best of their recollection, the aforesaidgeneral had been exceedingly like the majestic image, even when a boy,only that the idea had never occurred to them at that period. Great,therefore, was the excitement throughout the valley; and many people,who had never once thought of glancing at the Great Stone Face for yearsbefore, now spent their time in gazing at it, for the sake of knowingexactly how General Blood-and-Thunder looked.
On the day of the great festival, Ernest, with all the other people ofthe valley, left their work, and proceeded to the spot where the sylvanbanquet was prepared. As he approached, the loud voice of the Rev. Dr.Battleblast was heard, beseeching a blessing on the good things setbefore them, and on the distinguished friend of peace in whose honorthey were assembled. The tables were arranged in a cleared space of thewoods, shut in by the surrounding trees, except where a vista openedeastward, and afforded a distant view of the Great Stone Face. Over thegeneral's chair, which was a relic from the home of Washington, therewas an arch of verdant boughs, with the laurel profusely intermixed,and surmounted by his country's banner, beneath which he had won hisvictories. Our friend Ernest raised himself on his tiptoes, in hopesto get a glimpse of the celebrated guest; but there was a mighty crowdabout the tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and to catchany word that might fall from the general in reply; and a volunteercompany, doing duty as a guard, pricked ruthlessly with their bayonetsat any particularly quiet person among the throng. So Ernest, being ofan unobtrusive character, was thrust quite into the background, where hecould see no more of Old Blood-and-Thunder's physiognomy than if it hadbeen still blazing on the battlefield. To console himself, he turnedtowards the Great Stone Face, which, like a faithful and long-rememberedfriend, looked back and smiled upon him through the vista of the forest.Meantime, however, he could overhear the remarks of various individuals,who were comparing the features of the hero with the face on the distantmountainside.
''T is the same face, to a hair!' cried one man, cutting a caper for joy.
'Wonderfully like, that's a fact!' responded another.
'Like! why, I call it Old Blood-and-Thunder himself, in a monstrouslooking-glass!' cried a third.
'And why not? He's the greatest man of this or any other age, beyond adoubt.'
And then all three of the speakers gave a great shout, whichcommunicated electricity to the crowd, and called forth a roar from athousand voices, that went reverberating for miles among the mountains,until you might have supposed that the Great Stone Face had pouredits thunder-breath into the cry. All these comments, and this vastenthusiasm, served the more to interest our friend; nor did he think ofquestioning that now, at length, the mountain-visage had found its humancounterpart. It is true, Ernest had imagined that this long-looked-forpersonage would appear in the character of a man of peace, utteringwisdom, and doing good, and making people happy. But, taking an habitualbreadth of view, with all his simplicity, he contended that providenceshould choose its own method of blessing mankind, and could conceivethat this great end might be effected even by a warrior and a bloodysword, should inscrutable wisdom see fit to order matters SO.
'The general! the general!' was now the cry. 'Hush! silence! OldBlood-and-Thunder's going to make a speech.'
Even so; for, the cloth being removed, the general's health had beendrunk, amid shouts of applause, and he now stood upon his feet to thankthe company. Ernest saw him. There he was, over the shoulders of thecrowd, from the two glittering epaulets and embroidered collar upward,beneath the arch of green boughs with intertwined laurel, and the bannerdrooping as if to shade his brow! And there, too, visible in the sameglance, through the vista of the forest, appeared the Great Stone Face!And was there, indeed, such a resemblance as the crowd had testified?Alas, Ernest could not recognize it! He beheld a war-worn andweather-beaten countenance, full of energy, and expressive of an ironwill; but the gentle wisdom, the deep, broad, tender sympathies, werealtogether wanting in Old Blood-and-Thunder's visage; and even if theGreat Stone Face had assumed his look of stern command, the mildertraits would still have tempered it.
'This is not the man of prophecy,' sighed Ernest to himself, as he madehis way out of the throng. 'And must the world wait longer yet?'
The mists had congregated about the distant mountainside, and there wereseen the grand and awful features of the Great Stone Face, awful butbenignant, as if a mighty angel were sitting among the hills, andenrobing himself in a cloud-vesture of gold and purple. As he looked,Ernest could hardly believe but that a smile beamed over the wholevisage, with a radiance still brightening, although without motion ofthe lips. It was probably the effect of the western sunshine, meltingthrough the thinly diffused vapors that had swept between him andthe object that he gazed at. But--as it always did--the aspect of hismarvellous friend made Ernest as hopeful as if he had never hoped invain.
'Fear not, Ernest,' said his heart, even as if the Great Face werewhispering him--'fear not, Ernest; he will come.'
More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still dwelt inhis native valley, and was now a man of middle age. By imperceptibledegrees, he had become known among the people. Now, as heretofore, helabored for his bread, and was the same simple-hearted man that he hadalways been. But he had thought and felt so much, he had given so manyof the best hours of his life to unworldly hopes for some great good tomankind, that it seemed as though he had been talking with the angels,and had imbibed a portion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible inthe calm and well-considered beneficence of his daily life, the quietstream of which had made a wide green margin all along its course. Nota day passed by, that the world was not the better because this man,humble as he was, had lived. He never stepped aside from his own path,yet would always reach a blessing to his neighbor. Almost involuntarily,too, he had become a preacher. The pure and high simplicity of histhought, which, as one of its manifestations, took shape in the gooddeeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowed also forth in speech.He uttered truths that wrought upon and moulded the lives of those whoheard him. His auditors, it may be, never suspected that Ernest, theirown neighbor and familiar friend, was more than an ordinary man; leastof all did Ernest himself suspect it; but, inevitably as the murmur ofa rivulet, came thoughts out of his mouth that no other human lips hadspoken.
When the people's minds had had a little time to cool, they were readyenough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a similarity betweenGeneral Blood-and-Thunder's truculent physiognomy and the benign visageon the mountain-side. But now, again, there were reports and manyparagraphs in the newspapers, affirming that the likeness of the GreatStone Face had appeared upon the broad shoulders of a certain eminentstatesman. He, like Mr. Gathergold and old Blood-and-Thunder, was anative of the valley, but had left it in his early days, and taken upthe trades of law and politics. Instead of the rich man's wealth andthe warrior's sword, he had but a tongue, and it was mightier than bothtogether. So wonderfully eloquent was he, that whatever he might chooseto say, his auditors had no choice but to believe him; wrong looked likeright, and right like wrong; for when it pleased him, he could make akind of illuminated fog with his mere breath, and obscure the naturaldaylight with it. His tongue, indeed, was a magic instrument: sometimesit rumbled like the thunder; sometimes it warbled like the sweetestmusic. It was the blast of war--the song of peace; and it seemed to havea heart in it, when there was no such matter. In good truth, he was awondrous man; and when his tongue had acquired him all other imaginablesuccess--when it had been heard in halls of state, and in the courts ofprinces and potentates--after it had made him known all over the world,even as a voice crying from shore to shore--it finally persuaded hiscountrymen to select him for the Presidency. Before this time--indeed,as soon as he began to grow celebrated--his admirers had found out theresemblance between him and the Great Stone Face; and so much were theystruck by it, that throughout the country this distinguished gentlemanwas known by the name of Old Stony Phiz. The phrase was considered asgiving a highly favorable aspect to his political pr
ospects; for, asis likewise the case with the Popedom, nobody ever becomes Presidentwithout taking a name other than his own.
While his friends were doing their best to make him President, Old StonyPhiz, as he was called, set out on a visit to the valley where he wasborn. Of course, he had no other object than to shake hands with hisfellow-citizens, and neither thought nor cared about any effectwhich his progress through the country might have upon the election.Magnificent preparations were made to receive the illustrious statesman;a cavalcade of horsemen set forth to meet him at the boundary line ofthe State, and all the people left their business and gathered along thewayside to see him pass. Among these was Ernest. Though more than oncedisappointed, as we have seen, he had such a hopeful and confidingnature, that he was always ready to believe in whatever seemed beautifuland good.
He kept his heart continually open, and thus was sure to catch theblessing from on high when it should come. So now again, as buoyantly asever, he went forth to behold the likeness of the Great Stone Face.
The cavalcade came prancing along the road, with a great clattering ofhoofs and a mighty cloud of dust, which rose up so dense and high thatthe visage of the mountainside was completely hidden from Ernest's eyes.All the great men of the neighborhood were there on horseback; militiaofficers, in uniform; the member of Congress; the sheriff of the county;the editors of newspapers; and many a farmer, too, had mounted hispatient steed, with his Sunday coat upon his back. It really was a verybrilliant spectacle, especially as there were numerous banners flauntingover the cavalcade, on some of which were gorgeous portraits of theillustrious statesman and the Great Stone Face, smiling familiarly atone another, like two brothers. If the pictures were to be trusted, themutual resemblance, it must be confessed, was marvellous. We must notforget to mention that there was a band of music, which made the echoesof the mountains ring and reverberate with the loud triumph of itsstrains; so that airy and soul-thrilling melodies broke out among allthe heights and hollows, as if every nook of his native valley had founda voice, to welcome the distinguished guest. But the grandest effect waswhen the far-off mountain precipice flung back the music; for then theGreat Stone Face itself seemed to be swelling the triumphant chorus, inacknowledgment, that, at length, the man of prophecy was come.
All this while the people were throwing up their hats and shouting, withenthusiasm so contagious that the heart of Ernest kindled up, and helikewise threw up his hat, and shouted, as loudly as the loudest, 'Huzzafor the great man! Huzza for Old Stony Phiz!' But as yet he had not seenhim.
'Here he is, now!' cried those who stood near Ernest. 'There! There!Look at Old Stony Phiz and then at the Old Man of the Mountain, and seeif they are not as like as two twin brothers!'
In the midst of all this gallant array came an open barouche, drawn byfour white horses; and in the barouche, with his massive head uncovered,sat the illustrious statesman, Old Stony Phiz himself.
'Confess it,' said one of Ernest's neighbors to him, 'the Great StoneFace has met its match at last!'
Now, it must be owned that, at his first glimpse of the countenancewhich was bowing and smiling from the barouche, Ernest did fancy thatthere was a resemblance between it and the old familiar face upon themountainside. The brow, with its massive depth and loftiness, and allthe other features, indeed, were boldly and strongly hewn, as if inemulation of a more than heroic, of a Titanic model. But the sublimityand stateliness, the grand expression of a divine sympathy, thatilluminated the mountain visage and etherealized its ponderous granitesubstance into spirit, might here be sought in vain. Something had beenoriginally left out, or had departed. And therefore the marvellouslygifted statesman had always a weary gloom in the deep caverns of hiseyes, as of a child that has outgrown its playthings or a man of mightyfaculties and little aims, whose life, with all its high performances,was vague and empty, because no high purpose had endowed it withreality.
Still, Ernest's neighbor was thrusting his elbow into his side, andpressing him for an answer.
'Confess! confess! Is not he the very picture of your Old Man of theMountain?'
'No!' said Ernest, bluntly, 'I see little or no likeness.'
'Then so much the worse for the Great Stone Face!' answered hisneighbor; and again he set up a shout for Old Stony Phiz.
But Ernest turned away, melancholy, and almost despondent: for thiswas the saddest of his disappointments, to behold a man who might havefulfilled the prophecy, and had not willed to do so. Meantime, thecavalcade, the banners, the music, and the barouches swept past him,with the vociferous crowd in the rear, leaving the dust to settle down,and the Great Stone Face to be revealed again, with the grandeur that ithad worn for untold centuries.
'Lo, here I am, Ernest!' the benign lips seemed to say. 'I have waitedlonger than thou, and am not yet weary. Fear not; the man will come.'
The years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one another'sheels. And now they began to bring white hairs, and scatter them overthe head of Ernest; they made reverend wrinkles across his forehead, andfurrows in his cheeks. He was an aged man. But not in vain had he grownold: more than the white hairs on his head were the sage thoughts in hismind; his wrinkles and furrows were inscriptions that Time had graved,and in which he had written legends of wisdom that had been tested bythe tenor of a life. And Ernest had ceased to be obscure. Unsought for,undesired, had come the fame which so many seek, and made him known inthe great world, beyond the limits of the valley in which he had dweltso quietly. College professors, and even the active men of cities, camefrom far to see and converse with Ernest; for the report had gone abroadthat this simple husbandman had ideas unlike those of other men,not gained from books, but of a higher tone--a tranquil and familiarmajesty, as if he had been talking with the angels as his daily friends.Whether it were sage, statesman, or philanthropist, Ernest receivedthese visitors with the gentle sincerity that had characterized him fromboyhood, and spoke freely with them of whatever came uppermost, or laydeepest in his heart or their own. While they talked together, his facewould kindle, unawares, and shine upon them, as with a mild eveninglight. Pensive with the fulness of such discourse, his guests took leaveand went their way; and passing up the valley, paused to look at theGreat Stone Face, imagining that they had seen its likeness in a humancountenance, but could not remember where.
While Ernest had been growing up and growing old, a bountiful Providencehad granted a new poet to this earth. He, likewise, was a native of thevalley, but had spent the greater part of his life at a distance fromthat romantic region, pouring out his sweet music amid the bustle anddin of cities. Often, however, did the mountains which had been familiarto him in his childhood lift their snowy peaks into the clear atmosphereof his poetry. Neither was the Great Stone Face forgotten, for the poethad celebrated it in an ode, which was grand enough to have been utteredby its own majestic lips. This man of genius, we may say, had come downfrom heaven with wonderful endowments. If he sang of a mountain, theeyes of all mankind beheld a mightier grandeur reposing on its breast,or soaring to its summit, than had before been seen there. If his themewere a lovely lake, a celestial smile had now been thrown over it, togleam forever on its surface. If it were the vast old sea, even the deepimmensity of its dread bosom seemed to swell the higher, as if moved bythe emotions of the song. Thus the world assumed another and a betteraspect from the hour that the poet blessed it with his happy eyes. TheCreator had bestowed him, as the last best touch to his own handiwork.Creation was not finished till the poet came to interpret, and socomplete it.
The effect was no less high and beautiful, when his human brethren werethe subject of his verse. The man or woman, sordid with the common dustof life, who crossed his daily path, and the little child who played init, were glorified if they beheld him in his mood of poetic faith. Heshowed the golden links of the great chain that intertwined them with anangelic kindred; he brought out the hidden traits of a celestial birththat made them worthy of such kin. Some, indeed, there were, who thoughtto show the
soundness of their judgment by affirming that all the beautyand dignity of the natural world existed only in the poet's fancy.Let such men speak for themselves, who undoubtedly appear to have beenspawned forth by Nature with a contemptuous bitterness; she plasteredthem up out of her refuse stuff, after all the swine were made. Asrespects all things else, the poet's ideal was the truest truth.
The songs of this poet found their way to Ernest. He read them after hiscustomary toil, seated on the bench before his cottage-door, where forsuch a length of time he had filled his repose with thought, by gazingat the Great Stone Face. And now as he read stanzas that caused the soulto thrill within him, he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance beamingon him so benignantly.
'O majestic friend,' he murmured, addressing the Great Stone Face, 'isnot this man worthy to resemble thee?'
The face seemed to smile, but answered not a word.
Now it happened that the poet, though he dwelt so far away, had not onlyheard of Ernest, but had meditated much upon his character, until hedeemed nothing so desirable as to meet this man, whose untaught wisdomwalked hand in hand with the noble simplicity of his life.
One summer morning, therefore, he took passage by the railroad, and,in the decline of the afternoon, alighted from the cars at no greatdistance from Ernest's cottage. The great hotel, which had formerly beenthe palace of Mr. Gathergold, was close at hand, but the poet, withhis carpetbag on his arm, inquired at once where Ernest dwelt, and wasresolved to be accepted as his guest.
Approaching the door, he there found the good old man, holding a volumein his hand, which alternately he read, and then, with a finger betweenthe leaves, looked lovingly at the Great
The Great Stone Face, and Other Tales of the White Mountains Page 3