meal was quickly over. Bob hardly knew what he himself ate or did or
thought. There was a strange excitement in his heart and in his head, a
feeling that he could not define. It was not that he was going back to
school after dinner. It was not that he would probably meet those boys
again, nor that he would sooner or later have to face again that Curly
Davis. Neither was it that, when he did face Curly Davis, he meant
to--yes, to fight him. No, it was none of these things, though his heart
did beat the faster as he thought of them. It was something else; it was
something about what his father had said, not so much his words, but the
way he had said "a man's man" and "we must defend ourselves"--something
that thrilled him, made him proud and humble, all at once. Someway,
father seemed to have taken a new attitude toward him, and in that
change even Bob seemed to see father's recognition that babyhood was
over for his small son.
Mother stood in the door and watched him go. She had been crying again,
a little; she had even wanted to keep him at home. But father had said,
"No, let him go; as well now as to-morrow," and so she had kissed him
and cried again, a little. And then she had begged him to "try to keep
away from those bad little boys," and to "play only with good boys who
did not want to fight"; and Bob had said yes--doubtfully. He waved his
hand to her from the gate, and again from the corner of the block, and
then he set his face once more toward school, and walked very fast.
It was five o'clock when Bob came home again. School closed at four, but
the clock on the library mantel was tinkling five when he opened the
door and closed it very softly. He didn't want mother to see him just
then.
He was trembling and very white--his little mirror by the window showed
him that. There was a brown-and-blue bruise just in the corner of his
little brown eyebrow, of which he had felt carefully a dozen times on
the way home, but which did not look so big in the glass as it had felt.
There was a rubbed place on his chin, and the soft knuckles of his hands
were grimy and stained. He laid his school-bag and box carefully on a
chair, and went to look out the window for a moment. And then a strange
feeling came over him.
--This was his little room; yes, it was his--the same little room; the
same white curtains, the same little window, the same view of the little
green door-yard and the apple-tree and the cedar-hedge; the same soft
sunset light coming in upon him where it had come so many, many other
evenings, ever since he could remember. But the boy--that little boy who
had looked upon it all, who had lived there and loved the white curtains
and the sun and the apple-tree--where was he? he wondered.
When he closed his eyes he could see just one thing--one whirling,
seething vision: a ring of boys, excited, eager, yelling, laughing,
cheering, with only here and there a frightened face; and there in the
midst himself and another--some one who was striking and kicking and
scratching at him, but whose blows he did not seem to feel, so hard and
fierce and fast he himself was striking, and so hotly ran his blood. And
in his ears were ringing the cries which had gone up at the end, when
that other boy--he of the curly hair--had suddenly, at last, turned from
him and run away through the crowd, beaten and sniveling and--alone. And
he remembered that he had felt sorry then--oh, so sorry--sorry for that
other boy!
He washed his face and hands carefully, and looked again in the little
mirror. Perhaps mother wouldn't notice--much. He opened his door and
crept softly down the stairs and into the library, and there was mother,
looking anxiously from the window, and father, who had just come in,
putting on his hat as if he were going out again. And they both turned
and looked at him; and mother ran and caught him up in her arms, just as
if he were that baby-boy again--that baby he had been yesterday. He
wondered.
Father looked at the brown bruise and the scuffed knuckles critically,
while mother held him with her face against his hair.
"Do you think he'll bother you any more, Bob?" father asked, just as if
the whole story had been told.
Bob shook his head, and mother suddenly clasped him closer, while father
turned away with a grim smile. And Bob himself just wondered--wondered
about that baby-boy he had been yesterday.
TWO PORTRAITS BY GILBERT STUART
A NOTE ON A RECENT ACCESSION OF THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART
BY SAMUEL ISHAM
The name of Don Josef de Jaudenes y Nebot has not impressed itself
deeply on the memory of the world. It does not appear in the great,
many-volumed biographical dictionaries nor in the indexes of the
standard histories of the United States. Even in the library of the
Hispanic Society of America there is no record of him. He was, however,
a man of some importance in the early diplomacy of the nation. The
beginning of his official career may be definitely determined by a
letter of Washington's of July 20, 1791, in which he says: "I yesterday
had Mr. Jaudenes, who was in this country with Mr. Gardoqui and is now
come over in a public character, presented to me for the first time by
Mr. Jefferson."
Gardoqui came to America in 1786 as _charge d'affaires_ for the
negotiation of a treaty with Spain. The "public character" in which
Jaudenes was presented in 1791 was that of commissioner of Spain, and he
had united with him on the commission Josef de Viar, all their official
documents being signed with both names. Their main business, like
Gardoqui's, was the negotiation of a treaty between Spain and the United
States; a treaty which was to settle boundaries, rights of trade between
the two nations, and also the question of the "occlusion" of the
Mississippi River; but there was much outside diplomatic sparring over
the disputes between the Governor of Louisiana and the Georgians about
trespasses and conflicting rights. The last communication of the
commissioners was dated in 1794. The next year the negotiations were
transferred to Madrid and the treaty was signed there and Jaudenes
probably then returned to Spain. There seems to be no trace of him after
that.
The only other facts in regard to him are to be gathered from the two
pictures recently acquired by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which are
the subject of this article. They are signed G. Stuart, R. A., New York,
September 8, 1794, and bear inscriptions in Spanish which, to complete
the record, are here given in full:
DON JOSEF DE JAUDENES Y NEBOT COMISARIO ORDENADOR DE LOS REALES
EXERCITOS Y MINISTRO EMBIADO DE SU MAGESTAD CATHOLICA CERCA DE LOS
ESTADOS UNIDOS DE AMERICA. NACIO EN LA CIUDAD DE VALENCIA REYNO DE
ESPANA EL 25 DE MARZO DE 1764.
DONA MATILDE STOUGHTON DE JAUDENES--ESPOSA DE DON JOSEF DE JAUDENES
Y NEBOT COMISARIO ORDENADOR DE LOS REALES EXERCITOS DE SU MAGESTAD
CATHOLICA Y SU MINISTRO EMBIADO CERCA DE LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS DE
AMERICA. NACIO EN LA CIUDAD DE NUEVA-YORK EN LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS EL
11 DE ENERO DE 1778.
We learn from these that Don Josef was thirty and his bride in her
seventeenth year, and that she was born in New York. Unfortunately this
is all that we know about her. Stoughton is a sufficiently familiar name
in the colonial records of the New England and Middle States, but the
lady of the portrait has not yet been identified nor has a search of the
newspapers of the day revealed any mention of her marriage. It may very
probably have taken place on September 8th, 1794, the date placed after
Stuart's name on both canvases; but the journalists of that time took
less note of such international alliances than those of the present.
Something more about the lady is, however, certain to be found by the
genealogists and delvers in old diaries and correspondence, for the
wedding of the young Spanish diplomat with the pretty American girl just
midway in her teens must have set tongues wagging and pens inditing. How
the match turned out we do not know, but some argument as to their
happiness may be based on the fact that Jaudenes' successor, the Marquis
d'Yrujo, followed his example and took an American bride in the person
of Miss Sally McKean, who was also painted by Stuart.
_Two Portraits by_ GILBERT STUART
_reproduced by permission of_
THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART
_Printed from plates made by the Colorplate Engraving Company, New York_
[Illustration: _Dona_ MATILDE STOUGHTON DE JAUDENES _Wife of the First
Minister from_ SPAIN _to the_ UNITED STATES]
[Illustration: _Don_ JOSEF DE JAUDENES Y NEBOT _First Minister from_
SPAIN _to the_ UNITED STATES]
Having thus disposed (somewhat unsatisfactorily, it is true) of the
personality of the sitters, we can turn to the portraits themselves. The
accompanying reproductions make extended description unnecessary. They
are characteristic Stuarts, more elaborate, more complete, than most of
his subsequent work, but showing clearly his personal point of view
and the difference between his portraits and those of his
contemporaries. He is less poetic, more literal than the rivals with
whom he had contended, not unsuccessfully, for the patronage of London
society. For him a pretty girl is a pretty girl, and it is enough. He
seats her comfortably in a chair and paints her as she is. One cannot
imagine him turning her into a nymph, a shepherdess, or a priestess of
Hymen, or painting her with a very modish coiffure on her head and a
pair of blue-ribboned sandals on her bare feet. These things Reynolds
did habitually and moreover put his figures in attitudes with up-rolled
eyes and extended arms and filled out his larger canvases with altars
and tombs and allegorical attributes. This he did to bring his pictures
in accord with those of the old masters whom he laboriously studied and
deeply admired. His achievement fully justified him. His sumptuous
canvases, rich in color, elaborate in composition, perfected with every
technical resource, have ever since remained unequalled of their kind.
In spite of his stay in West's studio, Stuart had none of this respect
for tradition nor any wish to attempt the grand style. In this he was
more like Gainsborough, but Gainsborough invested his portraits, even of
prosaic sitters, with a strange, penetrating, poetic charm such as no
other painter has been able to convey. Ranking artists in the order of
their merit is an unprofitable business, but it may gratify some
methodical minds to have it stated that these canvases by Stuart are not
in the same class as good Gainsboroughs or Reynolds. With the best of
other contemporary portraits they stand approximately on a footing of
equality. In spite of the quiet pose, the lack of strongly contrasted
light and shade and all of the clever tricks and forced accents of
Lawrence and his followers, they are alive and alert. The
characterization is excellent. The young people were not of so profound
or complicated a nature as the Father of his Country, and the faces are
not wrought out with the delicate subtlety of the Gibbs-Channing
Washington which hangs between them, but they are clear-cut, compelling
belief in their truth. The execution, too, has all of Stuart's skill.
Others may have attempted higher things, but none did what he attempted
with such perfect ease and sureness. In neither of the canvases is there
a sign of uncertainty, hesitation, or alteration. Each touch is put
exactly where it should be and left. There is none of the scumbling and
glazing and re-working so common in the English portraits of the time.
It is to this that the canvases owe their admirable freshness which
makes them look as if painted yesterday. The heads have all of Stuart's
pearly gray and rose tones unimpaired by ill-usage or restoration. The
clothes and accessories are more swiftly and summarily done, the silver
lace and the high lights being touched in with amazing sureness and
cleverness. The composition and arrangement is pleasing, and Stuart's
besetting fault of putting his heads too low on the canvas is excused
and justified in the case of Don Josef by the necessity of having his
portrait correspond with that of his wife, whose elaborate and stylish
head-dress fills the top of her picture. In short, New York is to be
congratulated on the winning back after a sojourn abroad of more than a
century of these two most important and charming paintings executed here
in the early days of the Republic.
At this point this article might well end, but there may be some who
recall that last summer for a week or so there appeared in the papers
articles headed "Fakes at the Museum" or "The Metropolitan Gets Lemons,"
which assailed the genuineness of these portraits. The discussion did
not get far beyond the daily press, which, after its habit, registered
the charges as picturesquely and vehemently as it could, but attempted
no serious investigation of them. They were brought by a critic whose
position as a special student of Stuart entitled them to respectful
consideration, but after giving them that they do not seem conclusive or
even important. They were based on the fact that the pictures were
signed G. Stuart, R. A., and bore coats of arms and long Spanish
inscriptions. It was claimed that this made the genuineness of the
canvases doubtful, for Stuart signed few of his paintings--possibly none
except the standing Washington in the Philadelphia Academy; he was not
an R. A. (Royal Academician); nor was he a heraldic illuminator.
Furthermore, the painting of the male portrait and the dress and
accessories in the companion piece did not seem to the critic to agree
with Stuart's handling. To make his impressions fit with the pictures,
the critic supposed that Stuart painted a smaller portrait of Jaudenes
and started one of his wife, which through some freak of temper he left
(as he frequently did) with only the head and part of the background
finished. These being brought to Spain, some artist there finished the
lady's portrait, painted from Stuart's original a companion piece of her
husband, and added to both the coats of arms, the inscriptions, and
Stuart's name.
Now, frankly, this is not possible. As for the portrait of Dona Matilde
being left unfinished, there exists in Stuart's handwriting a list of
gentlemen who are to have copies of his portrait of Washington,
consisting of thirty-two names. A few take two copies, no one takes more
save Jaudenes, who subscribes for five. The list is dated April 20th,
1795, which is seven months after the date on the pictures, and is the
strongest possible evidence that Jaudenes was greatly pleased with
Stuart--presumably on account of these portraits--and is entirely
irreconcilable with the idea that the painter had quarreled with the
diplomat's wife or left her portrait unfinished.
As to the coats of arms, the most casual examination makes it clear that
they were painted by another hand than executed any part of the
portraits. In all probability they were done after the canvases reached
Spain, and the inscriptions and signatures would naturally have been
added at the same time. Stuart would never have engrossed a long Spanish
inscription, and that he should have signed his name (contrary to his
habit) and have added the "R. A." to which he had no right is most
unlikely. What is most unlikely of all, however, is that there should
have been found in Spain an artist capable of painting a portrait like
the Don Josef. Both heads are absolutely alike in handling, in texture,
in mixing of the pigments, and in all of those things are absolutely
characteristic of Stuart, whose methods were peculiarly his own and
could not be caught even by men like Sully, who not only intently
studied his processes but sat and watched him when he was at work. That
a Spaniard with entirely different training and ideals could have
reproduced them is impossible.
As for the costumes, it may be admitted that they differ from most of
Stuart's American work; but the difference is more in subject than in
method and is chiefly noticeable because he never again painted a
gentleman in silver-sprigged scarlet waistcoat and small clothes. He
hated such work, and his position in America enabled him to do as he
chose, and he could tell sitters that if they wanted clothes they could
go to a mantua-maker or a tailor, he painted the works of God. So
distasteful was such labor to him that we know that he employed
assistants in the details of some of his Washington portraits. In the
present canvases the heads are painted with an interest and a
thoroughness very different from that displayed in the costumes. These
latter are skilfully done. The dexterity displayed is amazing and such
as no copyist is at all likely to have had, but it is dexterity applied
to getting a striking result as quickly as possible and with the least
possible effort of hand or brain.
Now, to explain this, we should remember that Stuart only returned to
America in 1793, and the pictures are both dated September 8, 1794.
Whatever that date may mean, both pictures were presumably finished
before then and were thus among the first, perhaps the very first,
important works that Stuart did in New York. He would consequently have
every motive, both from the desire to establish his reputation and from
the position and charm of his sitters, to do his very best. The
workmanship should be compared, not with what he did afterwards in
America but rather with what he had done before in England and Ireland,
when he was compelled by the exigencies of his sitters and the rivalry
of his fellow artists to give some importance to costume and
composition. Unfortunately, Stuart's foreign work is practically unknown
to Americans (and to foreigners also, for that matter). There is little
of it in the public galleries, and a large proportion of it has probably
been rechristened with other and more attractive names. As far as we may
judge from a few examples and from the many engravings after it (some of
them large enough and good enough to give an idea of the handling), the
costumes were done much in the style of those we are considering.
After all, the strongest argument for the authenticity of the portraits
is the portraits themselves. They are beautiful, they are skilful, done
in Stuart's style and entirely worthy of him. To suppose them done by
any one else involves the doubter at once in a maze of improbabilities
and impossibilities. The present writer is willing to put himself on
record as quite convinced that they were painted by Stuart and are
wholly by his own hand and are unusually important specimens of his
work.
MARY BAKER G. EDDY
THE STORY OF HER LIFE AND THE HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN SCIENCE
BY
GEORGINE MILMINE
XIV
MRS. EDDY'S BOOK AND DOCTRINE
"_No human tongue or pen taught me the Science contained in this
book, 'Science and Health'; and neither tongue nor pen can
overthrow it._"--MARY BAKER G. EDDY.
Although Mrs. Eddy's book, "Science and Health," was not published until
1875, from the time Mrs. Eddy left P. P. Quimby in 1864 she had been
struggling to get his theories before the public. Dr. Patterson, her
second husband, left her in 1866, and for the next four years Mrs. Eddy
was able to make a bare living by her "Science," wandering about among
the little shoe towns near Boston and teaching Quimby's theories here
and there for her board and lodging. She went from house to house with
her precious copy of Quimby's "Questions and Answers"[2] and the pile of
letter-paper, covered with her own notes, which she was forever
rewriting and revising. The one thing that everybody knew about Mrs.
Glover (Eddy) was that she "was writing a book." While she was staying
with the Wentworths, in Stoughton, she carried her pile of manuscript to
Boston, and when the printer to whom she showed it demanded to be paid
in advance, she tried to persuade Mrs. Wentworth to lend her the money.
Had the printer who looked over that confused mass of notes known that
they were the nucleus of a book of which over five hundred thousand
copies would be sold by 1907, and had he printed the manuscript then and
there, Christian Science in its present form would never have existed.
For at that time Mrs. Eddy had not dreamed of calling her system of mind
cure anything but Dr. Quimby's "Science." She talked of Quimby to every
one she met; could talk, indeed, of little else. When she introduced the
subject of mental healing to a stranger--and she never lost an
opportunity--it was always with that conscious smile and the set phrases
which the village girls used to imitate: "I _learned_ this from Dr.
Quimby, and he made me _promise_ to teach at least _two_ persons before
I _die_."
The story of the Quimby manuscript from 1867 to 1875 and of the gradual
growth of Mrs. Eddy's feeling of possession, has already been recounted
in an earlier chapter of this history.[3] By the time the first edition
of "Science and Health" appeared, Mrs. Eddy said no more about Quimby or
her promise to him. Mrs. Eddy has always been able to believe anything
she wishes to believe, especially about her own conduct and about that
of persons who have displeased her, and it is very probable that by this
time she had persuaded herself that she really owed very little to the
old Maine philosopher.
_How "Science and Health" was Published_
Although Mrs. Eddy had been working upon her book for about eight years,
writing and rewriting with almost incredible patience, she was unwilling
to assume any financial risk in getting it printed. George Barry and
Elizabeth Newhall, two of her students, agreed to furnish the sum of one
thousand dollars, which the Boston printer asked for issuing an edition
of one thousand copies. Mrs. Eddy made so many changes in the proofs,
continuing her revisions even after the plates had been cast, that she
ran the cost of the edition up to about twenty-two hundred dollars, and
Miss Newhall and Mr. Barry lost about fifteen hundred dollars on the
book. They would, indeed, have lost more, had not Daniel Spofford, much
against Mrs. Eddy's will, paid over to them six hundred dollars which he
had received for the copies of the book he had sold. Although Mrs. Eddy
at that time owned the house in which she lived and had some money in
bank, she did not, either then or later, suggest reimbursing Barry or
Miss Newhall for their loss.
Aside from the fact that she was unwilling to risk money upon it, Mrs.
Eddy believed intensely in her book. One of her devoted students sent
copies of "Science and Health" to the University of Heidelberg, to
Thomas Carlyle, and to several noted theologians. But the book made no
stir outside of Lynn, where it caused some perplexity. There was little
about it, indeed, to suggest that it would be an historic volume. It was
a book of 564 pages, badly printed and poorly bound; a mass of
inconsequential statements and ill-constructed, ambiguous sentences
which wander about the page with their arms full, so to speak,
heedlessly dropping unrelated clauses about as they go.
Although the basic ideas of the book are Quimby's, and even much of the
terminology, the first edition of "Science and Health" was certainly
written by Mrs. Eddy. Not only is there every internal evidence of her
hand in the style of the book, but a number of her students are still
alive who went over portions of the manuscript with her and worked with
her upon the proofs. The same George Barry who helped to pay for the
publication of the book copied out in longhand twenty-five hundred pages
of the manuscript. He brought suit against Mrs. Eddy for payment for
"copying the manuscript of the book 'Science and Health,' and aiding in
the arrangement of capital letters and some of the grammatical
constructions." He produced some of Mrs. Eddy's manuscript in court, and
the judge allowed him more than the usual copyist's rate "on account of
the difficulty which a portion of the pages presented to the copyist by
reason of erasures and interlineations," as it is put in the judge's
finding.
Although Mrs. Eddy's book has been enlarged and greatly improved as to
its order and grammar, the first edition contains all the essential
elements of her philosophy, if such it may be called. Mr. Wiggin did
good work in translating the book into comparatively conventional
English, and gave a kind of unity to paragraphs and sentences, and later
revisers have greatly improved upon his work; but the first edition
gave a fairly complete and, on the whole, a comprehensible statement of
Mrs. Eddy's platform.