A man might as well say
that the woman who enchants him is the only true Venus for the world.
Then, again, how much in painting or in poetry depends upon the frame
of mind in which we see or hear! Whoever looks on these pictures, or
reads the Lotus Eaters or Castle of Indolence, at a time when soul and
body are weary, and longing for retirement and rest, will receive an
impression from them such as could never be made on the strong nerves
of our more healthful and hilarious seasons.
Certainly no emotions so rigidly reject critical restraints, and
disdain to be bound by rule, as those excited by the fine arts. A man
unimpressible and incapable of moods and tenses, is for that reason an
incompetent critic; and the sensitive, excitable man, how can he know
that he does not impose his peculiar mood as a general rule?
From the state rooms we were taken to the top of the Hound Tower,
where we gained a magnificent view of the Park of Windsor, with its
regal avenue, miles in length, of ancient oaks; its sweeps of
greensward; clumps of trees; its old Herne oak, of classic memory; in
short, all that constitutes the idea of a perfect English landscape.
The English tree is shorter and stouter than ours; its foliage dense
and deep, lying with a full, rounding outline against the sky. Every
thing here conveys the idea of concentrated vitality, but without that
rank luxuriance seen in our American growth. Having unfortunately
exhausted the English language on the subject of grass, I will not
repeat any ecstasies upon that topic.
After descending from the tower we filed off to the proper quarter, to
show our orders for the private rooms. The state apartments, which we
had been looking at, are open at all times, but the private apartments
can only be seen in the queen's absence, and by a special permission,
which had been procured for us on this occasion by the kindness of the
Duchess of Sutherland.
One of the first objects that attracted my attention when entering the
vestibule was a baby's wicker wagon, standing in one corner; it was
much such a carriage as all mothers are familiar with; such as figures
largely in the history of almost every family. It had neat curtains
and cushions of green merino, and was not royal, only maternal. I
mused over the little thing with a good deal of interest. It is to my
mind one of the providential signs of our times, that, at this stormy
and most critical period of the world's history, the sovereignty of
the most powerful nation on earth is represented by a woman and a
mother. How many humanizing, gentle, and pacific influences constantly
emanate from this centre!
One of the most interesting apartments was a long corridor, hung with
paintings and garnished along the sides with objects of art and _virtu_.
Here C. and I renewed a dispute which had for some time been pending,
in respect to Canaletto's paintings. This Canaletto was a Venetian
painter, who was born about 1697, and died in London in 1768, and was
greatly in vogue with the upper circles in those days. He delighted in
architectural paintings, which he represents with the accuracy of a
daguerreotype, and a management of perspective, chiaro oscuro, and all
the other mysteries of art, such as make his paintings amount to about
the same as the reality.
Well, here, in this corridor, we had him in full force. Here was
Venice served up to order - its streets, palaces, churches, bridges,
canals, and gondolas made as real to our eye as if we were looking at
them out of a window. I admired them very warmly, but I could not go
into the raptures that C. did, who kept calling me from every thing
else that I wanted to see to come and look at this Canaletto. "Well, I
see it," said I; "it is good - it is perfect - it cannot be bettered;
but what then? There is the same difference between these and a
landscape of Zuccarelli as there is between a neatly-arranged
statistical treatise and a poem. The latter suggests a thousand
images, the former gives you only information."
We were quite interested in a series of paintings which represented
the various events of the present queen's history. There was the
coronation in Westminster Abbey - that national romance which, for once
in our prosaic world, nearly turned the heads of all the sensible
people on earth. Think of vesting the sovereignty of so much of the
world in a fair young girl of seventeen! The picture is a very pretty
one, and is taken at the very moment she is kneeling at the feet of
the Archbishop of Canterbury to receive her crown. She is represented
as a fair-haired, interesting girl, the simplicity of her air
contrasting strangely with the pomp and gorgeous display around. The
painter has done justice to a train of charming young ladies who
surround her; among the faces I recognized the blue eyes and noble
forehead of the Duchess of Sutherland.
Then followed, in due order, the baptism of children, the reception of
poor old Louis Philippe in his exile, and various other matters of the
sort which go to make up royal pictures.
In the family breakfast room we saw some fine Gobelin tapestry,
representing the classical story of Meleager. In one of the rooms, on
a pedestal, stood a gigantic china vase, a present from the Emperor of
Russia, and in the state rooms before we had seen a large malachite
vase from the same donor. The toning of this room, with regard to
color, was like that of the room I described in Stafford House - the
carpet of green ground, with the same little leaf upon it, the walls,
chairs, and sofas covered with green damask.
