See America First Part 7

FOUR UNUSUAL PICTURES

We spent another memorable day on the mountain roads marveling again at the omnipotent power that creates such beauty. Looking out over the valley from the slope of a hill we had a glorious view. From the ravishing beauty of the scene, our minds fell to musing over that other race who had dwelt here, whose destiny the coming of the white man changed. We wondered how the valley appeared to them and what bird songs burst upon the fragrant air when that other race possessed the land. Our thoughts were soon recalled from the vague past; for over the summit of a green hill a thunder head pushed itself into view. As the great ma.s.s spread swiftly over the heavens, darkness began to creep over the land like a premature twilight. The songs of the birds that had been so noticeable before were hushed, the pa.s.sing breeze paused a moment as if undecided which course to pursue, then in sudden fury swept over the land, hurling the leaves and dead branches in wild confusion through the air.

Like a mighty trumpet summoning those cloud warriors to battle sounded the thunder, whose terrific peals shook the hills around us. The clouds, as if obedient to the summons rushed from all directions, like frightened soldiers. The lightning began to leap to the earth in angry flashes, or spread through the ma.s.ses of rolling clouds like golden chains, or leaped and darted like the lurid tongues of serpents. The trees rocked and roared on the hills about us; now and then one fell with a mighty crash scarcely discernible in the awful roar of the raging wind. The rain came in blinding sheets to the earth. Soon, however, the fury of the storm was spent and we heard the echoing peals of thunder among the distant hills.

The sun came out again and shone among the water drops that clung in countless myriads to the leaves. They glittered and scintillated like vast emerald crowns studded with millions of diamonds. Not an hour had pa.s.sed and there again was the heavenly blue smiling down upon the glorious woods. A rainbow, like a radiant, triumphal arch, bent lovingly over the earth, now more tranquil and beautiful than ever. It was as if Nature had made a fitting frame for the endless variety and beauty of the picture she had painted. The birds came forth from their leafy coverts and shook the water drops from their feathers while their notes rained like "liquid pearls" around us. As we watched the fading hues of the lovely bow and listened to the bird song that rose and fell in tides of rarest melody we thought how like life the pa.s.sing storm had been. The early hours of summer sky, how quickly they pa.s.s away, to be overcast by dark foreboding clouds of doubt and fear. Yet, after the storm of life is almost past a radiant bow of promise, tender as memory and bright as hope, lingers on its ebon folds and we seem to glimpse through the dispersing gloom fairer fields beyond.

We neared the old historical town of Frederick on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon. The rose light from the west that shone upon the hillsides of green seemed to mingle its hues with that of its own, and it sifted through the transparent leaves and spread itself in a mellow glow upon the ground beneath. Never did light seem so impressive as that which streamed through the forest and lit up the hills with "strange golden glory." There had been a rain in the afternoon and the shimmering light from the west was trying his color effects. It was such an evening as Longfellow describes in Hiawatha:

Slowly o'er the shimmering landscape, Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, And the long and pleasant sunbeams Shot their spears into the forest, Breaking through its shields of shadow, Rushed into each secret ambush, Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow.

Gazing at the quiet and luxuriant loveliness of the landscape about us we almost forgot we were entering the town where Washington met Braddock to prepare for the expedition against Fort Duquesne. This town was twice taken by the Confederates and when occupied by the troops of General Early the inhabitants were forced to pay a ransom of two hundred thousand dollars. It was occupied in 1862 by General McClellan.

It was not of armies or their generals of whom we were thinking as we entered the old town, now wearing its evening smile. The twilight song of birds came to us from the maple trees as we pa.s.sed, or broken phrases were just audible from the distant meadows. It seemed that plenty, purity and peace had always reigned here and it was with a feeling of rare delight we approached the charming Wayside Inn, peeping from its gracefully overhanging elms. After procuring rooms for the night we went in search of the spot where Barbara Frietchie lived. The day had been extremely oppressive, but since the shower we were enjoying a cool breeze that was stirring the leaves and rippling the gra.s.s with its purifying breath. Slowly we made our way along the streets of the town until we arrived in front of the spot where Old Glory had been flaunted over the Confederate troops.

We thought of that day when,

"Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind; the sun Of noon looked down and saw not one."

But,--

"Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, Bowed by her three score years and ten; Bravest of all in Frederick town She took up the flag the men hauled down."

We proceeded from this spot to the beautiful Mount Olivet cemetery. Here we were thrilled anew, for near the entrance we beheld the splendid monument erected in memory of Francis Scott Key. This, aside from its significance, is one of the finest statues our country affords. The grace and beauty of that figure, as if still pointing toward his country's glorious emblem, causes the heart of the beholder to swell with emotion.

We seemed to catch from those lips the grave question: "O! Say, does the Star Spangled Banner yet wave, o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?" Something in this monument made us think of the fine statue erected to the memory of Vauban in Verdun.

We pa.s.sed the grave of Barbara Frietchie over which waved the flag she so dearly loved, and in a twinkling came the answer to the eager questioner of bronze, as the west wind caught the lovely banner and waved it, oh, so gently, over this hallowed spot. A robin repeated his evening song softly from a maple near it, and a mourning dove began his meditative cooing. Slowly we left the secluded place where the hero and heroine slumber and returned to the Wayside Inn, while myriads of stars began to sparkle and gleam on the vast field of blue above, reminding us that "ever the stars above look down on the stars below in Frederikctown."

What a bound our hearts gave as the gleam of the ma.s.sive dome met our sight. A crowd of old a.s.sociations thronged through the galleries of memory to see printed there, radiant and bright with many a glorious page of American history, the dome of the Capitol at Washington.

As we drew nearer we saw how this beautiful structure, which ranks today as one of the n.o.blest architectural objects in the world, dominates the lovely city. This beautiful structure, which covers an area of three and one-half acres, stands on a plateau eighty-eight feet above the level of the Potomac.

The crowning glory of this magnificent edifice is the statue of freedom which surmounts its dome three hundred and seven feet above the esplanade. This great cast iron dome, from which a lovely view of the city may be had, weighs four and one-half thousand tons. It was erected at a cost of six million dollars, and required eight years for its construction. To the north, nearest the Union station, which, too, is an architectural dream, is the Senate wing of the Capitol. The senate chamber is located in the center of the building. The president's room, that of the vice-president and the marble room, are opposite the corridor from the Senate chamber. These sumptuously and elegantly furnished rooms defy description.

Connected with the new Senate wing by a corridor is the old Senate chamber, now used by the Supreme Court. To the south is the great awe-inspiring Rotunda, which is three hundred feet in circ.u.mference and over one hundred and eighty feet in height. It is adorned with marvelous life-size paintings and beautiful statuary. This dome is a little higher than that of Antwerp Cathedral, where you look upward one hundred and eighty feet, to gaze upon the glorious a.s.sumption by Corneil Schutt. Pa.s.sing through the corridor you come to the old House of Representatives, now the Hall of Statuary. "Each state may contribute bronze or marble statues of two of her most ill.u.s.trious soldiers or statesmen." The south wing of the Capitol, adjoining Statuary Hall, is entirely occupied by the House of Representatives, the luxurious Speaker's Room, and many committee rooms.

On the east central portico the oath of office of each succeeding president is administered by the Chief Justice of the United States in the presence of a mult.i.tude of spectators.

You are impressed far more while gazing at this marvelous structure where the combined duties of its members represent the greatest governmental undertaking in the world than when you behold the palaces at Versailles where gilded interiors but poorly hide the corruption of their former days. Then, too, what are crumbling moss grown castles in which dwelt those robber knights, along the Rhine, seen through the glorious perspective, made radiant with American ideas of the present century! What wonderful crops from the fertile brains of men have been produced since the beginning of this mighty structure! What plans for the future greatness and prosperity of the Nation have been made. But, alas! here, too, come seasons of drought when seeds of humility, virtue and love fail to sprout and those of discord, strife and malice, like th.o.r.n.y cactus, crowd out the rare blossoms.

No one visiting Washington should fail to see the Library of Congress, which is the best example of exclusive American art.

"The interior of this wonderful building is the most inspiring and marvelous combination of gold, silver, rare marbles and mosaics on as gigantic a scale as is to be found in America.

Built primarily for congressmen, this great storehouse of valuable books and works of art is used more freely by the people than any other library in the world."

We shall never forget the lovely view we had from the Lee mansion, that stands in the beautiful Arlington Cemetery. We gazed out over the landscape, where the fields of golden grain and green meadows stretched toward the city. The broad silvery current of the Potomac flashed in the sunlight. Beyond lay the city in its Sabbath stillness. The song of a blue bird, with its softly warbled notes fell upon our ear, and the dreamy threnody of a mourning dove made a soft accompaniment. We left this charming spot and wandered slowly through this beautiful abode of the Nation's heroic dead. At one place we paused before a fuchsia-bordered plot of ground, where we read from a tablet: "To the 4,713 unknown dead who slumber here," and opposite this a coleus-lined s.p.a.ce "dedicated to the 24,874 known dead," who offered their lives, that the black stain of slavery might be removed from the land. As we looked at the stretches of gra.s.s and flowers which shone in their midst, at the myriads of leaves upon the trees, the birds, the bees, and at the b.u.t.terflies-- winged blossoms hovering over duller hued plants--we thought how soon the tide of this joyous life around us would begin to ebb.

Soon the frost would dull the gra.s.s, tint the leaves with rainbow hues and cause the flowers to fade. The birds would take wing and leave the place for warmer climes. Then, after the shroud of snow had been spread o'er the lifeless landscape, a new and fairer spring would lift the pall of winter, and glorious waves of warm life would cover the earth with beauty again.

While in the city of Washington the traveler should see the Corcoran Art Gallery. What a priceless treasure William Wilson Corcoran left the American people when he deeded to the public the Corcoran Gallery of Art to be used solely for the purposes of encouraging American genius in the production and preservation of works pertaining to the Fine Arts and kindred subjects.

Over one-third of the artists represented in the Corcoran gallery are American born and a look at the wonderful works of art to be seen here will convince the most pessimistic person that America has produced works that are worth while.

Among the many treasures of sculpture to be seen in this gallery are Vela's "Last Days of Napoleon First," and Powers' "Greek Slave," while among its canvases are Mueller's "Charlotte Corday," Brooke's, "A Pastoral Visit," Von Th.o.r.en's "Lost Dogs,"

and Renouf's, "A Helping Hand."

Landscape art seems to be our "special province," and no wonder, for what other country possesses such vast stretches of prairies, magnificent rivers and lakes, unbounded primeval forests and falls of such incomparable grandeur?

"We naturally turn to George Innes (1825-1894) as America's foremost exponent of landscape art." Fortunate indeed is the gallery to possess his "Sunset in the Woods." It is of interest to note that it was not completed until many years after the sketch was made. On July 23, 1891, Mr. Innes wrote of the "Sunset in the Woods": "The material for my picture was taken from a sketch made near Hastings, Westchester county, New York, twenty years ago. This picture was commenced seven years ago, but until last winter I had not obtained any idea commensurate with the impression received on the spot. The idea is to represent an effect of light in the woods towards sundown, but to allow the imagination to predominate." Herein perhaps lay the original power of the artist's genius; he had learned to labor and to wait. Genius, without exceeding great labor, has never accomplished much that shall last through time.

One feels when gazing on this exquisite poem of twilight, that if only this one picture of the woods had been painted it were better than to have produced a thousand inferior scenes. How beautiful that glow on the "Venerable old tree trunk and the opening beyond the great boulder." It is indeed a wonderful creation filled with the mystery and silence of approaching nightfall. As you gaze at the seemingly deepening gloom, you feel the very spirit of the violet dusk. A wood thrush is ringing her vesper bell softly. A marked stillness pervades the atmosphere. A gray rabbit hops among the swaying foxglove and fern tops; the plaintive note of the whippoorwill tells us night will soon be here. One almost fears to look again, after turning away, for a time, lest the last glow has faded and night is there.

What marvelous beauty this poet of Nature has portrayed from the common scenes of woods, meadow and stream, which so few really see until an Innes shows us how divinely beautiful they are.

If you have never had the pleasure of gazing upon Niagara you will want to pause long before Frederick E. Church's painting of it, for he seems to have caught some of its fleeting beauties and transferred them to canvas. This picture had a startling effect upon Europeans when it was exhibited in Paris. When they compared the falls of Switzerland to it, they gained a more definite idea of the vast expanse of our natural wonders.

You will not fail to admire the painting, "The Road to Con Carneau," by William Lamb Picknell. How well he has painted this scene of quaint old Normandy. As you gaze at the vast stretch of marshy country, with stone roads, marked by milestones, you begin to appreciate the wonderful genius of the artist. You can readily see that evening has come and you seem to feel its message quite as much as when gazing upon the "End of Day" by Corot.

Our day here recalled our visit to the Luxembourg gallery and the Louvre. How much better it is to see part of these magnificent palaces dedicated to art than to be used by worthless rulers.

One can never forget the impression made upon him as he gazes at the halls which are filled with the grandest works of antiquity.

Any of these standing alone would challenge the admiration of all who see them, but the "Venus de Milo" and the "Winged Victory" stand out in memory among the innumerable works of art as the Alps tower above the vales of Switzerland. That magnificent piece of sculpture, Venus de Milo, was found by a peasant in the island of Milo in 1820. "It belongs to the fourth century before Christ and represents that flowery period of Greek sculpture when Praxiteles was at its head."

Here we may also enjoy the "St. John" and "Madonna and Child" by Raphael, many works by Leonardo Da Vinci, Corregio, Rubens, Mttrillo, and t.i.tian.

Before leaving the city we climbed to the top of Washington monument. This monument is an imposing ma.s.s of white marble, rising to a height of five hundred fifty-five and one-half feet.

No visitor to Washington should fail to make the ascent for no finer view of the city, the surrounding hills and the Potomac can be had than from the observation point, at a height of five hundred four feet. As we looked down on the lovely avenues, gardens and statues of this well-planned city we compared it with our view of Paris from the Arch of Triumph and Eiffel Tower. While Eiffel Tower is nearly twice as high as Washington Monument it revealed no lovelier view than we beheld in this magnificent city.

We shall never forget the spell cast over us as we said goodbye to the City of Magnificent Distances and sped along the road that led to the Nation's shrine. What memories hallowed by art and song came thronging round us as we made our pilgrimage to the pleasantly situated estate of Mount Vernon.

The old estate bears the name given it by Major Lawrence Washington in honor of his commander, Admiral Edward Vernon, of the British navy. Imagine our feelings upon arriving at this-- one of the most sacred spots in America--when we found the very undesirable custom of charging a fee to view a scene that above all others should be free to the public. This place to all true Americans belongs in the same cla.s.s as sublime mountain views, indescribable sunsets, whereon to place a price would be sacrilege, for they are priceless.

As soon as we entered the gates of this hallowed spot we pa.s.sed through the lovely flower garden. The air was fragrant, almost heavy, with the perfume of box bushes which had been trimmed in fantastic designs of rare beauty. How slowly we walked down the paths whose sides were enameled with brilliant hued flowers, artistically arranged. There was something almost sacred in the solitude here. We seemed to see the stately form of the master, as he gazed in admiration at this charming spot or stooped to pluck a few rare blossoms for his companion. What hours of calm and unsullied enjoyment he must have spent here. What grand thoughts those lovely flowers must have suggested. How often he stood here or wandered slowly along these same paths at twilight, while the mocking-bird's song harmonized with his evening reveries.

Pausing to admire the beauty of the royal spikes of purple foxglove we were thrilled with a familiar yet much loved song, for in accord with the train of our thoughts, a mocking bird sprang into the air with the most extraordinary turns and gyrations and at last settled down on the chimney of the store room as if overcome by his own ecstatic singing--this was our welcome to Mount Vernon. With brilliant bewildering staccato phrases he started singing in one place, then mounted to the air, spread his wings and floating down to the tops of a cedar, never missing a note. It was purely a song of joy expressing exuberance of life and whole-souled enjoyment. He mimicked thirty different American birds, but their songs were hurried without the proper pauses and phrasing. It was what piano player music is to hand-played melodies, lacking the beauty and soul of the original artists.

How delightful it was to linger here. You could spend days and weeks in forgetting the maddening strife and cares gazing out over the majestic Potomac, lulled to rest by this matchless songster.

Here one can readily see that Washington was fond of trees and shrubs, and many were the excursions he made to the woods to select specimens to be transplanted to the grounds around his home. Just outside the garden are the tulip trees he planted over one hundred and thirty years ago. The master of these stately trees has long since gone, yet his spirit seems to linger there. These glorious tulips are tall and straight as the man whose hands first broke the sod and pressed the ground tenderly about their roots. They still aspire and shed delicious perfume on the balmy summer air and their verdure is perennial like the memory of a grateful nation.

Bartram, an eminent botanist of Philadelphia, was a close friend of Washington. In the rear of the mansion is a fine lawn comprising a number of acres, around which winds a carriage drive bordered by grand old trees.

We thought of the truthfulness of Mrs. Sangster's words as we gazed in admiration at these lovely trees:

"Who plants a tree for fruit or shade, In orchard fair, on verdant slope; Who plants a tree a tryst has made With future years, in faith and hope."