Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, February, 1858 by Various

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The vicissitudes which sometimes attend a picture or statue furnish no
inadequate materials for narrative interest. Amateur collectors can
unfold a tale in reference to their best acquisitions which outvies
fiction. Beckford's table-talk abounded in such reminiscences. An
American artist, who had resided long in Italy and made a study of old
pictures, caught sight at a shop-window in New Orleans of an "Ecce
Homo" so pathetic in expression as to arrest his steps and engross his
attention. Upon inquiry, he learned that it had been purchased of a
soldier fresh from Mexico, after the late war between that country and
the United States; he bought it for a trifle, carried it to Europe, and
soon authenticated it as an original Guercino, painted for the royal
chapel in Madrid, and sent thence by the government to a church in
Mexico, whence, after centuries, it had found its way, through the
accidents of war, to a pawnbroker's shop in Louisiana. A lady in one
of our eastern cities, wishing to possess, as a memorial, some article
which had belonged to a deceased neighbor, and not having the means,
at the public sale of her effects, to bid for an expensive piece of
furniture, contented herself with buying for a few shillings a familiar
chimney-screen. One day she discovered a glistening surface under the
flowered paper which covered it, and when this was torn away, there
stood revealed a picture of Jacob and Rebecca at the Well, by Paul
Veronese; doubtless thus concealed with a view to its secret removal
during the first French Revolution. The missing Charles First of
Velasquez was lately exhibited in this country, and the account its
possessor gives of the mode of its discovery and the obstacles which
attended the establishment of its legal ownership in England is a
remarkable illustration both of the tact of the connoisseur and the
mysteries of jurisprudence.

There is scarcely, indeed, an artist or a patron of art, of any
eminence, who has not his own "story of a picture." Like all things
of beauty and of fame, the very desire of possession which a painting
excites, and the interest it awakens, give rise to some costly
sacrifice, or incidental circumstance, which associates the prize with
human fortune and sentiment. I remember an anecdote of this kind told me
by a friend in Western New York.

"Waiting," said he, "in the little front-parlor of a house in the town
of C----, to transact some business with its occupant, I was attracted
by a clean sketch in oil that hung above the fireplace. It might have
escaped notice elsewhere, but traces of real skill in Art were too
uncommon in this region to be disregarded by any lover of her fruits.
The readiness to seize upon any casual source of interest, common
with those who "stand and wait" in a place where they are strangers,
doubtless had something to do with the careful attention I bestowed upon
this production. It was a very modest attempt,--a bit of landscape, with
two horses grazing and a man at work in the foreground. Quiet in tone,
and half-concealed by the shaded casement, it was only by degrees, and
to ward off the _ennui_ of a listless half-hour, that I gradually became
absorbed in its examination. There were some masterly lines, clever
arrangement, a true feeling, and a peculiar delicacy of treatment, that
implied the hand of a trained artist.

"My pleasant communion with the unknown was at last interrupted by the
entrance of my tardy man-of-business, but the instant our affair was
transacted I inquired about the sketch. It proved to be the work of
a young Englishman then residing in the neighborhood. I obtained his
address and sought his dwelling. He was scraping an old palette as we
entered, and advanced with it in one hand, while he saluted me with the
air of a gentleman and the simplicity of an honest man. He wore a linen
blouse, his collar was open, his hair long and dark, his complexion
pale, his eye thoughtful, and a settled expression of sweetness and
candor about the mouth made me feel, at a glance, that I had rightly
interpreted the sketch. I mentioned it as an apology for my intrusion,
and added, that a natural fondness for Art, and rare opportunities for
gratifying the taste, induced me to improve occasions like this with
alacrity. He seemed delighted to welcome such a visitor, as his life,
for several weeks, had been quite isolated. The retirement and agreeable
scenery of this inland town harmonized with his feelings; he was
unambitious, happy in his domestic relations, and had managed, from time
to time, to execute a portrait or dispose of a sketch, and thus subsist
in comfort; so that an accidental and temporary visit to this secluded
region had unconsciously lengthened into a whole summer's residence,--
partly to be ascribed to the kindness and easy terms of his good old
host, a thrifty farmer, whose wife, having no children of her own, doted
upon the painter's boy, and grieved at the mention of their departure. I
doubt if my new friend would have had the enterprise to migrate at all,
but for my urgency; but I soon discovered, that, with the improvidence
of his tribe, he had laid nothing by, and that he stood in need of
medical advice, and, after a long conversation, upon my engaging to
secure him an economical home and plenty of work in Utica, he promised
to remove thither in a month; and then becoming more cheerful, he
exhibited, one by one, the trophies of Art in his possession.

"Among them were a Moreland and a Gainsborough, some fine engravings
after Reynolds, prints, cartoons, and crayon heads by famous artists,
and two or three Hogarth proof-impressions; but the treasure which
riveted my gaze was a masterly head of such vigorous outline and
effective tints, that I immediately recognized the strong, free, bold
handling of Gilbert Stuart. 'That was given me,' said the gratified
painter, 'by the son of an Edinburgh physician, who, when a young
practitioner, had the good-fortune to call one day upon Stuart when he
was suffering from the effects of a fall. He had been thrown from a
vehicle and had broken his arm, which was so unskilfully set that
it became inflamed and swollen, and the clumsy surgeon talked of
amputation. Imagine the feeling of such an artist at the idea of losing
his right arm! The doctor's visit was not professional, but, seeing the
despondent mood of the invalid artist, he could not refrain the offer
of service. It was accepted, and proved successful, and the patient's
gratitude was unbounded. As the doctor refused pecuniary compensation,
Stuart insisted upon painting a likeness of his benefactor; and as
he worked under no common impulse, the result, as you see, was a
masterpiece.'

"A few weeks after this pleasant interview, I had established my
_protege_ at Utica, and obtained him several commissions. But his
medical attendant pronounced his disease incurable; he lingered a
few months, conversing to the last, during the intervals of pain and
feebleness, with a resignation and intelligence quite endearing. When he
died, I advised his widow to preserve as long as possible the valuable
collection he had left, and with it she repaired to one of her kindred
in affluent circumstances, living fifty miles away. She endeavored to
force upon my acceptance one, at least, of her husband's cherished
pictures; but, knowing her poverty, I declined, only stipulating that if
ever she parted with the Stuart, I should have the privilege of taking
it at her own price.

"A year passed, and I was informed that many of her best things had
become the property of her relative, who, however, knew not how to
appreciate them. I commissioned a friend, who knew him, to purchase at
any cost the one I craved. He discovered that a native artist, who
had been employed to delineate the family, had obtained this work in
payment, and had it carefully enshrined in his studio at Syracuse. This
was Charles Elliot; and the possession of so excellent an original
by one of the best of our artists in this department explains his
subsequent triumphs in portraiture. He made a study of this trophy; it
inspired his pencil; from its contemplation he caught the secret of
color, the breadth and strength of execution, which have since placed
him among the first of American portrait-painters, especially for old
and characteristic heads. Thus, in the centre of Western New York, he
found his Academy, his Royal College, his Gallery and life-school, in
one adequate effort of Stuart's masterly hand; the offering of gratitude
became the model and the impulse whereby a farmer's son on the banks
of the Mohawk rose to the highest skill and eminence. But this was a
gradual process; and meantime it is easy to imagine what a treasure the
picture became in his estimation. It was only by degrees that his merit
gained upon public regard. His first visit to New York was a failure;
and after waiting many weeks in vain for a sitter, he was obliged to
pay his indulgent landlord with a note of hand, and return to the more
economical latitude of Syracuse. There he learned that a wealthy trader,
desirous of the _eclat_ of a connoisseur, was resolved to possess the
cherished portrait. Although poor, he was resolved never to part with
it; but the sagacious son of Mammon was too keen for him; discovering
his indebtedness, he bought the artist's note of the inn-keeper, and
levied an execution upon his effects. But genius is often more than a
match for worldly-wisdom. Elliot soon heard of the plot, and determined
to defeat it. He worked hard and secretly, until he had made so good a
copy that the most practised eye alone could detect the counterfeit; and
then concealing the original at his lodgings, he quietly awaited the
legal attachment. It was duly levied, the sale took place, and the
would-be amateur bought the familiar picture hanging in its accustomed
position, and then boasted in the market-place of the success of his
base scheme. Ere long one of Elliot's friends revealed the clever trick.
The enraged purchaser commenced a suit, and, although the painter
eventually retained the picture, the case was carried to the Supreme
Court, and he was condemned to pay costs. Ten years elapsed. The artist
became an acknowledged master, and prosperity followed his labors. No
one can mistake the rich tints and vigorous expression, the character
and color, which distinguish Elliot's portraits; but few imagine how
much he is indebted to the long possession and study of so invaluable an
original for these traits, moulded by his genius into so many admirable
representations of the loved, the venerable, and the honored, both
living and dead."

Another friend of mine, in exploring the more humble class of
boarding-houses in one of our large commercial towns, in search of an
unfortunate relation, found himself, while expecting the landlady,
absorbed in a portrait on the walls of a dingy back-parlor. The
furniture was of the most common description. A few smutched and faded
annuals, half-covered with dust, lay on the centre-table, beside an
old-fashioned astral lamp, a cracked porcelain vase of wax-flowers, a
yellow satin pincushion embroidered with tarnished gold-lace, and an
album of venerable hue filled with hyperbolic apostrophes to the charms
of some ancient beauty; which, with the dilapidated window-curtains, the
obsolete sideboard, the wooden effigy of a red-faced man with a spyglass
under his arm, and the cracked alabaster clock-case on the mantel, all
bespoke an impoverished establishment, so devoid of taste that the
beautiful and artistic portrait seemed to have found its way there by a
miracle. It represented a young and _spirituelle_ woman, in the
costume, so elegant in material and formal in mode, which Copley has
immortalized; in this instance, however, there was a French look about
the coiffure and robe. The eyes were bright with intelligence chastened
by sentiment, the features at once delicate and spirited, and altogether
the picture was one of those visions of blended youth, grace, sweetness,
and intellect, from which the fancy instinctively infers a tale of love,
genius, or sorrow, according to the mood of the spectator. Subdued by
his melancholy errand and discouraged by a long and vain search, my
friend, whose imagination was quite as excitable as his taste was
correct, soon wove a romance around the picture. It was evidently not
the work of a novice; it was as much out of place in this obscure
and inelegant domicil, as a diamond set in filigree, or a rose among
pigweed. How came it there? who was the original? what her history and
her fate? Her parentage and her nurture must have been refined; she must
have inspired love in the chivalric; perchance this was the last relic
of an illustrious exile, the last memorial of a princely house.

This reverie of conjecture was interrupted by the entrance of the
landlady. My friend had almost forgotten the object of his visit; and
when his anxious inquiries proved vain, he drew the loquacious hostess
into general conversation, in order to elicit the mystery of the
beautiful portrait. She was a robust, gray-haired woman, with whose
constitutional good-nature care had waged a long and partially
successful war. That indescribable air which speaks of better days was
visible at a glance; the remnants of bygone gentility were obvious in
her dress; she had the peculiar manner of one who had enjoyed social
consideration; and her language indicated familiarity with cultivated
society; yet the anxious expression habitual to her countenance, and
the bustling air of her vocation which quickly succeeded conversational
repose, hinted but too plainly straitened circumstances and daily toil.
But what struck her present curious visitor more than these casual
traits were the remains of great beauty in the still lovely contour of
the face, the refined lines of her mouth, and the depth and varied play
of the eyes. He was both sympathetic and ingenious, and ere long gained
the confidence of his auditor. The unfeigned interest and the true
perception he manifested in speaking of the portrait rendered him, in
its owner's estimation, worthy to know the story his own intuition had
so nearly divined. The original was Theodosia, the daughter of Aaron
Burr. His affection for her was the redeeming fact of his career and
character. Both were anomalous in our history. In an era remarkable for
patriotic self-sacrifice, he became infamous for treasonable ambition;
among a phalanx of statesmen illustrious for directness and integrity,
he pursued the tortuous path of perfidious intrigue; in a community
where the sanctities of domestic life were unusually revered, he bore
the stigma of unscrupulous libertinism. With the blood of his gallant
adversary and his country's idol on his hands, the penalties of debt and
treason hanging over him, the fertility of an acute intellect wasted on
vain expedients,--an outlaw, an adventurer, a plausible reasoner
with one sex and fascinating betrayer of the other, poor, bereaved,
contemned,--one holy, loyal sentiment lingered in his perverted
soul,--love for the fair, gifted, gentle being who called him father.
The only disinterested sympathy his letters breathe is for her; and the
feeling and sense of duty they manifest offer a remarkable contrast to
the parallel record of a life of unprincipled schemes, misused talents,
and heartless amours. As if to complete the tragic antithesis of
destiny, the beloved and gifted woman who thus shed an angelic ray upon
that dark career was soon after her father's return from Europe lost in
a storm at sea while on her way to visit him, thus meeting a fate which,
even at the distance of time, is remembered with pity. Her wretched
father bore with him, in all his wanderings and through all his
remorseful exile, her picture--emblem of filial love, of all that is
beautiful in the ministry of woman, and all that is terrible in human
fate. At length he lay dangerously ill in a garret. He had parted with
one after another of his articles of raiment, books, and trinkets,
to defray the expenses of a long illness; Theodosia's picture alone
remained; it hung beside him,--the one talisman of irreproachable
memory, of spotless love, and of undying sorrow; he resolved to die with
this sweet relic of the loved and lost in his possession; there his
sacrifices ended. Life seemed slowly ebbing; the underpaid physician
lagged in his visits; the importunate landlord threatened to send this
once dreaded partisan, favored guest, and successful lover to the
almshouse; when, as if the spell of woman's affection were spiritually
magnetic, one of the deserted old man's early victims--no other than
she who spoke--accidentally heard of his extremity, and, forgetting her
wrongs, urged by compassion and her remembrance of the past, sought
her betrayer, provided for his wants, and rescued him from impending
dissolution. In grateful recognition of her Christian kindness, he gave
her all he had to bestow,--Theodosia's portrait.

* * * * *

CRETINS AND IDIOTS:

WHAT HAS BEEN AND WHAT CAN BE DONE FOR THEM.

Among the numerous philanthropic movements which have characterized the
nineteenth century, none, perhaps, are more deserving of praise than
those which have had for their object the improvement of the cretin and
the idiot, classes until recently considered as beyond the reach of
curative treatment.

The traveller, whom inclination or science may have led into the Canton
Valais, or Pays-de-Vaud, in Switzerland, or into the less frequented
regions of Savoy, Aosta, or Styria, impressed as he may be with the
beauty and grandeur of the scenery through which he passes, finds
himself startled also at the frightful deformity and degradation of the
inhabitants. By the roadside, basking in the sun, he beholds beings
whose appearance seems such a caricature upon humanity, that he is at a
loss to know whether to assign them a place among the human or the brute
creation. Unable to walk,--usually deaf and dumb,--with bleared eyes,
and head of disproportionate size,--brown, flabby, and leprous skin,--a
huge goitre descending from the throat and resting upon the breast,--an
abdomen enormously distended,--the lower limbs crooked, weak, and
ill-shaped,--without the power of utterance, or thoughts to utter,--and
generally incapable of seeing, not from defect of the visual organs, but
from want of capacity to fix the eye upon any object,--the cretin seems
beyond the reach of human sympathy or aid. In intelligence he is far
below the horse, the dog, the monkey, or even the swine; the only
instincts of his nature are hunger and lust, and even these are fitful
and irregular.

The number of these unfortunate beings in the mountainous districts of
Europe, and especially of Central and Southern Europe, is very great. In
several of the Swiss cantons they form from four to five per cent of
the population. In Rhenish Prussia, and in the Danubian provinces of
Austria, the number is still greater; in Styria, many villages of four
or five thousand inhabitants not having a single man capable of bearing
arms. In Wuertemberg and Bavaria, in Savoy, Sardinia, the Alpine regions
of France, and the mountainous districts of Spain, the disease is very
prevalent.

The causes of so fearful a degeneration of body and mind are not
satisfactorily ascertained. Extreme poverty, impure air, filthiness of
person and dwelling, unwholesome diet, the use of water impregnated with
some of the magnesian salts, intemperance, (particularly in the use of
the cheap and vile brandy of Switzerland,) and the intermarriage of near
relatives and of those affected with goitre, have all been assigned, and
with apparently good reason; yet there are cases which are attributable
to none of these causes.

The disease is not, however, confined to Europe. It is prevalent also
in China and Chinese Tartary, in Thibet, along the base of the Himalaya
range in India, in Sumatra, in the vicinity of the Andes in South
America, in Mexico; and sporadic cases are found along the line of the
Alleghanies. It is said not to occur in Europe at a higher elevation
than four thousand feet above the sea level.

The derivation of the name is involved in some mystery; most writers
regarding it as a corruption of the French _Chretien_, as indicative
of the incapacity of these unfortunate beings to commit sin. A
more probable theory, however, is that which deduces it from the
Grison-Romance _Cretira_, "creature."

The existence of this disease has long been known; references are made
to it by Pliny, as well as by some of the Roman writers in the second
century of the Christian era; and in the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries its prevalence and causes were frequently discussed. Most of
the writers on the subject, however, considered the case of the poor
cretin as utterly hopeless; and the few who deemed a partial improvement
of his health, though not of his intellect, possible, merely suggested
some measures for that purpose, without making any effort to reduce them
to practice. It was reserved for a young physician of Zurich, Doctor
Louis Guggenbuehl, whose practical benevolence was active enough to
overcome any repugnance he might feel to labors in behalf of a class so
degraded and apparently unpromising, to be the pioneer in an effort to
improve their physical, mental, and moral condition.

It is now twenty-one years since this noble philanthropist, then just
entering upon the duties of his profession, was first led by some
incidents occurring during a tour in the Bernese Alps to investigate the
condition of the cretin. For three years he devoted himself to the study
of the disease and the method of treating it. Two years of this period
were spent in the small village of Seruf, in the Canton Glarus, where he
was successful in restoring several to the use of their limbs. It was at
the end of this period, that, with a moral courage and devotion of which
history affords but few examples, Doctor Guggenbuehl resolved to dedicate
his life to the elevation of the cretins from their degraded condition.
Consecrating his own property to the work, he asked assistance from the
Canton Bern in the purchase of land for a hospital, and received a
grant of six hundred francs ($120) for the work. His investigations had
satisfied him that an elevated and dry locality was desirable, and that
it was only the young who could be benefited. He accordingly purchased,
in 1840, a tract of about forty acres of land, comprising a portion of
the hill called the Abendberg, in the Canton Bern, above Interlachen.
The site of his Hospital buildings is about four thousand feet above the
sea, and one or two hundred feet below the summit of the hill; it is
well protected from the cold winds, and the soil is tolerably fertile.

There are few spots, even among the Alps, which can compare with the
Abendberg in beauty and grandeur of scenery. Doctor Guggenbuehl was
led to select it as much for this reason as for its salubrity, in the
belief, which his subsequent experience has fully justified, that the
striking nobleness of the landscape would awaken, even in the torpid
mind of the cretin, that sense of the beautiful in Nature which would
materially aid in his intellectual culture.

On the southern slope of the Abendberg he erected his Hospital
buildings, plain, wooden structures, without ornament, but comfortable,
and well adapted to his purpose. Here he gathered about thirty cretin
children, mostly under ten years of age, and began his work.

To understand fully what was to be accomplished, in order to transform
the young cretin into an active, healthy child, it is necessary that we
should glance at his physical and mental condition, when placed under
treatment.

Cretinism seems to be a combination of two diseases, the one physical,
the other mental. The physical disorder is akin to _Rachitis_, or
rickets, while the mental is substantially idiocy. The osseous
structure, deficient in the phosphate of lime, is unable to sustain the
weight of the body, and the cretin is thus incapacitated for active
motion; the muscles are soft and wasted; the skin dingy, cold, and
unhealthy; the appetite voracious; spasmodic and convulsed action
frequent; and the digestion imperfect and greatly disordered. The mind
seems to exist only in a germinal state; observation, memory, thought,
the power of combination, are all wanting. The external senses are so
torpid, that, for months perhaps, it is in vain to address either eye
or ear; nor is the sense of touch much more active. The cretin is
insensible to pain or annoyance, and seems to have as little sensation
as an oyster.

It was to the work of restoring these diseased and enfeebled bodies
to health, and of developing these germs of intellect, that Doctor
Guggenbuehl addressed himself. For this purpose, pure air, enforced
exercise, the use of cold, warm, and vapor baths, of spirituous lotions
and frictions, a simple yet eminently nutritive diet, regular habits,
and the administration of those medicinal alternatives which would
give tone to the system, activity to the absorbents, and vigor to
the muscles, were the remedial measures adopted. As their strength
increased, they were led to practise the simpler gymnastic
exercises,--running, jumping, climbing, marching, the use of the
dumb-bells, etc.

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