Perhaps no art differs more widely with individual mind and temperament
than that of teaching. I soon appreciated this under Mr. Leopold's
training. For the first few lessons, I was put to no copying, given no
verbal instruction; he showed me how to mix oil-colors, expecting his to
be prepared for him, when, in his eagerness to produce an effect, he
did not care to stop for the purpose himself; and for the rest, advised
me to watch him, which I did narrowly, while he worked sometimes by the
hour without speaking. When I commenced painting, therefore, I felt as
though I was making constant discoveries, and began to think, in the
conceit of my youth and developing power, that I was working without
other guide than my own intuition, until I found a number of serious
errors indicated. Miss Darry's teaching made me feel that I could not do
without her; Mr. Leopold's, that just so far as he carried me, I in turn
could take some one else.
The summer days wore on. My hands grew rougher and coarser with hard
work, yet just as surely increased their dexterity in holding the brush
with a firm grasp and giving flexible and delicate strokes to finer
work. My lessons and new forge left but little time for the cottage and
Annie Bray now. Moreover, she, too, changed as the months wore on. When
did I ever imagine, with all my growing plans and manhood, that she also
was to have her work and purpose in the world? Yet she had made her
visit to Hillside, had been not only amused and delighted, but
instructed, by all she saw there. I was too deeply engrossed in
self-development to continue my attention to her studies; but Miss
Merton, inspired by Miss Darry's example, or attracted by the modest
sweetness so congenial to her own womanly character, undertook the
unwonted occupation of teaching; and Mr. Lang, greatly to my surprise,
encouraged her in it. Three afternoons in the week Annie went to
Hillside to receive a course of instruction, barren of system and
conducted with supreme disregard of plainer and more useful branches,
yet bringing out in a graceful way all her peculiarly refined tastes.
Annie's hours rarely admitted of my walking home with her; and though
occasionally she stopped at the forge, on her way through the village,
it was only for a moment, and that often a busy one with me. She had
grown taller and paler, sadder in expression, too, I fancied,
notwithstanding the new interest at Hillside. But then she was leaving
childhood behind her; her father had been more rough than ever since I
left him; and with a momentary pity and wonder that she was more shy of
my fond and brotherly ways than formerly, I ascribed it to these
ordinary causes, and kept steadily at my work. It was not for me, the
_protege_ of so brilliant a woman as Frank Darry, and a rising genius,
to pause in my career for the pale cheeks of the village blacksmith's
daughter.
My intercourse with Mr. Leopold did not become more familiar with time.
The idea of his not looking like a genuine artist, the disappointment
and failure to comprehend his pictures, changed into awe of the inner
force of the man, as I beheld his patient, earnest labor. To my shallow
comprehension of the worth of genius, his persistent effort, after the
attainment of all I hoped to realize, was marvellous. He was rich,
famed, cultivated, yet the ideal excellence hovered ever above him,
waiting like a resurrection body to clothe the escaped soul of
inspiration; and for this he toiled more unremittingly than I in my
struggle for existence even in the world of Art. The secret of this
man's soul was not, however, revealed to my questioning. Ever
considerate and kind, he was no friend in any sense implying mutual
interchange of thought or confidence. With Miss Darry, on the contrary,
he was his free and natural self. Whenever I saw them together, I was
conscious that his great nature went out irresistibly to meet hers, a
fact of which it seemed to me she was far less aware than I. She walked
and drove with him, but merely because Miss Merton and Mr. Lang were
engrossed with each other, and as a side-play from the main object of
her life.
I had been employed for several weeks upon a picture of greater
importance than any before attempted. Miss Darry confidently declared it
would be accepted at the autumn exhibition of paintings in the city;
and Mr. Leopold briefly advised me to make the attempt, backed by his
favor to get it in. It was the working up of the odd fancy in which
Annie and I had indulged so long ago,--that the forest haunts were not
deserted, even though man did not invade them. In a clearing in the
midst of the woods I had assembled the familiar squirrels, birds, and
flowers, to play their part in the revels Nature takes on summer
afternoons; and from the gnarled trunks and twisted vines whose
grotesque involutions hinted the serpent-life within to the elves which
peered from beneath the broad dank leaves, I had reasserted the old
childish faith.
As I have said, Miss Darry approved my picture, though only as a
preliminary to better things, saying,--
"You must paint Chimborazo, or some of the mammoth California scenery,
Sandy. The microscope, not the canvas, is the proper instrument by which
to scrutinize the minute. Genius certainly need not forever be peeping
at Nature through her key-holes, but can enter her open door and dwell
amid the grandest scenes of the universe."