'PRESENTLY a maid
Enters with the liquor
Half a pint of ale
Frothing in a beaker.
Gods! I didn't know
What my beating heart meant,
Hebe's self I thought
Entered the apartment.
As she came she smiled,
And the smile bewitching,
On my word and honor,
Lighted all the kitchen!
'With a curtsey neat
Greeting the new-comer,
Lovely, smiling Peg
Offers me the rummer;
But my trembling hand
Up the beaker tilted,
And the glass of ale
Every drop I spilt it;
Spilt it every drop
(Dames who read my volumes,
Pardon such a word,)
On my what-d'ye-call 'ems!
'Witnessing the sight
Of that dire disaster,
Out began to laugh
Missis, maid, and master.
Such a merry peal,
'Specially Miss Peg's was
(As the glass of ale
Trickling down my legs was)
That the joyful sound
Of that ringing laughter
Echoed in my ears
Many a long day after.
'Such a silver peal!
In the meadows listening.
You who've heard the bells
Ringing to a christening;
You who ever heard
Caradori pretty,
Smiling like an angel
Singing 'Giovinetti,'
Fancy Peggy's laugh,
Sweet and clear and cheerful,
At my pantaloons
With half-a-pint of beer full!'
We repeat, the 'Irish Sketch-Book' is a _capital_ work, and cannot
fail of very general popularity. The author possesses a delicate
appreciation of the beautiful, as well as a lively perception of
the ridiculous; a felicitous combination of faculties, since the
union of fine taste and strong humor seldom takes place in the same
individual.
'MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE.'--Some twenty-five years ago, a work in
two or three volumes, under this title, was republished in this
city from an English edition. One of these volumes lies before us;
and if it be a fair representative of its companions, an American
publisher would not find it amiss to put forth a new issue of the
book; for it abounds in keen satire, playful wit, and pleasant
humor. We have segregated from its numerous divisions a few passages
for the entertainment of our readers. A good deal of what is
termed 'criticism' upon works of art has lately been expended in
this meridian upon an undiscerning and unheeding public; yet we
propose to add to the amount, by copying the remarks of one Mr.
NED TESTY upon an exhibition of paintings and statuary, similar,
we may suppose, to the annual collections of our 'National Academy
of Design;' similar, certainly, in many of the points touched upon
by the critic. After a consideration of the Landscapes, 'with
their meagre subjects, lying perspective, and timid handling;
their frittered lights, lumpy shadows, indigo skies, and saffron
sands; their forward back-grounds, and backward fore-grounds; with
trees and meadows carefully colored from an emerald, and water of
such an hue and surface, that forgetting for a moment the season
represented, one looks narrowly after the _skaters_!'--after a
discussion of these, _en masse_, we are favored with the subjoined
'hits' at a particular '_Family Piece_:'
A YOUNG man who 'wants encouragement,' had immortalized family
affection, by representing papa standing up at one end of the
picture, ('his lips glued to each other, and his bullet eyes
wide open, though evidently seeing nothing,) and mamma at the
other; the peace being kept between them without the loss of an
inch of space, by their endless progeny, whose heights and ages
the artist has most accurately registered, by stringing them
strait out, closely linked together in a descending series, like
the reeds of Pan's pipe, which they farther resemble in the lank
uprightness of their figures, and the billious deadness of their
complexions. The _next_ of these Domestic Scenes reproaches the
idleness so remarkable in the foregoing, by the great variety
of employment which it exhibits, with the additional advantage
of allowing more elbow-room to the fancy of the painter; who
in the first place has contrived to record, in the mother of
the family, a truly exemplary instance of notability, combined
with maternal tenderness; for she is seen, at the same point of
time, engaged in nursing one child in her lap, rocking with her
foot the cradle of another, hearing the task of a third, and
eyeing the frolics of a fourth; and all this without seeming
at all distracted from her needle, which she has just drawn
out at the utmost stretch of her arm. The remaining children
are all liberally supplied with such occupations or amusements
as, when followed at proper times and places, must be allowed
to become their sexes and ages, but which we are not exactly
prepared to see going on as here, all at once in the same
parlor. The young ladies of this extraordinary family can study
their maps and globes, pore over their books, and even practice
their music-lessons, without appearing once to know that those
boisterous and unruly little dogs, their brothers, are cracking
their whips, beating their drums, scampering about the room
with their wagons, etc.; the very baby in the cradle, instead
of being frightened out of its wits, as might reasonably be
expected, only appearing to be lulled into a still sounder
sleep, by the riotous gambols going on.'
Outraging nature is as common in art now as it was in the era of
NED TESTY. Here you may see the picture of 'a lady in full length,
gayly and archly tripping out in a hurricane by herself, in thin
fluttering muslin, without cap, hat, or bonnet, by the side of
a raging sea; where, if one may judge by the disposition of her
limbs, and the archness of her countenance, she is practising an
_allemande_ to the music of the thunder-claps which seem bursting
over her in all directions; yet without the slightest mark of
concern in her looks, or apparent apprehension of taking cold,
after dancing under such discouraging circumstances of dress and
weather; there stares a young miss strait out of the picture, with
one hand grown to her side, and the other to the monstrous head of
a Newfoundland dog, _sitting_ up exactly as high as she _stands_;
and near by, in another frame, a parcel of Months or Hours, in
petticoats, are smiling and dancing jigs round an emblem, in the
shape of a good-looking woman in green, who is supposed to be
Spring.' The critic wonders 'why they haven't got to changing the
Minutes, Seconds, and other inferior parts of clock-work into little
fluttering urchins.' But pause for a moment, reader, with hushed
respiration, while we set before you a specimen of _the Awful_!
There is an appropriate 'power of words' in the description of the
'grouping,' and doubtless the coloring was 'in keeping;' as much
so, perhaps, as in DICKENS'S picture of the Wise Men of the East
worshipping in a pink manger, or the Prodigal Son coming home in red
rags to a purple father and a sea-green calf, waiting to be roasted:
'HERE is a piece equally stupendous in size and subject, bearing
the semblance of having been furiously thrown upon the canvass
in the dark, from the disordered pallets of all the painters in
the Universe; a sort of maniac's vision, embodied into a rolling
chaos, turbulently brewed up out of the warring rudiments of
smoke! blood! fire! night! whirlwind! earth! and water; a
ruinous huddle of every thing spiritual and material, real
and conjectural, within and without the precincts of possible
Nature; and of every mingling shape, shade, color, quality,
and consistence; the whole congregated mass of discordances
tumultuously wheeling, dashing, boiling, and thundering
together, in one giddy storm of--NOTHING!' The figures of this
landscape are entirely in keeping with it; 'ambiguous and
reserved innuendos of beings, fluctuating somewhere among the
shadowy and unsettled nomenclatures of incantation; demon,
wizzard, griffin, goblin, demi-gorgon,' etc.
After a few more examples of 'single criticism' in this kind, we are
favored with a 'running commentary' upon the ostracised paintings
which adorn the upper tiers, and spaces over the doors: 'An upward
glance of your eye introduces you to those poor creatures in reduced
sizes, who are sent to Coventry at the top of the room, and strung
along, by way of cornice, close under the ceiling; figures! but
what language can adequately report them!--their wooden features,
their mortified complexions; their sneaking, disconsolate, condemned
looks; their quizzical head-dresses, and paste-board draperies;
their brick-dust curtains, increasing by contrast the chalkiness of
their cheeks; and that general and inveterate hardness of manner
which instantly chases away all idea of the elasticity of the
flesh, and the flexibility of cloth or linen. Hard!--adamant is
_pap_ to it!' The _Crayons_ 'afforded striking examples of worse
styles, by the help of worse materials;' there were still-born
efforts in black-lead pencil, from the hands of academical tyros;
wan historical sketches in water-color, by young ladies; imaginary
elevations of bridges that will never be built; naked fronts of
huge white houses, that sicken all eyes but those of the architect
and the owner; and chuckle-headed busts in plaster, of obscure,
pudding-faced moderns; likenesses in India-ink, '_done in this
manner_' for almost nothing; etc., etc. An exhibition of this sort
is certainly proved to be one of the miseries of human life, 'by
good witness.' But other miseries are enumerated; and chief among
them, the _humbugeousness_ of quack advertisers, and the gullibility
of the public; and a medical sample is cited, which would do honor
to any 'pill' or 'sarsaparilla' puff, of the present day:
'I SHOULD be the most ungrateful of mankind, were I to delay
for a moment to return my heart-felt acknowledgments for the
blessings I have derived from your inestimable pill. Before I
was so happy as to hear of its miraculous effects, life had
long been a burden to me. I was an object no less horrible
than piteous to behold, being so entirely covered, or rather
crusted, from head to foot, with the most virulent blotches
and humors, that I ought rather to have been called an _Ulcer_
than a man. I was at the same time so miserably emaciated,
that my bones rattled audibly as I moved, and my head itself
seemed to hang to my shoulders by a thread. In short, to such a
condition was I reduced, that, on being carried to my own door
upon a litter, on my return home after a short absence in the
vain search after ease, my wife, who chanced to meet me in the
passage, insisted that they had brought me to the wrong house,
for that she had never seen me before! The sound of my voice,
however, but too cruelly undeceived her; and I was then conveyed
to the bed on which I continued to lie, without stirring hand
or foot, for more than thirty years. During this awful period
matters were constantly and rapidly going on with me from bad
to worse; scarcely an hour passed but some new and still more
deplorable disease was added to the complicated list of maladies
which were devouring me up piece-meal, in a manner; and it was
a lucky day when I could say that one or more of my bones had
not dropped clean out of the socket! Sleep at one time, I had
none, for sixty-nine successive nights, unless I may call by
that name a series of swoons, brought on by my agonies, and
the weakness consequent upon my reduced condition. About this
period, the flesh began to drop in large collops from my back
and shoulders; and from one hollow which formed exactly beneath
my left pap, my heart was absolutely naked and visible, by which
my inquisitive surgeon was gratified, at my expense, with a
living display of the whole process of _systole_ and _diastole_,
as I think he called it. In this state of things, my case having
been pronounced absolutely hopeless by every physician in the
land, my friends began to think it was high time to call your
invaluable remedy to my aid: and invaluable indeed it proved to
me! No sooner had I begun to use it, than the most surprising
alteration came on: while I was swallowing the first pill,
I could plainly feel, to my inexpressible astonishment and
delight, that a new and perfect growth of healthy flesh was
rapidly forming in every part of the skeleton to which I was now
wasted down; and before I had taken the third, I had reason to
suspect, from certain strange and indescribable sensations, as
if of some hard substance pushing or shooting forth in different
places, that the numerous cavities left by the bones I had lost,
were about to be filled up by a new process of ossification;
which, sure enough, was presently found to be vigorously and
prosperously going on. My appetite, too, very shortly became
so dangerously keen, that it was reckoned prudent to refuse me
a third fowl at my dinner. But not to trouble you with too many
particulars, (which to you, indeed, must be mere shadows of a
thousand still more extraordinary cases,) I will simply say,
that by persevering in the course for one week more, I felt not
only that every symptom of disease had absolutely vanished as
if by magic, but that I was suddenly able, (which I had never
been in the best days of my youth and strength,) to perform the
most athletic feats in leaping, wrestling, boxing, etc., without
the slightest sensation of fatigue. To express the full extent
of my gratitude to you, my dear Sir, for this almost incredible
restoration, is a task which I must give up in despair; suffice
it to say, that to Providence (under your pill) I shall ever
acknowledge myself indebted for the felicity I now enjoy.' 'P.
S. Please send me without delay, by the next coach, six dozen
of the largest boxes of your Scorbutic Pills; though, indeed, I
have not the smallest apprehension of ever having occasion to
use them again.'
It would puzzle few of our readers, in town or country, to make a
familiar application of this satire upon the prevailing style of
quack advertisements.
* * * * *