The digressions of V. : written for his own fun and that of his friends

Front matter

SOMEWHAT 0 E RSHADOWED BY GREAT NAMES

0 D £ n f A.D- /J MDCC

The Digressions of

CHAPTER I. Quaint Legends of my Infancy

Old Dutch Days — Birth — Down-Town, Chambers Street — A Real Death — The Devil on Two Sticks and the Bologna Sausage — Up-Town, Grand Street — Father goes to Cuba and we move again — The Fortune-Teller — Africa and Golden Joys — Matanzas — A Studio Question.

CHAPTER II. Boyhood and School-Days

Schenectady — A Visit and Hurt Feelings — The Family — How I escaped Hell — The Mist of Time — I get back to Long Island — Boyhood Paradise — ■ A Picture of my Grandfather— Two More Escapes — The Garret — Aunt Eveline and her Husband — At School — The Standing Challenge — Vacation and Pets — Domestic Surgery — The Moss-covered Bucket and the Merry Maid — Ben — Gleanings.

CHAPTER III. Big Boyhood

I go to Cuba again — I start a New Religion — I go North

— Again at Grandpa's — We build a House — My Mother's Death — An Architectural Interlude — The End of Home — Moriches — Wasps and Equilibrium restored — Mosquitoes and Flirting.

CHAPTER IV. Youth and Art

A Link — Another Little Tramp — The Deflation of Raffaello — Ikey and Ikey's Father — RafFaello quits Sherbourne

— Guanahai — In the Shade of the Sombrerodom — Back in New York — My Last Visit to Matanzas — Vision of Sudden Death — Two Dreams — Ben's Letter.

viii

CONTENTS

"THE DEMON OF NOTRE DAME" 121

CHAPTER V. Europe First Time. 123 Introduction — The Voyage — Paris — Atelier Picot — What might have been — The Fight — On the Way to Rome — A Link.

CHAPTER VI. Florence, the Garden of Lost Opportunities. 141 The Grand Duke — Some Florentine Characters — Inchbold — Landor and the Nimbus — Under Fiesole — My Landlady — A Conversationalist — Two Dreams — Driven from the Garden — On the Track of Columbus — The Bull- Fighter — The Rescue — In Havana.

"THE OBOLUS" 187

CHAPTER VII. New York in Wartime — The Struggle. 189 Introduction — 48 Beekman Street — Differentiated Sausages — Hitchie — I buy a Baby — Josephus and the Clairvoyant — Antonio — Tamperings — Ned Mullin — C. and his Brother — Pfaff's — The Riots — Artemus Ward — My First Faint Glimpse of Fame — The Evolution of Jane Jackson — H. M. — A Slavery Lecture — I receive a Letter.

"WIND ROPES" 252

CHAPTER VIII. Boston. 255 Hunt and La Farge — Pilgrimage to Concord — Coffin's Beach and a Most Extraordinary Happening — The Pickerel and the Woodchuck — Art and Business — Old, Old — A Letter.

"EITHER WAY" 281

CHAPTER IX. Paris the Second Time. 283 Lives, Letters, and Portraiture — I leave New York — Paris and Propinquity — Dinan — Vitre — Return to Paris — Departure for Italy.

CONTENTS"

ix

"DREAM CHILD" 305 CHAPTER X. About Myself. 307 Old Letters — A Digression on a Digression — My Fads — The Test of the Desert Island — Two Voices and Some Endings — Adventures — More Endings.

"PAX" 327 CHAPTER XI. Rome. 329 Rinehart — Around the Little Tables of the Caffe Greco — A Storm in the Campagna — After Dinner — Pepoon's Find — Mediocrity and Modesty — Rauch — " Tintoretto of Rome" — Lang and his Fine Head of Hair — The Find — James Smetham — My Placid Friend D. — Intermezzo— William Hunt in Rome — Hamilton Wild — Giovanni Costa — Walsh — Tragedy in Retirement — Le Tre Fontani — A Real Dream.

"TWO SONGS OF SADNESS" 381 CHAPTER XII. On Visits Home, and Other Digressions. 383 On Visits Home — Rip Van Winkleizing — The Gentle Interviewer— The Scalping-Knife and Calumet — I've done it again — The Circus — Theodore Tilton — Rather Than — At Dinners — The Toscano — The Mezzo-Toscano.

"WINTER" 401 CHAPTER XIII. Perugia and Elsewhere. 403 Omar Khayyam — William Blake — Hotchkiss — Monte Cologniola — Orte and Bassanello — A Glimpse of Bayard Taylor — Down by the Lake — A Rustic Rumpus — Fleas and Little Troubles — Elasticity — Deruta — Egypt — The End.

"TAMAM" 455 APPENDIX. List of Sales. 457 INDEX 509

Illustrations

ELIHU VEDDER Frontispiece (From a photograph by Benjamin Kimball)

SPRING i

THE VEDDER GENEALOGY 4

THE DYING ALCHEMIST 9 {With detail of head)

MY FATHER 15

PAN DE MATANZAS 21

CRISPINO 23

THE HYGROMETER 25

THE LADDER AND THE HOLE 29

THE PLAGUE IN FLORENCE 31

THE BOY 37

MY GRANDFATHER 49

THE GARRET 53

HEADS OF CATS 56

JACK 66

THE WELL 68

MY MOTHER 79

MY BROTHER 87

DOLORES on xii ILLUSTRATIONS

FROM GUANAHAI 101

HUTS AT GUANAHAI 103

AMULET no

BENJAMIN DAY 115

THE DEMON OF NOTRE DAME 121

PARIS SKETCHES 125

VERSAILLES 128

CLARA 132

THE BATHS OF CARACALLA 135

FOUR-AND-TWENTY WAYS OF BEING IDLE 137

STUDY OF YOUTH IN RED JACKET . 143

ENCHANTMENT 147 (Painted for Kate Field)

FLORENTINE ARTISTS IN COSTUME 151

AN OLD MODEL IN FLORENCE *55

PORTA SAN GALLO l64

MONK 166

ON THE WAY TO CADIZ W CADIZ

MATE OF THE SHIP OBSERVADOR l73

EL TOREADOR ' l77

COAST NEAR CAMARIOCA l83

ILLUSTRATIONS xiii

THE OBOLUS 187

"V" IN WARTIME 191

MY DORE PERIOD 195

THE NIGHTMARE 197

(Sketch made at 48 Beekman Street)

THE FIRE-PROOF SAFE 199 (Experiment in newspaper illustrating)

HOBOKEN 209

SKETCH MADE IN NAT ORR'S OFFICE 217

THE QUESTIONER OF THE SPHINX 229

(From a sketch)

JANE JACKSON 237

SIBILLA CUM^EA 239

KATE FIELD 243

(Painted in Florence)

THE LAIR OF THE SEA-SERPENT 247

WIND ROPES 252

THE LOST MILLET 261

(From a lost painting owned by William Hunt)

PERSEUS AND MEDUSA 265

STUDY OF STILL LIFE 271

STUDY OF A YOUNG GIRL 275

EITHER WAY 281 xiv ILLUSTRATIONS

IMAGINARY LINES 285

THE FACE IN THE CLOUDS 287

SKETCH MADE IN PARIS 291

THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS 293

THE TINKER 297

THE GATE, VOLTERRA 299

ROOFS AT VITRE 301

WAVES AT NIGHT, BORDIGHERA 304

DREAM CHILD 305

THE BOOK-WORM 309

ASTRONOMY. 315

SAINT SIMEON STYLITES 321

PAX 327

LA MARMORATA 331

"V" IN COSTUME 335

LUCIA 341

MONTE MARIO 347

VENICE 351

DRAWING FROM A PICTURE BY AN UNKNOWN ARTIST 355

THE NINTH HOUR 361

STUDY OF A HEAD FOR THE NINTH HOUR 365

ENGLAND 367

ILLUSTRATIONS xv

THE CASTELLO FROM TORRE QUATTRO VENTI (CAPRI) 371

TWO SONGS OF SADNESS 381

"V" AT HOME 385

{Ready to be interviewed)

THE SOUL BETWEEN FAITH AND DOUBT 393

STUDY FOR HEAD OF LAZARUS 396

LAZARUS 397

WINTER 401

THE GOLDEN NET 405

"THE PARDON-GIVING AND IMPLORING HANDS" 4c9

{From a photograph of the artist's hands)

THE GHOST OF A FLEA 411 {After William Blake)

THE GREAT HILL OF ASSISI 413

{From Villa Ansidei, Perugia)

PORTRAIT OF A MODEL 419

BELFRY AT VOLTERRA 421

THE ANXIOUS PIG AND THE WEEPING WILLOW 423

BY THE WORLD FORGOT 427

ORTE 435

MARIETTA 439

"V" IN HIS STUDIO 449

{Via Flaminia)

xvi ILLUSTRATIONS

ON THE BANKS OF THE NILE 452

"TAMAM," FROM THE RUBAIYAT 455

THE MUSE OF AMERICAN HISTORY 461 (Design in plaster for a monument)

LION-HEADED CUP 467

BRONZE HEAD 469

BOX MADE OF CANNA 478

THE BOY 499

(Statue fountain)

CARICATURE 503

TAILPIECE 507

"Every Man his own Boswell"

I have been asked so often by my friends this question — "Why don't you write all these things?" — that I have finally concluded to satisfy that which on their part is only good old-fashioned curiosity, by an exhibition on my part of good old-fashioned vanity; and so, not to keep them waiting, I will say at once that I have always deplored my lack of a Boswell, my experience being that full many a spark of wit is struck to flash unseen, and waste its brilliance on the family air. And this in spite of my having repeatedly called the family's attention to its negligence in this respect. But suppose the Boswell, had I a Boswell, should slowly absorb me, as good old Dr. Johnson was absorbed by the original Boswell ! Or suppose I should be like the block of marble in Michelangelo's sonnet, — "The more the marble wastes, the more the statue grows," — and the statue should turnout to be the Boswell ! ! What then ! The moral is clear — be your own Boswell, so that if anything is to be absorbed it will remain on the premises.

Now I have noticed, and indeed it has been pointed out to me, that when I am talking, and especially when I am anxious to make an impressive conclusion, I outline so broad a plan — dig a foundation so deep — that I have been known to forget what I was driving at. Of course it all comes back to me in a moment, but things are not the same, the conversation has drifted xviii on and my sails drop. As this evil does not admit of a remedy, I have determined to make of it my good, — call my discourses prattling, and my excursions digressions, and digress as much as I please.

Thus, having drifted into something like an introduction, I will say that I started out with a plan. It was the alphabetical plan. Let any one try it and he will be astonished at the number of things brought to mind as he runs over the letters ; but I found that things fell into groups, and did not occur naturally as they do in real life ; and as this is to be somewhat of a life — I gave that plan up.

Fearing that I may be led into telling stories, — it may even be expected of me, — I should like to point out that there is a great difference between the written and the told story, which may be likened to the fixing of flies in amber, and reminds me of what my friend, Frank Tracy, used to say about life-insurance, namely, that he never played a game in which he had to die to win ; for that is the price the fly pays for his questionable immortality, — immortal but lifeless, like the written story.

As an instance : we all know, because it came out in a magazine lately, the story of how the grandchildren of Victor Hugo made him tell over and over again the story of " the good flea and the wicked King."

" But not with motions ?" he would always say.

"Yes, — yes, — with motions, with motions ! "

What are stories without the motions — the brightening eye, the expressive hands — but flies, once buzzing with life, fixed for ever in amber?

Ah, how I miss those good talks at the Club, where it was noticed I did most of the talking! But as that cannot be, I will xix try, without the great advantage of the brightening eye or the expressive hand, to give at once a specimen of a digression, so that my friends will know just what to expect, and will also see that no matter how far afield I go, I always get back to where I started, and the thing turns out little better than a digression after all. It is going to look very like the ending of a preface.

While writing these things I have been reminded of the man who, bringing his fist down on the table with a Bang! said, "That sounds like a gun, — and speaking of guns, let me narrate an incident that happened to me during the late War,"

— and on he goes indefinitely. The "Bang" in this case is the word Boswell.

Attempt at an ending. If a man wishes to leave a picture of himself (as I have said before), let him be his own Boswell. He need have no fear but that he will leave a true picture, for no matter how skilfully he may seek to hide something he does not wish seen, the modern scientific method of criticism will find it out, and thus his very attempt will but add another characteristic touch to the portrait. But when a man is his own Boswell, the affair becomes very personal indeed, and that is just what I intend to make it. I want to recall myself to my old friends for the little time remaining, and to set myself vividly before my new ones, or at least leave a vivid picture of the man. Dates count for nothing with me, but impressions are indelible, so that in giving a history of my impressions a sort of chronological order is established for those who cannot do without it.

" Ah, how I envy you your profession, — your surroundings,

— your cheerfulness ! " is often said to me. Well, let it be so. By only showing my cheerful moods, I imitate the Japanese,

XX who, thinking there is enough of sadness in the world, give it their smiles and keep their sorrows to themselves. There are two sides to everything, and I should not be surprised if behind this cheerful picture there lurked a very sad Boswell indeed, for whom there now remains nothing but to bid himself good-bye, with best wishes for the success of this — his last fad, and a parting word to the effect that, as he was born, he remains, "Come nato, rimango," — and his autograph. Affectionately yours, V.

Now you think that the foregoing makes a very neat ending to a beginning, — but you would be mistaken. The mistake would arise from your not having grasped the meaning I attach to the words prattling and digressing. Why, the very mention of an ending suggests a beginning; in fact, it is like the serpent symbol of eternity, — the tail in the mouth and no ending in sight. This seems to be the case with these digressions, and I seem like the man saying grace, going on and on simply because I don't know how to wind the darned thing up.

All this leads me to think, and may lead the reader to think, that of the making of many prefaces there is no end, and that it might well be, a man making a number of prefaces and proper endings should find that he had already made a book. And why not ?

I will here confess that I have made a number of prefaces, and that in turning these gem-like things over in my mind, some new facet has sent out from time to time a gleam of light or strange colour which, like an ignis fatuus, had led me on to an equally fatuous digression. And so I have concluded to give the reader the whole batch of beginnings, hoping that they will lead to an approximate end.

XXI

At one time I thought it would be not only honest but advisable to warn the reader of what he was not to expect, such as, when travelling, extracts from Murray, or, on mentioning a great man, an account of his period, or estimates of the comparative merit of dead or living artists; but I found that the plan was impracticable; it is too much on the order of, "What you don't know would fill a large volume"; and I gave it up. I then, somewhat chastened, turned to giving an honest and short account of what the book really did contain, and was at once appalled at the meagreness of the result. A few impressions, — a few moods, — a few doings and happenings, — a few reflections of doubtful value, — and a few stories, equally of doubtful value, — and a great deal of self. However, as this last is what I aim at, I now give it to my friends. And as there may be in this great big world some who are not friendly, to avoid the evil eye, I use an old incantation — I spit three times and say garlick — with a k.

That looked like an ending to a beginning, but it was not, for I must again tell of some of my little plans in the laying out of this book, to the end that "good old-fashioned curiosity" may be fully satisfied. Here is a plan that I thought of trying, but it seemed so sad that I gave it up also.

Some one said that the play of "Hamlet" is a comedy punctuated by tragedy. As this pretty well describes life as I have found it, I at one time thought to enliven these pages by putting in a little tombstone wherever Death had claimed a victim from among those known to me. But the idea was so lugubrious, and the victims so numerous, that, fearing to make a graveyard rather than a gratification, I gave up that plan.

One plan I have decided on, however: I shall commence with the quaint legends of my infancy, go on through the different

XXI 1 periods of my life, keeping — as I have in real life — some faint semblance of order, and letting the rest be a go-as-you-please* — as it has been in the real life. As I am started on the subject of plans for the book, I find I have given some thought as to what should go in and what should be left out of it. You can see this from my having written the following digression, which I call — Drink. The early introduction of this subject may not be so startling to some as it may be to others.

Drink. Among my old books I have a Plutarch with title-page by Holbein, signed with his initials, — a rare thing with him. It is copiously annotated by Erasmus Rotterdamus and Willibald Perkheimer, the friend of Diirer; and whenever these names occur, — the book having passed through the hands of the " Qualificatores " of the Congregation of the Inquisition, — these names have been very carefully obliterated. But Time, in this case not the destroyer, has faded the ink so thoroughly that the names stand out as clear as ever. I am sorry that I have occasion to mention drink so often in these pages, for there seems something almost immoral about it; but there was a great deal of drink in the old days. As publishers now take the place of the " Qualificatores" and do frequently obliterate, eliminate, and otherwise spoil things generally, 1 have decided to let the "twenty flasks" stand, — well knowing that their absence would only make their underlying presence more evident, and that in the course of time the murder would out. Apropos, I once met Lang at the Club and said : —

"Lang, how about drinking now-a-days?"

"Ah, as for trinking, I have quvite giffen it up ; dat is to say* except ven I am in gompany or ven I feel lonesome."

XXlll

As for myself, I am still unrepentant and drink just as much as nephritis will allow. But perhaps I am bragging. I think Lang covers the ground better than I do.

There is another thing I must allude to. In stories there are many things "of great pith and moment" which cannot be told in our common language. These the learned put into Latin, — and seem to be all the more respected for so doing. Let some of the straight-laced translate the Latin in our friend Story's book, " Roba di Roma" and watch the result. I hope it will be the same with my Roman "Roba," for although not one of the learned, I can and do sail very close to the wind, thus in a manner replacing their Latin. Expurgation is a fine word and perhaps a good thing, but I hope the book may not need it. In any case, I have followed the advice of Bacon and taken care that it may not happen as it "fareth in ill purging, the good be taken away with the bad."

I once had the pleasure of being at a dinner where we became mighty merry (drink again) ; many stories were told and there was great laughter. In the midst of it, a Spaniard who could talk English well enough, but not well enough to tell stories, leaned over to me and said, "I also can tell funny stories — in Spanish." So could I — in Latin.

Finally. And now it is time to write "A Little Preface," which even including its inevitable digressions, will come to a conclusion. And I begin by remarking that in one thing I am fortunate in my writing : I can express myself fully without danger of redundancy, — which I take to be stuffing. What I have to fear, on the contrary, is paucity; so that if by chance this book should turn out a pinguid one, it will be by reason of the stuff in it, and not of the stuffing.

xxiv

I venture to use the word "pinguid" because I like the word for its own sake and from association, my brother having endowed me with it years ago; and also because, singularly enough, no one seems to have come across it, — not even professors. It means — fat. De Amicis uses it in his "Constantinople" where he is amazed at the Pinguidine of the Turkish women. By the time you have read this, you will all have been familiar with it for years.

As it is better to be a little too early than too late, I think it as well to put a last word first, and say at once that my friends will be disappointed if they expect, in what follows, accounts of eminent persons ; for while it is true that I have been asked once or twice, "Why don't you write all these things?" the remark has been made far oftener, since it transpired that I was a-writing, "How interesting it will be to hear about the eminent persons you have met!" As it is well to tell the truth, when not of the nature of dynamite, I will say at once that so far as I am concerned, I would rather spend an evening in the Century Club than in the most brilliant court in Europe, and prefer a talk with an old friend to an interview with such a man as Gladstone. However, it is well not to antagonise the great, so I paddle my little earthenware jar out of the track of these great ironclads by admitting that I have found some of them very nice.

There is a good reason for this caution on my part, for I see by my horoscope that I must be prepared for trouble, about the time this book comes out. "You have little to fear from enemies; though Neptune and Mars on the mid-heaven mean a good deal of criticism, the criticism comes chiefly from jealous enemies; with you, however, there is nothing to fear from enemies, it is from friends that you have to fear trouble.' ' Now this

XXV is truly deplorable for a man who counts on his friends as much as I do; still, with Taurus in the ascendant, and being a "child of Venus," I will try to bear up. After all, these troubles merely come from "Lunar aspects," operative for a few months, whereas the "Solar aspects," are influential for many years. "Why" — adds the astrologer, "this is as propitious a horoscope as that of Mr. C. Arthur Pearson," — which seems in his eyes to settle the business.

Wonderful! Wonderful! However did he find all this out?

V. ends his prefaces — but goes on. These things are written as I would talk to a friend over a glass of wine after dinner, or in the snug corner of some tavern. I sometimes come to the "Don't you remember," and sometimes show him how well I could talk — an I were so disposed — and sometimes come to the "strictly between ourselves," and "let this go no further." At first I intended to revise these digressions, but finding I could not revise the life from which they sprang I gave up the idea of revising these faint reflexes of it. So I give them just as they were written, and for what they are worth. It may well be that a man venturing into a realm unknown should feel some modest doubts as to the result of his venture, but I beg my friends not to be alarmed. 1 am like that Hindoo god who sat in placid contemplation of his navel for just one thousand years. At the end of that period he raised his head and said gently: "I see nothing the matter with that navel; that navel is all right." I am the Indian god and the book is the navel ; the book is all right. Did I not say in another preface that I would give you an exhibition of good old-fashioned vanity ? Here you have it.

I seem a trifle unfortunate in my reading at times. This very xxvi moment I found the following passage in a beautiful exposition of the Book of Job. Speaking of Elihu, the writer says : "He takes fifty-two lines to say he is going to speak; a curious, zig-zag metre admirably reflects his struggles between nervousness and a growing enthusiasm for his cause. At last he settles to his argument." This seems somewhat appropriate, but, considering the name, is very personal. In settling to my argument I frankly give up all pretence to style; for me to attempt it would be as useless as it would be ridiculous. This book is the work of an unpractised hand with unfamiliar tools ; but it has the great advantage of leaving the reader free from preoccupation regarding style, so he may browse undisturbed on such sense and salt as he may find. If these also be lacking, it will be sad indeed, and yet, even in that case, as the lesser misfortunes of others are seldom without a spice of satisfaction* to us (witness the wild efforts of the man to catch his hat, in a high wind), the reader may enjoy my wild chase after words with which to embody my thought. Apropos of words, I frequently tell of the Frenchman who disliked tomatoes. He said he was glad of it, for if he liked them, he would eat them — whereas he detested them. It is the same with me in regard to hard words. I don't like them; luckily I know but few; if I knew many more I would use them, whereas I detest them, or at least regard them with apprehension. After the foregoing, I feel at last prepared to " settle to my argument."

CHAPTER I "Quaint Legends of my Infancy"

OLD DUTCH DATS — BIRTH — DOWN-TOWN, CHAMBERS STREET -A REAL DEATH — THE DEVIL ON TWO STICKS AND THE BOLOGNA SAUSAGE — UP-TOWN, GRAND STREET — FATHER GOES TO CUBA AND WE MOVE AGAIN — THE FORTUNE-TELL- ER—AFRICA AND GOLDEN JOTS — MATANZAS — A STUDIO QUESTION.

is I propose to narrate all the remarkable things and events /% which have happened to me, or are connected with -Z jL me, I cannot help alluding to my ancestry. We are all familiar with the origin of American families: they all start from one of three brothers who went over to America in the year so-and-so. Now my family is remarkable from having descended from one ancestor, one, — no more, no less ; but he proved himself equal to the occasion.

That friend of mankind, Mr. Burbank, can take a poor little measly berry and make out of it a thing that will fill a teacup. And so it is with the heralds. By great industry and at considerable expense, they can take a slip — a mere name — and out of it evolve a good-sized genealogical tree. This is not the case with my family, for the good old dominies kept a register of Births, Marriages, and Deaths, which exists to this day ; so it is all down in black and white.

Schenectady was settled in 1661, surveyed in 1663, and entirely destroyed by the Indians, and the inhabitants scattered or slain, in 1690. The register of Dominie Thesschenmaeker dis-

THE DIGRESSIONS OF V.

appeared in the burning of his parsonage. But as they at once proceeded to rebuild, and began to beget and die, the register now goes back, nearly entire, to the year 169 1. And now we come to the first Vedder.

Harmon Albertse Vedder was born in 1637 or before; died 17 15 about. He could not well have registered his birth before Schenectady was built; that was done doubtless in Holland, and about the time of his death he may have become careless. But the main thing is — he married ; and the marriage was duly registered. He married, and then the begetting began, and he begat Harmanus — Arent — Albert — Johannes — Corset — Here I must interrupt the flow of my narrative and advise the reader to skip, for this which immediately follows can only be interesting to those interested in such things. I will try not to interrupt myself again.

THE VEDDER GENEALOGY

OLD DUTCH DAYS

I should like to linger a little over this Harmon Albertse. He must have been a very live man indeed, and seemed to get about pretty well considering the means of locomotion then at his disposal. Observe his chronology : —

1657. Trader at Bevernwyck; sold house and lot to Rutger Jacobson for 2325 guilders. Pretty good.