Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy)The American Art Journal (1866-1867), Vol. 6, No. 2 (Nov. 1, 1866), pp. 26-27Published by:Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25306545 .

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AMERICAN ARTi JOURNAL. 26

arming yourself with a lenient eye to my many shortcomings, while 1 will wield the pen of truth and justice. PALETTA.

EVENINGS AT HOME.

II

October 30th. I have a new piano forte. It came upon a festal

day. ,;Artista and poets, and sweet singing maid ens, were its royal escort. Not unexpected Was its arrival, for a good fairy had promise(d to grant

me IIthree wisbes," the dearest of which was to

possers a heavenly Chickerlng-a gifted beauty, silver-tongued, fit to express the tone-language ol the divinest of music's divinities.

I said it came upon a festal day; the flte day is

of mamiima's appointing. It occurs every week, and Is a second Sabbath-a musical Sabbath-a

day t_9_dispense with study and dulluess-a day

to doff the sober gray working-day attire and don the gala robe, coulcur de r ose, to quit the study chanmber, and descendl in all holiday brightness to the parlor, there to listen to music-music over

whichi I may have dreamed and divined, yea, and wept discouraged tears, to listen to the interpre tation of an artist as inspired as erudite, one who Is emancipated fromn the enthrallments of art apprenticeship, aind whose playing has all the freshness and spontaneity of an inspiration

music that makes the heart thrill with a delicious pain, and sends the hot blood quivering in its courses, transporting the soul up and away from the dull earth to the tar off violet skies, drifting, and flonting, and dreaming upon soft,' billowy clouds of rlhythm, through the inflinite expanse of harmony, up to the grand tonal heavens.

Mais revenons a nos nz outons: te mouton is my new piano. Now miiy piano forte hatlh a name.

Upon this fete she was christened. The august celebrant was Padre Giacomo. With liquid

melody this high priest of tones baptized my beautiful, my darling one. Cecilia is her preno?n, and Enrico it re, double coroneted with a bright tonal diadem inwoven with a poet's shlining crown, is her royal Godfather. Other sponsors hath my beautitul one: Prince Giuseppe, the latest born and brightest of all Euterpe's garlanded train, and Henrl, the magnificent.

Fairer appellitives of this high assemblage also honored the name day of my beloved. Psyche, a beautiful dreamer, with a Muse's tender gaze, and figure of lightsome, airy grace, ethereal as classic Rlmini, whom Dante saw floating, in the supernal world. Singing and swaying, with a wavy, bird like movemiient, la diva suggests the up-springring lark, that embodied joy that

"Singing still doth soar, and soaring ever singeth."

No, I like not the image: more, she resembles a light-winged ftairy, or the soul's truest emblemi, the tender, sublimated papillon. Had the flowers

wings, as lath my dainty diva, I should liken her to then; not the low ground-flowers, not panisies

with their thick velvet petals, ,nor yet the iowly daisy, wlth her sturdy, sta'lig eyes. Mayhap some delicate air-plant, or such as aspire to heaveii-tlie fragile morning-glory, with her gauzy, airy cups.,

SmilIng tbrough innocent, tear-veiled eyes, is lovely Angelique, primal born of him who. gives

to deeds and men of great renown a pictured

immortality.

Now as the even of the feast draws nigh, two

other visitants arrive: one, a shining presence, an aural brow, althouggh uncrowned. Not self esteemed a thvorite ot the Muse, and seldonm seen

where art is homaged. Rough and stern his life,

hitter and arduous and pitiless his task, so nobly

wroug,ht. Bowed with the day's oppressive care,

scarce a glance he deigns to give his eager

friends, but sinks with wearied weight into, the proffered seat.

And now the lofty musical divine recommences. As the sweet wind wanders through glade -add grlen, through tangled wild and haunt of bird, so do those delicate fingers sweep over those- ivory billows, stirring, the muoon-lit leaves, swaying the dewy flowersi awakening the birds, and moving the wild waters to musical murmur.

Seated on my lowly tabouret, with ravished heart, I press my throbbing brow against my dul cet Love--more dulcet thani a thousand airy

harps.

Leanlng, against the wall, his lang,uid arms supported by the mantel-altar, In pensive majesty stands Enico. Surcharged with music, he seems to listen to this tonal tempest, but his heart is

beating to its own sweet measures, and airy

shapes and unformed sounds are wreathing their rhythmical cadences within his teeming brain.

Remote, in a shaded corner, her sweet, sad eyes half veiled, reclines the haughty Madeline. Re served and silent, with seeming hauteur traced upon those noble lineaments, you deem her heart dull and irresponsive; but do not so esteem her, for thought and sense do sympathize, ind reel

with nectar-harmony. By her side, the brilliant Prince, his dlark eyes gleaming and glowing with tonal flre. Higgh-born and higrh-bred, this hero of

tones bears other gifts to art's sacred shrine than

those her votaries oitenest bring, a rare musical heart, manners most courteous, a cultured mind, and soul esthetic.

Under the low candelabra, listening and musing, stands one of nature's rare interpreters. He is not tall, but the high, asp ing soul, and flgure of

almost boyish grace, give impress of far nobler stature. An ec.static countenance, radiant with accomplished dreams. Joy-lit eyes, witbin wvhose azure brightness contemplation and his pictured art are mirrored.

Another chord is struck, a vital one. *A low

melody, deliciously painiful, flows out from those silver keys, and thoug,h1i sparsling cadenzas and brilliant arpeggi embellish and half conceal the humble mnotivo, still a picture is wrought by those tender, airy sounds, in vivid distinctness. . A shrined home, a parent pair, and heart-treasured

memories arise. Whispered'blessing, are recalled, and WSaintedn mother's prayer, recorded: nowuin heaven.

Now, Nvhen the last heavenly strain had softly died away in a rew detached notes, and II Padre

had turned upon his revolving seat to converse with his accustomed lively wit, he found mamma's lace all a-flame with feeling. And Angelique, lovrely enlhusiast, nestlinrt near the thronal chair of deatr mamma, conversinge in low and excited tones of the happ*y feat now ended-of thle rev

erend Master's wondrous power so sweet and strangely moving.

And the lite-tired one, half buried in his easy fauteuil, enwrapped in visions of political strifb, brooding o'er his countrV's ills, has been pierced by those silver arrows. Aroused, he opens wide those wondrous eyes of limpid blue, rises, draws up his toil-bent form, smiles, and the warm glow ligh1ts up the placid face, as moonlight on the crusted snow. Chatting, and smiling, his mar tyred soul transthsed with music, sublime ho stands, a monarclh among the crowned.

Soft falls the leaf-shadows from the trellised vlne, deepening the minor dream-light in that melodic parlor. One by one the guests depart, and vanish in tlho evening, gloom. Adieu, sweet day, aU revoir, chlrs anzis.

CECILIA.

LITERARY MATTERS.

POEMS BY ELIZABETFI ArERs (FLoRENoE PERCY). PUBLSHED BY TIcKNOR & IE,LDS.

Mrs. Akers's poetry belongrs to the melancholy school, wbich was in vogaue some years back among female poets, and had she but written in the days of Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Sigourney, and others of the same comparative merit, her poetry would doub.less have become popular. but since those primitive days of female poetry we h.ave had Mrs. Browning and Jean Ingelow,.and by tibem have been taught that woman is as fully

possessed of the "divine afflatus"' as man, hence her pretty, mournful but trivial, poetry makes but little iimpression on the mind, being forgotten almost as soon as read, and leaving behind it no

renmembrance of originality or superior excellence. Mrs. Alkers seems to have the universal feminine weakness for violets, and we l1nd those modest little flowers predominating strongly in her poetry, and forming the burden of many of her sonigs.

Here is a pretty idea in the "Vision of Vio lets":

For lo I the mossy and rain-fresh ground Was nll empurpled with vlolet b%om;

Hollows were hid den and hillocks crowned Leaving so little breathing-room

That all tihe wondering air around Was hushed and fainting with much perfame.

Pressing and pushling in purple crowds, Layingt, lovingly, cheek to cheek,

Drifted together in waves and clouds,_ As some mad painter, in wildest freak,

With wealth of pigment his canvas shrouds, Lavishing color in mass and streak.

"Castles in Spain" is one of the most poetical pieces in the book, containing, some exquisita writing, and(I presenting Mrs.-AAkers at her best, being divested ot much of the superfluous melan choly that characterizes the rest of her works.

We give the poem entire:

Sit down beside me, my love and my pride, Ere thestars brighten the sweet eventide;

G:lasp.in yopr true hand my'flngers again; Tell me the tale of our castles ia Spain I

Let the proud pass with their grandeur and gold; Riches like ours are not purchased or sold ,

Little we care for the greed or the again We, the possessors of castles in Spain I

./ Wealth may exult in the pomp it creates, Naught the world knows of our foreign estates;

Little it thinks that, afar o"ver thle maia, Rise the fidr walls of our castles in SpEin I

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AMER-ICAN. ART, IOURNAL. .27

What though our station be low and obscure I Wlhat though we struggle and stiive and en:dure I

What do we-care for thie wind and the rain? Tniey never beat on our castles In Spain I

Sorrows will come to us, ere we are old, True hearts may leave us, and warm ones grow

cold, Yet shall we find 'all our dear ones again, Fond as ol old, in our castles in Spais I

So we are happy,-and wvhen by and by Under the clover together we lie,

Birds in the branchies will 8ing? the refrain, "Gone to look after their castles in Spain I"

Here is a specimen of the melanciioly style.: Down from the roofs in gusts are l'urled

The eddlying drifts to,the waste below. .And still is the baniner of storm unfaried,

Till all thle drowned and desolate world Lies dumib and white in a tranice of snow.

Slowly the shadows gather and fall, Still the whispering snow-flakes beat; -

Night an(d darkness are over all: Rest, pale city, beneatlh their pall I

Sleep, white world, in thy winding-sheet ! After a carerLal perusal of Mrs. Akers's "Poems,"

it is impossible to, accord to her a high place among the poets of the present day. Possessed of undoubted talent, and perhaps genius, Ithere is still a lack of true poetic feeling running througgh her works, whicih are pretty and pleasing but no thing more, add to this her slight command of language, and we flnd that Mrs. Akers, although a poetess who wiU beguile a leisure hour' pleasant ly, is not onb who in fliture days will be read and admired.

'Messrs. T. B. Peterson and Bros. have published *a new edition of George Sands's charming novel *Fanchon the Clicket" 'Which is gotten up in good style and reflects credit on its publishers.

BOQKP, RECEIVED.

"Character and Characteristic Men." By E. P. WHIPPLE. Ticknor & Fields.

"The Picture of St. John." By BAYARD TAY LOR. Ticknor & Fields.

"Married at . Last. " By ANNIE TioHAs. T. B. Peterson & Bros.

"The Lost Beauty." T. B. Peterson & Bros.

LIVE'S OF THE EARLY PAINTERS.

BY MRS. JAMESON.

FILIPPO LIPPI,

Born 1400, died 1469;

AND

ANGELICO DA FIESOLE,

Born 1887, died 1455.

Contemporary with Masaccio lived two painters, lloth giited with surpassing genius, both of a reli gious order, being professed monks; in a11 other respects tho very antipodes ot each other and we 13nd the very opposite impulses giveniby 2tbesere

markable men prevailing through ttie r&st' of the .century at Florence and elsewhere. From this period we date the great schism in modern art, though the seeds of this diversity of ie6ling and purpose were sown in the preceding century. We now.ind, on the one side, a race of painters who

ciltivated wvith astonishing success all the men tal and mechanical aids that coiild be brought to

bear on their profession; profoundly versed in the knowledge ot human form, and intent on study

ing and imitating the various effects of nature in

color and in light and shade, without any other aspiration than the representation of beauty for its own sake, and the pleasure and the triumph of difficulties overcome: on the other hand, we find a race of paiuters to whom the cultivation of art was a sacred vocation-the representation of beauty a means, not an ced; by whom Nature in her various aspects was studied and deeply studied, but only for the purpose of embodyingo whatever we can conceive or reverence as high est, holiest, purest in? heaven and earth, in such forms as should best connect them with our in telligence,and-vith our sympathies.

The two classes of painters who-devoted their genius to these very diverse aims liave long been distinguished in German and Italian criticism as the Naturalists and the Idealists or Mystics, and these denominations are now, becoming familiar ized in our own language. During the fifteenth century we find in the various schools of art scat tered tbrough Italy these different aims more or less apparent, sometimes approximlating, some times divertg,ing into extremes, but the distinc tion always apparent; and the influence exercised by those who pursued their art withl such very different objects-with such very different feelings -was of course different in its result. Painting, however, during this century was still nlmost wholly devoted to ecclesiastical purposes; it de viated into the classical and secular in only two places, Florence and Padua. !

In the convent of the Carmelites, where Masac cio has painted his famous frescoes, wis a young

monk, who, instead of employing himself in the holy offices, passed whole days and hours gazing on those works, and tr-ying to imitate them. He was one whom poverty had driven, as a child, to take refuge there, and who had afterwards taken the habit from necessity g,ather than ifrom inclina tion. . His name was Filippo Lippi (which may be translated Philip the son ot Philip), but he is known in the history of art as Fra Filippo (Friar Philip). In him, as in Masaccio, thbe bent of the genius was early decided; nature had ma(le him a painter. He studied flom morning to niglht the

models he had before him'; but, restless, ardent, and abandoned to the pursuit of pleasure, he at length broke from the convent and escaped to

Ancona. The rest of his life is a romance. On an excursion to sea he was taken by the Atrican

pirates, sold as a slave in Barbary, and remained in captivity eighteen months. With a piece of charcoal he drew his master's picture on a wall, and so excited his admuiration that he gave him his

freedom, andAismissed him with pre3ents. Fra Filippo then returned to Italy, and at Naples and at Rome gained so much celebrity by the

beauty of his perlormances, that his crime .as a runaway monk was overlooked, and under the patronage of the Medici family, he ventured to re turn to Florence. Thero he painted a great num

ber of admirable pictures, and was called upon to

decorate mnany convents and churches in, the

neighbborlopd.. . His. life during, tall, this time ap pears to have been most scandalous, even with

out consideration of his religious habit; and the

sums of money he obtained by the practice of his

art were squandered in profligate pleasures. Be

ing called upon to paint a Madonna for the con

vent of St. Margaret at Prato, he persuaded the

sisterhood to allow a beautiful novice, whose

name was Lucretia Buti, to sit to him fo r a model. In the end he seduced this girl, and carried hler off fomi the convent, to the great scandal of the

community, and the inexpressible grief and hor ror of her father and family. Filippo was then an old man, nearly sixtty; but for his great famie and the powerful protection of the Medici, ho would have paid dearly for this offence against morals and religion. His friends Cosmo and Lo renzo de' Medici obtained trom the pope a dispen sation from his vows, to enable bim to mnarry Lu cretia; but he (loes niot seem to have been in any haste to avail himself of it; the family of the girl, unable to. obtain any public reparation for their dlishionor, contrived to avenge it secretly, and Fra Filippo died poisoned, at the age of sixty-nine.

This libertine monk was undoubtedly a man of ex-traordinary genius, but lis talent was degraded by his immorality. le adopted and carried on all the improvqments of Masacclo, and was the first

who invented that particular style of grandeur and breadth in the drawing of his figures, the grouping, and the contrast,,of light and shadle, afterwards carried to such perfection by Andrea del Sarto. He was one of the earliest painters who introduced landscape backgrounds, painted with some feeling for the truth of nature; but the expression he gave to his personag,es, though al ways energetic, was 'often inappropriate, and never calm or elevated. In the representation of sacred incidents he was sometimes fantastic anid some:times vulgar; and he was the filrst who de secrated such subjects by introduLcing the por traits of women who happened to be the objects of his preference at thenmoment. There are many pictures by Fra Filippo in the churches at Flor ence; two in the gallery of the Acadlemy there; tive in the Berlin Museum; iu the Louvre there is one undoubtedly genuine, and of great beauty, marked by all his characteristics. It represents the Madonna standing, tind holding the Infant

Saviour in her arms; on each side are angels and

a kneeling monk. The attitude of the Virgin is grand; the head commonplace, or worse; the countenance of the' Infant Christ heavy; the an gels, with crisped hair, haye the faces of street urchins, but the adorine monks are wonderful for the natural dig-lty of their tigures and the tine expression in their upturned faces, and the whole picture is most admirably executed. It was painted for the churcll of the Santo Spirito, at Florence, andl is a celebrated productiou. The writer does not know of any picture by Fra Filip

po now in England. Hle lett a son, Flippo Lippi,

called Filipino (to dlisting-uish him from his tath er), who became in after years an excellent paint

er, and whose frescoes in the Chapel ot the Brani

cacci, which emulated those of Masaccio, have been already mentioned.

Contemporary with Fra Filippo, or rather ear

lier in point of dlate, lived the other painter

monk, presenting in his life and character- the

strongest possible contrast to the former. He'

was, as Vasari tells us, one wvho mighlt have lived

a very agreeable life in the worltd, had he not, im

pelled by a sincere and fervent spirit of devotion, retlied from it at the age of twenty to bury him

self within the walls of a cloister; a man with

whom the practice of a beautitul art was thence

forth a hymn or praise, and every creation of his

pencil au act of piety and charity, and who, in

seelking only the glory of God, earned an immor

tal glory among men. This was Fra Giovanni

Angelico da Fiesole, whose naume, before he en,

tered the convent, was Guido Petri de Mugello.

He has since obtainecl, flrom the holiness ot his life, the title of n1 .Beato, " the Blessed," b)y which he is often mentionedl in Italian histories of art.

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