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Universal Brotherhood
Universal Brotherhood
A MAGAZINE
DEVOTED TO THE BROTHERHOOD OF HUMANITY
THE THEOSOPHICAL MOVEMENT
PHILOSOPHY SCIENCE AND ART
Founded in 1886 under the title of THE PATH by
WILLIAM Q JUDGE
VOLUME XIII. No. 11.
FEBRUARY, 1899.
CONTENTS
Henry Clay Alexander Wilder, 585
M.D.
Richard Wagner’s Basil Crump 593
Prose Works
Alphonse de Alexander Wilder, 596
Lamartine: IV. Poet, M.D.
Diplomat, Traveller
Passage to India Walt Whitman 607
(_Extracts
Selected_)
The Human Cell Arthur A. Beale, 609
M.B.
The Sokratic Club Solon 614
Students’ Column Conducted by J. H. 621
Fussell
Young Folks’
Department:
The Weston Ten Margaret S. Lloyd 623
Brotherhood 627
Activities
Editors:—=Katherine A. Tingley=, =E. Aug. Neresheimer=
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ANNOUNCEMENT.
UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD is a Magazine devoted to the promulgation of the
principles of the Brotherhood of Humanity in the widest sense. It is an
organ whose aim is to show that the Unity or Brotherhood of Mankind is
an actual fact in nature. If this principle were better understood by
the multitude or even by certain classes of Society there would be less
strife and competition and more sympathy and co-operation.
The demonstration of these broad ideas from the Ethical, Scientific and
Practical points of view will prove that there is much agreement between
these systems on this topic, and that it is an underlying ground-work by
means of which all Religions and all Philosophies agree also.
This magazine will endeavor to show the great similarity between the
Religions of the world, in their fundamental beliefs and doctrines as
also the value of studying other systems than our own.
A sound basis for ethics should be found.
Those who would assist the cause of Brotherhood should realize that it
is of the first importance to discover as much as possible concerning
the nature of man and man’s relation to the world around him. The laws
that govern his physical, mental, moral and spiritual being should be
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It is hoped that every sympathizer with the cause of brotherhood will
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A U M
“The Theosophical ideas of charity mean _personal_ exertion for
others; _personal_ mercy and kindness; _personal_ interest in the
welfare of those who suffer; _personal_ sympathy, forethought and
assistance in their troubles or needs.”—H. P. BLAVATSKY, _Key to
Theosophy_.
“To help men and women to realize the nobility of their calling and
their true position in life.”—First Object of the International
Brotherhood League.
UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD
HENRY CLAY.
BY ALEXANDER WILDER, M.D.
[Illustration: Henry Clay.]
The illustration of “Henry Clay addressing Congress” exhibits, with
almost the exactness of portraits, the likeness of the prominent members
of the American Senate at that time. It is to be regretted that a key is
not given, as several of them, and these not the men of less importance,
are not at this late period easily recognized. Yet as we look upon their
faces here delineated, we feel as if we had known them all.
Naturally our attention is first directed to the figure of the one
addressing the Senate. The United States will have to pass through
another Civil War as destructive of former memories as this one has
been, before Henry Clay can be forgotten. Making his mark upon the
history, legislation and diplomacy of the country, that mark cannot be
removed except the heart of the Nation is torn out with it.
The presiding officer we recognize as Millard Fillmore, once a favorite
son of New York, and Vice-President in 1849 and 1850; then succeeding to
the presidency at the death of General Taylor. Growing up from poverty
and his few opportunities, he became an accomplished lawyer, a diligent
legislator, and a statesman of recognized ability. Comely of person,
graceful in manner, and generous in his impulses, he was at the time one
of the most popular men of Western New York, and continued to be till he
signed the measure that operated more than any other to estrange the
citizens of the Republic from one another—the Fugitive Slave Act of
1851.
We also observe near the speaker General Lewis Cass, then the foremost
man of the Democratic Party, whose nomination for President in 1852 Mr.
Clay desired and hoped for as most likely to avert the crisis which he
foresaw. He then lay dying, but to the last the welfare of his Country
was at his heart. But General Cass was passed over, and the current
moved with renewed force to the final event. For years as Senator and
Cabinet Minister he put forth his energy to arrest its progress, but was
compelled to give way overpowered.
On beyond is John C. Calhoun, with head bent forward, listening
intently. His, likewise, was a career of remarkable significance in the
Nation. He had entered Congress almost at the same time with Mr. Clay,
and both in concert with Langdon Cheves and William Lowndes, who seemed
to have been elected for that purpose, put forth their utmost efforts
with success, to procure a declaration of war with Great Britain. The
measure was regarded essential to the continuance of the Republican
Party in power, and Mr. Madison reluctantly acceded to it, regretting
his compliance soon afterward. The next turn of the wheel made Mr.
Calhoun a Cabinet Minister, and an aspirant for the presidency, for
which he had the support of Daniel Webster. Falling short of that
ambition, he became the champion of State Rights and nullification,
bringing his native commonwealth to the verge of civil war, and himself
into personal peril. Thenceforth he set about educating his people for
mortal conflict. The attempt to add new territory to this country for
the extending of the power of the Southern as against the Northern
States, had brought nearer the crisis which Mr. Clay was striving to
avert. It seems almost anachronism to place Mr. Calhoun in this picture,
for he died in 1850.
Daniel Webster, however, is the figure soonest recognized. The artist
has placed him in a row a little way behind the orator, sitting in a
thoughtful mood, but leaving us at a loss to surmise whether he is
attending to the subject under discussion, or meditating upon some topic
which he may esteem to be of profounder importance. He was translated to
the Cabinet a second time by President Fillmore, but found himself
without supporters except personal friends and admirers, and estranged
from his political associates. He quickly followed Mr. Clay to the grave
in 1852.
The other faces in the picture seem familiar and are carefully depicted.
We do not find, however, the “new men” who had already come as
precursors of the next epoch in American history. John P. Hale and
William H. Seward are left out, and we fail of finding Daniel S.
Dickinson, John Davis or Stephen A. Douglas. Those whom we do see there
were undoubtedly regarded as more notable, belonging as they did to an
era that seems to have passed almost completely into oblivion. For it is
true however discreditable as it may seem, that the events of that time
and the men of that time are almost as little cognized by Americans of
the present generation as though they had been of the period of Magna
Charta and the Conference of Barons at Runnymede.
The war with Mexico resulting from the annexation of Texas in 1845, had
effected the addition of New Mexico and California to the jurisdiction
of the United States. Legislation was required to provide for the
exigency. An issue had been introduced by the “Wilmot Proviso,”
declaring that neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except for
crime, should exist in the new territory. This issue had decided the
election of 1848 giving the Whigs the National Administration. The
organizing of Oregon with this inhibition had created an alarm. There
were fifteen states with slavery and fifteen without, so that each
region had an equal number of Senators. This arrangement was now
imperilled. The contest was very sharp. Mr. Clay apprehending danger to
the Union, procured the appointment of a joint Congressional Committee
to devise measures of pacification. This Committee reported what was
known as the “Omnibus Bill,” providing for the admission of California
as a State, the organization of territorial governments for Utah and New
Mexico, and more effective measures for the rendition of runaway slaves.
It is apparently in support of this measure that Mr. Clay is speaking.
The prominent senators, the supporters of this legislation, are
listening. It may be well to add that it did not pass in this form, but
that the several propositions thus massed together, were afterward
enacted in separate bills.
[Illustration: Henry Clay Addressing Congress.]
Mr. Clay was always a conspicuous character in American History. His
marked personality, his impressive manner, his profound sincerity, his
unquestioned patriotism, his unblemished public career, his loyal
friendship, his ardent sympathy for the helpless and injured, all
combined to make him the idol of his party. He was like Agamemnon, a
“king of men.” Even when defeated, he never lost prestige, but gained in
the affection of those who knew him. Ambitious, he certainly was, for he
aspired to the chief office in the Republic, but he stubbornly refused
to employ unworthy means to secure the prize. When the place was within
his grasp, and his supporters were buoyant with assurance of success, he
put it out of his reach by exuberant frankness. Yet the disappointment
never weakened his love of country, and his last efforts were put forth
to secure harmony in our public councils and to preserve the Nation
undivided.
He was the architect of his own fortunes. His early opportunities were
limited, and he had never been able to obtain a liberal education. His
father was a Baptist preacher, at that time of no account in Virginia,
and there was no relationship with “first families.” Henry Clay was
strictly of the people and a son of the people; his blood was intensely
red, without any tinge of patrician blue. Early left an orphan he ate
the bread of poverty, and at a tender age was taught to work for a
livelihood, to plough, to dig and labor in the harvest field. He was
generally known in the region as “the Mill Boy of the Slashes.”
Fortunately for him when he was fourteen years of age, his mother
married a second husband, a man quick to perceive the ability of the
youth and to find him opportunity. He was placed for a year in a retail
store in Richmond, and afterward in the office of the clerk of the High
Court of Chancery.
A biographer describes him at this period as raw-boned, lank and
awkward, with a countenance by no means handsome, and dressed in
garments home-made and ill-fitting, with linen starched to such a
stiffness as to make him look peculiarly strange and uncomfortable. As
he took his place at the desk to copy papers, his new companions
tittered at his appearance, and his blushing confusion. They soon
learned to like him, however, and he was found to be a faithful and
industrious worker. He read incessantly during his hours of leisure but
unfortunately acquired a habit of cursory perusing, a “skimming over”
which he never conquered, and which seriously interfered with
thoroughness. This became afterward to him a source of profound regret.
His diligence at work attracted the attention of the Chancellor, George
Wythe, who selected him for amanuensis to write out and record the
decisions of the Court. This was the turning point of his career. Wythe
was a signer of the Declaration of Independence and member of the
Convention that framed the Federal Constitution. He believed in what he
promulgated, emancipating his slaves and making provision for their
subsisting. Thomas Jefferson and John Marshall had been his students.
The four years thus spent there decided Clay to become a lawyer, and he
entered the office of Robert Brooke the Attorney-General as a regular
student. A year later he received the license to practice. At the age of
twenty he set out for Kentucky to seek his fortune, making his residence
at Lexington then styled “the literary and intellectual centre of the
West.”
He became, like all Southern men of note, a politician, and quickly
gained distinction as a speaker. In 1797 a Convention was held to revise
the Constitution of the State, and he labored assiduously, but without
success to procure the adoption of a system of emancipation. He saved
his popularity, however, by vigorously declaring against the Alien and
Sedition Laws of Congress. So much easier is it to resent and deplore
the wrongs that others commit than to repent of those we commit
ourselves. Mr. Clay was from this time a champion of the helpless and
the wronged. It required personal as well as moral courage. There were
men in Kentucky who regarded themselves as leaders in Society and above
being held to account for unworthy and lawless acts. Colonel Joseph
Daviess, then District Attorney of the United States and a Federalist,
perpetrated a brutal assault upon a private citizen. Everybody feared
him but Mr. Clay. He took the matter boldly up. Daviess warned him to
desist, but was unable to frighten him even by a challenge to a duel.
With like sentiment toward a man that he conceived to be wronged, he
became a defender of Aaron Burr, but on learning of deception he refused
further friendly relations.
After a period of service in the Legislature, Mr. Clay was chosen to
fill an unexpired term in the Senate at Washington and took his seat in
December, 1806, when under thirty years of age. He seems to have paid
little heed to the unwritten law of reticence, but took active part in
speaking and legislating. He advocated the projects of a bridge across
the Potomac, and also roads and canals to facilitate communication
between the Atlantic Seaboard and the region west of the Allegheny
Mountains. A monument near Wheeling commemorates his support of the
Cumberland Road.
Political opinions then current have a curious flavor now. Many
questioned the constitutionality of such legislation. The establishment
of a Navy was opposed. The Barbary States received tribute year by year
for abstaining from piracy on American Commerce. Great Britain, claiming
to be mistress of the seas, took some six thousand seamen from merchant
vessels to serve in her Navy, and confiscated goods that were shipped to
European markets. France, likewise, issued decrees of forfeiture; and
all the defense attempted was an embargo forbidding American vessels to
leave port. Spain pretended that her possessions in West Florida
extended to the Mississippi River, and the Federalists in Congress
denounced the action of President Madison to hold that region as being a
spoliation of a helpless and unoffending power.
Mr. Clay had just come again to the Senate. Although the youngest member
he was foremost in sustaining vigorous action. “I have no commiseration
for princes,” said he; “my sympathies are reserved for the great mass of
mankind, and I own that the people of Spain have them most sincerely.”
Then he turned upon the great sensitiveness exhibited toward Great
Britain. “This phantom has too much influence on the councils of the
Nation,” he declared. “I most sincerely desire peace and amity with
England; I even prefer an adjustment of differences with her before one
with any other Nation. But if she persists in a denial of justice to us,
or if she avails herself of the occupation in West Florida to commence
war upon us, I trust and hope that all hearts will unite in a bold and
vigorous vindication of our rights.”
Mr. Clay next appears as Speaker of the House of Representatives in
1811. The House was more to his liking than the Senate; it was at that
time a debating body not dominated as it is now by Committees appointed
by the Presiding Officer. He was vehement in demanding preparations for
war with England, and talked of terms of peace to be dictated at
Halifax. The President was timid, and the North and East opposed; but a
declaration was made, and Mr. Madison proposed to make Mr. Clay
Commander-in-chief. This he declined. There was a likelihood of cabals
in Congress like those which assailed General Washington in the
Revolution. The Navy saved the credit of the Nation, which the Army
failed to sustain, and with that it averted a peril of disunion.
Negotiations for peace were held at Ghent. Mr. Clay, as one of the
Commissioners, yielded a reluctant consent to the treaty. He would not
visit England till he heard of the Battle of New Orleans, but he went to
Paris.
In an interview with Madame de Stael, she spoke of the exasperation in
England and the serious intentions of sending the Duke of Wellington to
America. “I wish they had,” said Clay. “Why?” she asked. “Because,” said
he, “If he had beaten us we should only have been in the condition of
Europe, without disgrace. But if we had been so fortunate as to defeat
him, we should have greatly added to the renown of our arms.”
This conversation was repeated to the Duke, who at once remarked that he
would have regarded a victory over the Americans as a greater honor than
any which he had ever achieved. He also praised the American Peace
Commissioners as having shown more ability than those of England.
Henceforth, Mr. Clay remained in his own country. Mr. Madison tendered
him the mission to Russia but he declined. He then offered him the
portfolio of the War Department. But Mr. Clay chose rather to return to
the House of Representatives and was again elected Speaker.
He was now himself a leader; the men who had been at the head of the
Republican Party from the time of Washington, were passing from
supremacy. The war had developed new necessities and new views of
political subjects, and new men were taking hold of public service. What
had been denounced in 1810 became the policy of 1816; the Federal party
passed away, for its leaders had offended the nation, and the new
Republicans had adopted their principal measures. We now find Henry Clay
and John C. Calhoun still hand in hand, with Daniel Webster the
Union-lover and John Randolph the Union-hater in opposition, and the
President still holding the old traditions.
The conditions of affairs in South America was the occasion of a bill
for more strict enforcing of neutrality. Mr. Clay dissented from the
measure. The ignorance and superstition imputed to the people of the
Spanish provinces, he insisted, was due to the tyranny and oppression,
hierarchic and political, under which they groaned. Their independence
was the first step toward improving their condition. “Let them have free
government if they are capable of enjoying it,” said he; “but let them,
at all events, have independence. I may be accused of an imprudent
utterance of my feelings on this occasion. I care not. When the
independence, the happiness, the liberty of a whole people is at stake,
and that people our neighbors, occupy a portion of the same continent,
imitating our example and participating of the same sympathies with
ourselves, I will boldly avow my feelings and my wishes in their behalf,
even at the hazard of such an imputation.”
He had exulted at the victory of New Orleans by a Western General in a
Western State. But when General Jackson in the Seminole War, enlisted
volunteers again without civil authority, invaded Florida, decoyed
Indian Chiefs into his camp by a flag of truce and put them to death,
besides executing two British subjects, Mr. Clay denounced his acts as a
disregard of every principle of honor, humanity and justice. He was,
however, again in advance of popular sentiment.
The proposed admission of Missouri to the Union as a Slave State became
an issue for several years. It was a question whether there should
continue as before an equal number of Free and Slave States, so as to
assure the latter a safeguard in the Senate. It was interest on one side
and sentiment on the other. The excitement was so intense as to threaten
the Union itself. Dissolution was actually considered. The matter was
finally determined by a vote to admit Missouri but to exclude slavery
from all the region west of it and north of its southern boundary line.
In this controversy Mr. Clay acted with the Southern Congressmen, and by
his sagacity as Speaker, the measure was made sure: the conflict,
however, to be again renewed a third of a century later, transforming
the politics of a Nation.
None of Mr. Clay’s speeches on this question were published. He had been
constrained by the voice of his State and fears for the safety of the
Union, but he was not willing to appear before his countrymen and
posterity in the lurid light of sustaining slavery.
The revolt in Greece enlisted the sympathy of all America. Meetings were
held to declare the prevailing sentiment. Albert Gallatin even proposed
to aid with a naval force. Mr. Webster offered a resolution in Congress
authorizing a Commissioner to be sent to that country. Mr. Clay
supported the motion in his Demosthenean style. After portraying the
situation, he added the challenge: “Go home if you can; go home if you
dare, to your constituents, and tell them that you voted this
proposition down; meet if you can, the appalling countenances of those
who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration of
your own sentiments; that you can not tell how, but that some unknown
dread, some indescribable apprehension, some indefinable danger, drove
you away from your purpose; that the spectres of cimiters, and crowns,
and crescents, gleamed before you and alarmed you; and that you
suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by
national independence, and by humanity.”
Mr. Clay had been already placed in the field as a candidate for
President, and this temerity astonished his supporters. He had enemies,
likewise, to take advantage of his excitable temper, to irritate him to
personal altercation. John Randolph was conspicuous. He taunted Mr. Clay
for his defective education. “I know my deficiencies,” Mr. Clay replied.
“I was born to no patrimonial estate; from my father I inherited only
infancy, ignorance and indigence. I feel my defects; but so far as my
situation in early life is concerned, I may without presumption say they
are more my misfortune than my fault.”
There were no political parties in 1824; all were Republicans, and the
contest was simply between men. Mr. Clay was approached with
propositions such as would now be considered legitimate. He refused to
enter into any arrangements or make any promise or pledge. There was no
choice effected by the Electors. In the Legislature of Louisiana,
advantage was taken of the absence of members to deprive him of the vote
of that State. He was thus deprived of the opportunity of an election by
the House of Representatives. It so happened, however, that the decision
was in his hands, and he gave his vote to John Quincy Adams. The two had
differed widely and with temper, but of Mr. Adams’ superior fitness
there was no possible question. In political matters he never rewarded a
friend nor punished an adversary. He administered every trust
conscientiously. Mr. Clay became his Secretary of State. It was an
administration which the Nation would like to witness again. The honor
of the Nation was sustained; the country was prosperous beyond former
periods. What may now appear incredible, there were twenty-four states
in the Union, yet the public expenditures barely exceeded eleven million
dollars a year.
The endeavor to effect a friendly alliance with the new Spanish-American
Republics was unsuccessful. When Bolivar wrote Mr. Clay a letter
acknowledging his good offices, he replied with a gentle remonstrance
against the establishing of an arbitrary dictatorship. He was
disappointed in his hopes and expectations. Mr. Adams had judged those
men better than he. In diplomacy Mr. Clay aimed at reciprocity in
commercial matters. He advised the recognition of Hayti likewise, as a
sovereign State.
He also became one of the chief supporters of the African Colonization
Society. He believed it possible to remove a sufficient number of free
negroes to reduce sensibly the number of the colored population, and
bring about gradual emancipation. “If,” said he, “I could be
instrumental in eradicating this deepest stain upon the character of our
country, and removing all cause of reproach on account of it by foreign
nations; if I could only be instrumental in ridding of this foul blot
that revered State that gave me birth, or that not less beloved State
which kindly adopted me as her son, I would not exchange the proud
satisfaction which I should enjoy for the honor of all the triumphs ever
decreed to the most successful conqueror.”
In 1828 a new administration and a newly organized political party were
chosen. Mr. Clay returned to Kentucky. But defeat never lessened his
hold upon his friends. In 1831 Daniel Webster, voicing the sentiment of
them all, wrote to him: “We need your arm in the fight. It would be an
infinite gratification to me to have your aid, or rather your lead.”
Reluctantly he obeyed. He took his seat in the Senate more heartily
welcomed by his friends, more bitterly hated by his enemies, than ever
before. From this time he was more conservative. He was henceforth the
opposer of aggression, the pacificator for the sake of the Union. He was
again nominated for President by the Republicans in 1832. Some years
later the opposition united to form the Whig Party, but although he was
its acknowledged leader, the anti-masonic influence gave the nomination
in 1840 to Gen. Wm. H. Harrison. He was, however, again nominated in
1844 and apparently certain of election till a letter was published in
which he spoke of the proposed annexation of Texas in ambiguous terms
which disaffected anti-slavery voters enough to defeat him. He had
retired from the Senate two years before, but came back under the new
administration. He foresaw peril to the Republic, and now hoped to be
able to stay the tide. But it was only temporary.
His personal appearance, as represented in the picture, was unique. He
was tall and thin, though muscular; and there was an entire absence of
everything like stiffness or haughtiness. His manner was cordial and
kind, inviting rather than repelling approach. His eyes were dark gray,
small, and when excited they flashed with striking vividness. His
forehead was high and broad. His mouth was large, but expressive of
genius and energy. His voice was silvery, deep-toned, and exquisitely
modulated. When speaking, he threw his soul into the subject, carrying
along the souls of the hearers, making them assent or dissent as he did.
He spoke as the patriot warrior of a thousand battles would speak; and
despite the enmity and rancor which pursued him with fiendish
bitterness, the men opposed to him mourned with his friends when he was
no more a denizen of earth.
RICHARD WAGNER’S PROSE WORKS.
BY BASIL CRUMP.
VOLUME I.
The world knows Richard Wagner as a daring musical genius; a few know
him as a poet who wrote the poems for his own dramas; fewer still know
him as a writer, philosopher and mystic. His voluminous prose works are
being translated into English by Mr. W. Ashton Ellis, of the London
branch of the Wagner Society, and the work will be completed by the end
of the century. When these writings become familiar to the reading
public, Wagner will be much better understood than he is now; the vast
scope of his work, and its harmonious relation to other universal
schemes of work which make for the elevation of the human race, will be
more fully recognized. Then the narrow and ignorant criticisms of a
Nordau or a Tolstoi, will have no foothold in the mind of an enlightened
public.
In the previous series of articles entitled “Richard Wagner’s Music
Dramas,” my purpose was to throw some light on the inner meaning of
those dramas. In doing this some quotations were made from the prose
writings, where Wagner has made actual explanations or thrown out hints
of his meaning. In dealing with the prose works themselves, my aim will
be to show the basis of Wagner’s reform in the field of dramatic art,
and the great motives which led him to strike out a totally new path.
And here at the outset let me say that no brief review of these volumes
can possibly convey any clear conception of their contents; it will
therefore be necessary to devote several of these articles to the more
important essays. The volume with which I am about to deal opens with an
AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCH.
Wagner wrote this in 1843, at the request of a German editor. In it we
see the germs of his future genius, and I will select such details as
serve to indicate them. Wilhelm Richard Wagner was born at Leipzig on
May 22, 1813, and learnt to play a little on the piano at the age of
seven. Two years later, when the family migrated to Dresden, he used to
watch Weber “with a reverent awe,” as the composer of _Der Freischütz_
passed to and fro to rehearsals. Thereupon his piano exercises were
speedily neglected in favor of the overture to _Der Freischütz_ executed
“with the most fearful fingering.”
“But this music-strumming was quite a secondary matter: Greek, Latin,
mythology and ancient history were my principal studies.” At this time
he wrote some prize verses on the death of a schoolfellow. “I was then
eleven years old. I promptly determined to become a poet, and sketched
out tragedies on the model of the Greeks.” He also translated twelve
books of the Odyssey, and learnt English in order to study Shakespeare.
“I projected a grand tragedy which was almost nothing but a medley of
_Hamlet_ and _King Lear_. The plan was gigantic in the extreme;
two-and-forty human beings died in the course of this piece, and I saw
myself compelled in its working out to call the greater number back as
ghosts, otherwise I should have been short of characters for my last
acts.”
Being removed to the Leipzig _Nikolaischule_ he there for the first time
came into contact with Beethoven’s genius; “its impression upon me was
overpowering.... Beethoven’s music to _Eg-mont_ so much inspired me,
that I determined—for all the world—not to allow my now completed
tragedy to leave the stocks until provided with suchlike music. Without
the slightest diffidence, I believed that I could myself write this
needful music, but thought it better to first clear up a few of the
general principles of thorough-bass.... But this study did not bear such
rapid fruit as I had expected: its difficulties both provoked and
fascinated me; I resolved to become a musician.”
Thus far we see the embryo poet-musician. In his sixteenth year the
mysticism in his nature was roused by a study of E. A. Hoffmann: “I had
visions by day in semi-slumber, in which the ‘Keynote,’ ‘Third,’ and
‘Dominant’ seemed to take on living form and reveal to me their mighty
meaning.” These visions are curiously confirmed by the scientific
phenomena of Chladni’s sand figures and the sound forms of Mrs. Watts
Hughes. The fact that sound is the means through which all form is
produced is a very old teaching. Pythagoras, who brought the art of
music from India to Greece, taught that the Universe was evolved out of
chaos by the power of sound and constructed according to the principles
of musical proportion.
About this time Wagner seriously studied Counterpoint under Theodor
Weinlig. In less than six months he was dismissed as perfect. “What you
have made by this dry study,” he said to his youthful pupil, “we call
‘Self-dependence.’” In 1832 he composed “an opera-book of tragic
contents: _Die Hochzeit_”; his sister disapproved of the work and he at
once destroyed it, although some of the music was already written. _Die
Feen_ (The Fairies) followed in the next year and was the first of his
completed operatic works. At the age of twenty-one he tells us: “I had
emerged from abstract Mysticism, and I learnt a love for Matter.” The
result was _Das Liebesverbot_ founded on Shakespeare’s _Measure for
Measure_, in which “free and frank physicalism” prevails over
“Puritanical hypocrisy.”
This wild mood soon ceased under the pressure of petty cares; in 1836 he
married the woman whose devotion helped him through so many years of
bitter struggle. The following year he began his first large work,
_Rienzi_, and became musical director at the Riga theatre. The poem was
finished in 1838, and in 1839 when the music was nearly completed,
Wagner embarked with his wife and his beloved big dog on board a sailing
ship bound for London _en route_ for Paris. His object was to get
_Rienzi_ performed there, but despite the influence of Meyerbeer he was
doomed to disappointment and found himself stranded there in the utmost
poverty. This, as we shall see from an essay later in the volume, was
the turning-point in his life; but we have now to consider the next
essay, the famous
ART AND REVOLUTION.
The main theme of this fine article is the relation of Art to the
Universal Brotherhood of Man. It is prefaced by an introduction written
in 1872 which begins with Carlyle’s trenchant words on “that universal
Burning-up, as in hell-fire, of Human Shams.” Wagner goes on to explain
how the essay was written “in the feverish excitement of the year 1849.”
This was the revolution which cost him so many years of painful exile at
Paris and Zürich. He says he was guided by an ideal which he thought of
as “embodied in a Folk that should represent the incomparable might of
ancient brotherhood, while I looked forward to the perfect evolution of
this principle as the very essence of the associate Manhood of the
Future.”
After some explanations of certain technical words which might be
misunderstood, Wagner introduces us to the essay itself. He begins by
saying that the essence of Modern Art is only a link in a chain of
causes started by the Ancient Greeks. The Grecian spirit found its
fullest expression in the god Apollo: “It was Apollo,—he who had slain
the Python, the dragon of Chaos ... who was the fulfiller of the will of
Zeus upon the Grecian earth; who was, in fact, the Grecian people.”
Proceeding then to connect Dance and Song, as inseparable elements in
early Greek Art, he says: “Thus, too, inspired by Dionysus,[1] the
tragic poet saw this glorious god; when to all the rich elements of
spontaneous art ... he joined the bond of speech, and concentrating them
all into one focus, brought forth the highest conceivable form of
art—the DRAMA.”
That this Drama was a religious teacher connected with the Mysteries is
very clearly brought out, and Wagner draws a fine picture of one of
those great sacred days when thirty thousand people assembled to witness
“that most pregnant of all tragedies, the _Prometheus_; in this titanic
masterpiece to see the image of themselves, to read the riddle of their
own actions, and to fuse their own being and their own communion with
that of their god.”
How fell this glorious Tragedy? “As the spirit of _Community_ split
itself along a thousand lives of egoistic cleavage, so was the great
united work of Tragedy disintegrated into its individual factors.” For
two thousand years since then Art has given way to Philosophy; but “True
Art is highest freedom” and can only arise out of freedom.
Then follows a splendid description of the brutal materialism of the
Romans which hangs to this very day like a pall about her ruins: “They
loved to revel in concrete and open bloodthirstiness.” Mutual slavery of
Emperor and people was the result, and “self-contempt, disgust with
existence, horror of community” found their expression in Christianity.
But this Christianity of Constantine Wagner is careful to distinguish
from the teaching of “the humble son of the Galilean carpenter; who,
looking on the misery of his fellow-men, proclaimed that he had not come
to bring peace, but a sword into the world; whom we must love for the
anger with which he thundered forth against the hypocritical Pharisees
who fawned upon the power of Rome; ... and finally who preached the
reign of universal human love.” In short, one might say that Jesus and
his teaching stood in the same relation to the later Christianity as
Dionysus and the early pure mysteries to the later degraded and
materialized Bacchic mysteries.
Then in a very fine passage Wagner indicts Modern Art, based, as it is,
on fame and gain and serving all the lower needs of a debased public
taste. The Drama is separated into Play and Opera; the one losing its
idealizer—Music,—the other, its dramatic aim and end: “What serves it
us, that _Shakespeare_, like a second Creator, has opened for us the
endless realm of human nature? What serves it, that _Beethoven_ has lent
to Music the manly, independent strength of Poetry? Ask the threadbare
caricatures of your theatres, ask the street-minstrel commonplaces of
your operas: and ye have your answer!”
Think of it! This was written half a century ago, and in spite of it the
Music Hall more than ever sways the masses, and the cheap inanities of
the comic opera are the rage with the rest of the community. I shall
review the remainder of this essay in the next article.
(_To be continued._)
Footnote 1:
Dionysus was the productive or bountiful power of Nature, and the
earlier and pure conception of him was of a beauteous but manly
figure, attended by the Graces and presiding over dramatic
representations of Nature’s mysteries. It was only in later times that
he appeared as Bacchus, the God of wine and intoxication, attended by
Bacchantes, and presiding over sensual and drunken orgies.
ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.
IV. POET, DIPLOMAT, TRAVELLER.
Lamartine spent two winters at Paris after the Restoration. His former
acquaintances were scattered, and he had new ones to make. He was for a
time solitary and little occupied. He was, nevertheless, resolute in his
quest for an opening into public life. His friend Virieu and others
introduced him to persons of distinction and one step led presently to
another. The passion for literature served to place him on a friendly
footing with others of similar tastes, and he became able after a while
to enumerate among his acquaintances Chateaubriand, the “Napoleon of
French literature,” Lamennais, the French Savonarola, Rocher, Aimé
Martin, De Vigny.
The epoch of the Restoration was also the epoch of the Revival of
Letters in France. The Revolution had sent scholars and literary men to
the scaffold or driven them into exile, and Bonaparte had attempted to
level all learning and philosophic culture to the plane of physical and
mathematical science. Whatever might elevate the human soul was not
tolerated. He aspired to restore the Sixteenth century at the end of the
Eighteenth and required literature to be adapted to that end.
Louis XVIII. was always broad and liberal in his sentiments, and even
before the Revolution he had cherished familiar relations with literary
men and men of learning. His long term of enforced leisure, during his
absence from France, and a weakness in his limbs which compelled him to
sedentary life, had tended to deepen his interest in such pursuits. He
was emphatically a king of the fireside.
The emigrants that returned with him to France, had but imperfectly
apprehended the change. Those most bigoted formed a coterie around the
Count D’Artois; others endeavored to qualify the action of the King.
Hence the court was a combination of old royalty with a new order of
things.
A galaxy of stars of the first magnitude was now shining in France.
Naturally Lamartine was dazzled by them when he came to Paris. Observing
that several young men were recognized in the literary world, he again
cherished the notion of publishing.
While himself without employment he conceived the plan of a long poem
and actually wrote several cantos. It was to be the history of a human
soul and its migrations through successive terms of existence and forms
of experience till its eventual reunion to the Centre of the Universe,
God.
He also projected and began several other compositions. He labored
incessantly to perfect his style, till it became, though diffuse, a
model of elegance, energy and correctness.
He had from time to time written verses to which he gave the title of
_Meditations_. Friends slyly pilfered these, and gave copies to ladies
of their acquaintance. These passed from hand to hand till they came to
the table of Talleyrand himself. The prince greatly admired them and his
praises were repeated to the Marquise de Raigecourt. This lady had been
an intimate friend of the Princess Elizabeth. Lamartine had been
introduced to her by the Count de Virieu, and she took a motherly
interest in his welfare. Yet he could not bring himself to go to the
Court. “I was born wild and free,” he says for himself, “and I did not
like to bend down in order to rise.”
From 1815 to 1818 when at home, he composed several tragedies—Medée, one
relating to the Crusades, and Saul. He had a hope that by them he might
gain some celebrity and perhaps contribute something to the fortune of
his parents and sisters. He completed them in the spring of 1818, and
having copied them in a plain hand hurried with them to Paris. He
solicited an interview with Talma who granted it at once.
On invitation, he read extracts from the tragedy entitled Saul. The
great tragedian listened attentively, and was for some time silent. His
first words were: “Young man, I have desired to know you for twenty
years. You would have been my poet. But it is too late. You are coming
to the world and I am going from it.”
He then requested Lamartine to tell him frankly, as a son to a father,
his personal history, his family relations, and his wishes.
This he did and told how he had desired to work, to come out of his
obscurity, to produce something that would be an honor to the name of
his father and a comfort to the heart of his mother. He had thought of
Talma. He had written several tragedies, of which this was a specimen.
“Will you be good enough,” he implored, “to hold out your hand and help
me succeed by the stage?”
Tears stood in Talma’s eyes. He praised the work, and declared that in
the reign of Louis XIV. it would have won applause. But now, tragedy had
been superseded, in general estimation, by the drama. He counselled
Lamartine to study Shakespeare, to forget art and study nature.
When Lamartine came again to Paris the next winter, he asked him to
write for the stage. But Lamartine coveted a public rather than a
literary career, and applied to M. Pasquier, the Minister of Foreign
Affairs, for a diplomatic appointment.
He was now present at the _salons_ or drawing-room parties of the
Duchess de Raigecourt, the Duchess de Broglie, Madame de Stael’s
daughter, Madame de Ste. Aulaire, Madame de Montcalm, the sister of the
Duke de Richelieu. At these he was introduced to persons of distinction.
Madame de Sainte Aulaire, who had a divining faculty for discerning
young persons who were destined to achieve a career, took a warm
interest in his behalf. She invited him to read several pages of his
unpublished verses, and afterward encouraged him to print them. He was
then recovering from a severe illness. Booksellers, however, objected to
the novelty of the style, and he was able only by obstinate perseverance
to induce one to undertake the risk.
Now Lamartine was harassed by a new apprehension. The book, whether it
broke like an egg by falling to the ground, or proved a successful
venture, was liable, although anonymous, to be a source of perplexing
complications. The notion of specialties in work was current, and the
fact of being an author and writer of verses, might be an obstacle to
his hopes.
Madame de St. Aulaire was a relative of the minister, M. Decazes. She
and her husband put forth their influence with the Government in his
behalf.
About the same time, M. Jules Janin, then at the beginning of his
career, finding a copy of the _Meditations_ at a book-store, purchased
it out of curiosity. He found to his astonishment, a new style of
poetry; that it admirably depicted the sentiments of the soul and
passions of the heart, the joys of earth and the ecstasies of heaven,
the hopes of the present and apprehensions of the future. He wrote a
long review, which served to arouse the attention of the literary and
book-reading public and to create a prodigious demand. Forty-five
thousand copies were sold in the next four years, and its author was
speedily ranked with Byron, Goethe and Chateaubriand, then the
distinguished poets of the period. He had originated a new style of
poetry.
DAY-BREAK OF FORTUNE.
Meanwhile Lamartine was sadly awaiting events at his modest quarters and
fearing for the fate and effects of his little publication. As he was in
bed one morning in the first month of spring, the janitor’s daughter, a
girl of twelve or fourteen years, opened the door of the room. It was
too early for the morning newspaper. Smiling intelligently, she threw on
the bed a little billet having an enormous seal of red wax. There was
upon it, Lamartine remarks, “an imprint of a coat of arms that ought to
be illustrious, for it was undecipherable.”
“Why do you smile so knowingly, Lucy?” he asked, as he broke the seal
and tore off the envelope.
“Because,” said she, “mamma told me that the letter had been brought in
the early morning by a chasseur all laced with gold, having a beautiful
feather in his hat, and that he had urgently desired that the note
should be delivered to you as soon as you awoke, because his mistress
had told him: ‘Go quickly; we must not delay the joy and perhaps the
fortune of the young man.’”