Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

by Volume 01-05 (lit)

  direction or concentration of this effort, or, still more properly,

  in its adaption to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth, he

  perceived that he should be employing the best means -- laboring to

  the greatest advantage -- in the fulfilment of his destiny as Poet.

  "Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth." In

  his explanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much towards

  solving what has always seemed to me an enigma. I mean the fact

  (which none but the ignorant dispute,) that no such combinations of

  scenery exist in Nature as the painter of genius has in his power to

  produce. No such Paradises are to be found in reality as have glowed

  upon the canvass of Claude. In the most enchanting of natural

  landscapes, there will always be found a defect or an excess -- many

  excesses and defects. While the component parts may exceed,

  individually, the highest skill of the artist, the arrangement of the

  parts will always be susceptible of improvement. In short, no

  position can be attained, from which an artistical eye, looking

  steadily, will not find matter of offence, in what is technically

  termed the composition of a natural landscape. And yet how

  unintelligible is this! In all other matters we are justly instructed

  to regard Nature as supreme. With her details we shrink from

  competition. Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or

  to improve the proportions of the lily of the valley? The criticism

  which says, of sculpture or of portraiture, that "Nature is to be

  exalted rather than imitated," is in error. No pictorial or

  sculptural combinations of points of human loveliness, do more than

  approach the living and breathing human beauty as it gladdens our

  daily path. Byron, who often erred, erred not in saying,

  I've seen more living beauty, ripe and real,

  Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal. In landscape alone is the

  principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth here, it is

  but the headlong spirit of generalization which has induced him to

  pronounce it true throughout all the domains of Art. Having, I say,

  felt its truth here. For the feeling is no affectation or chimera.

  The mathematics afford no more absolute demonstrations, than the

  sentiment of his Art yields to the artist. He not only believes, but

  positively knows, that such and such apparently arbitrary

  arrangements of matter, or form, constitute, and alone constitute,

  the true Beauty. Yet his reasons have not yet been matured into

  expression. It remains for a more profound analysis than the world

  has yet seen, fully to investigate and express them. Nevertheless is

  he confirmed in his instinctive opinions, by the concurrence of all

  his compeers. Let a composition be defective, let an emendation be

  wrought in its mere arrangement of form; let this emendation be

  submitted to every artist in the world; by each will its necessity be

  admitted. And even far more than this, in remedy of the defective

  composition, each insulated member of the fraternity will suggest the

  identical emendation.

  I repeat that in landscape arrangements, or collocations alone, is

  the physical Nature susceptible of "exaltation" and that, therefore,

  her susceptibility of improvement at this one point, was a mystery

  which, hitherto I had been unable to solve. It was Mr. Ellison who

  first suggested the idea that what we regarded as improvement or

  exaltation of the natural beauty, was really such, as respected only

  the mortal or human point of view; that each alteration or

  disturbance of the primitive scenery might possibly effect a blemish

  in the picture, if we could suppose this picture viewed at large from

  some remote point in the heavens. "It is easily understood," says Mr.

  Ellison, "that what might improve a closely scrutinized detail,

  might, at the same time, injure a general and more distantly --

  observed effect." He spoke upon this topic with warmth: regarding not

  so much its immediate or obvious importance, (which is little,) as

  the character of the conclusions to which it might lead, or of the

  collateral propositions which it might serve to corroborate or

  sustain. There might be a class of beings, human once, but now to

  humanity invisible, for whose scrutiny and for whose refined

  appreciation of the beautiful, more especially than for our own, had

  been set in order by God the great landscape-garden of the whole

  earth.

  In the course of our discussion, my young friend took occasion to

  quote some passages from a writer who has been supposed to have well

  treated this theme.

  "There are, properly," he writes, "but two styles of

  landscape-gardening, the natural and the artificial. One seeks to

  recall the original beauty of the country, by adapting its means to

  the surrounding scenery; cultivating trees in harmony with the hills

  or plain of the neighboring land; detecting and bringing into

  practice those nice relations of size, proportion and color which,

  hid from the common observer, are revealed everywhere to the

  experienced student of nature. The result of the natural style of

  gardening, is seen rather in the absence of all defects and

  incongruities -- in the prevalence of a beautiful harmony and order,

  than in the creation of any special wonders or miracles. The

  artificial style has as many varieties as there are different tastes

  to gratify. It has a certain general relation to the various styles

  of building. There are the stately avenues and retirements of

  Versailles; Italian terraces; and a various mixed old English style,

  which bears some relation to the domestic Gothic or English

  Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be said against the abuses of

  the artificial landscape-gardening, a mixture of pure art in a garden

  scene, adds to it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to the eye,

  by the show of order and design, and partly moral. A terrace, with an

  old moss-covered balustrade, calls up at once to the eye, the fair

  forms that have passed there in other days. The slightest exhibition

  of art is an evidence of care and human interest."

  "From what I have already observed," said Mr. Ellison, "you will

  understand that I reject the idea, here expressed, of 'recalling the

  original beauty of the country.' The original beauty is never so

  great as that which may be introduced. Of course, much depends upon

  the selection of a spot with capabilities. What is said in respect to

  the 'detecting and bringing into practice those nice relations of

  size, proportion and color,' is a mere vagueness of speech, which may

  mean much, or little, or nothing, and which guides in no degree. That

  the true 'result of the natural style of gardening is seen rather in

  the absence of all defects and incongruities, than in the creation of

  any special wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suited to

  the grovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the fervid dreams of

  the man of genius. The merit suggested is, at best, negative, and

  appertains to that hobbling cr
iticism which, in letters, would

  elevate Addison into apotheosis. In truth, while that merit which

  consists in the mere avoiding demerit, appeals directly to the

  understanding, and can thus be foreshadowed in Rule, the loftier

  merit, which breathes and flames in invention or creation, can be

  apprehended solely in its results. Rule applies but to the

  excellences of avoidance -- to the virtues which deny or refrain.

  Beyond these the critical art can but suggest. We may be instructed

  to build an Odyssey, but it is in vain that we are told how to

  conceive a 'Tempest,' an 'Inferno,' a 'Prometheus Bound,' a

  'Nightingale,' such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' of

  Shelley. But, the thing done, the wonder accomplished, and the

  capacity for apprehension becomes universal. The sophists of the

  negative school, who, through inability to create, have scoffed at

  creation, are now found the loudest in applause. What, in its

  chrysalis condition of principle, affronted their demure reason,

  never fails, in its maturity of accomplishment, to extort admiration

  from their instinct of the beautiful or of the sublime.

  "Our author's observations on the artificial style of gardening,"

  continued Mr. Ellison, "are less objectionable. 'A mixture of pure

  art in a garden scene, adds to it a great beauty.' This is just; and

  the reference to the sense of human interest is equally so. I repeat

  that the principle here expressed, is incontrovertible; but there may

  be something even beyond it. There may be an object in full keeping

  with the principle suggested -- an object unattainable by the means

  ordinarily in possession of mankind, yet which, if attained, would

  lend a charm to the landscape-garden immeasurably surpassing that

  which a merely human interest could bestow. The true poet possessed

  of very unusual pecuniary resources, might possibly, while retaining

  the necessary idea of art or interest or culture, so imbue his

  designs at once with extent and novelty of Beauty, as to convey the

  sentiment of spiritual interference. It will be seen that, in

  bringing about such result, he secures all the advantages of interest

  or design, while relieving his work of all the harshness and

  technicality of Art. In the most rugged of wildernesses -- in the

  most savage of the scenes of pure Nature -- there is apparent the art

  of a Creator; yet is this art apparent only to reflection; in no

  respect has it the obvious force of a feeling. Now, if we imagine

  this sense of the Almighty Design to be harmonized in a measurable

  degree, if we suppose a landscape whose combined strangeness,

  vastness, definitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the idea of

  culture, or care, or superintendence, on the part of intelligences

  superior yet akin to humanity -- then the sentiment of interest is

  preserved, while the Art is made to assume the air of an intermediate

  or secondary Nature -- a Nature which is not God, nor an emanation of

  God, but which still is Nature, in the sense that it is the handiwork

  of the angels that hover between man and God."

  It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practical embodiment of

  a vision such as this -- in the free exercise in the open air, which

  resulted from personal direction of his plans -- in the continuous

  and unceasing object which these plans afford -- in the contempt of

  ambition which it enabled him more to feel than to affect -- and,

  lastly, it was in the companionship and sympathy of a devoted wife,

  that Ellison thought to find, and found, an exemption from the

  ordinary cares of Humanity, with a far greater amount of positive

  happiness than ever glowed in the rapt day-dreams of De Stael.

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  Maelzel's Chess-Player

  PERHAPS no exhibition of the kind has ever elicited so general

  attention as the Chess-Player of Maelzel. Wherever seen it has been

  an object of intense curiosity, to all persons who think. Yet the

  question of its _modus operandi is _still undetermined. Nothing has

  been written on this topic which can be considered as decisive--and

  accordingly we find every where men of mechanical genius, of great

  general acuteness, and discriminative understanding, who make no

  scruple in pronouncing the Automaton a _pure machine, _unconnected

  with human agency in its movements, and consequently, beyond all

  comparison, the most astonishing of the inventions of mankind. And

  such it would undoubtedly be, were they right in their supposition.

  Assuming this hypothesis, it would be grossly absurd to compare with

  the Chess-Player, any similar thing of either modern or ancient days.

  Yet there have been many and wonderful automata. In Brewster's

  Letters on Natural Magic, we have an account of the most remarkable.

  Among these may be mentioned, as having beyond doubt existed,

  firstly, the coach invented by M. Camus for the amusement of Louis

  XIV when a child. A table, about four feet square, was introduced,

  into the room appropriated for the exhibition. Upon this table was

  placed a carriage, six inches in length, made of wood, and drawn by

  two horses of the same material. One window being down, a lady was

  seen on the back seat. A coachman held the reins on the box, and a

  footman and page were in their places behind. M. Camus now touched a

  spring; whereupon the coachman smacked his whip, and the horses

  proceeded in a natural manner, along the edge of the table, drawing

  after them the carriage. Having gone as far as possible in this

  direction, a sudden turn was made to the left, and the vehicle was

  driven at right angles to its former course, and still closely along

  the edge of the table. In this way the coach proceeded until it

  arrived opposite the chair of the young prince. It then stopped, the

  page descended and opened the door, the lady alighted, and presented

  a petition to her sovereign. She then re-entered. The page put up the

  steps, closed the door, and resumed his station. The coachman whipped

  his horses, and the carriage was driven back to its original

  position.

  The magician of M. Maillardet is also worthy of notice. We copy the

  following account of it from the _Letters _before mentioned of Dr.

  B., who derived his information principal!

  from the Edinburgh Encyclopaedia.

  "One of the most popular pieces of mechanism which we have seen, Is

  the Magician constructed by M. Maillardet, for the purpose of