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France (France) (search for this): chapter 35
t, until we reach the period of fruitage; and so it should be with human life. Madame de Gentlis, after a brilliant and stormy youth, reread, when seventy years old, all the classics of Louis XIV.'s time, in order to preserve her literary style; she died at eighty-four, and the edition of her works published just before her death comprised just eighty-four volumes-one for every year. It is half a century since her death, and it is said that at least twenty of her books are still popular in France. This is to make the fruitage of a life better than the flower, and so is such a beautiful old age as that of Lucretia Mott or Lydia Maria Child. It is the fashion to sneer at old women; the novelists neglect — them: Howells hardly recognizes their existence; Thackeray makes them worldly and wicked, like old Lady Kew, or a little oversentimental, like Madame de Florae; Aliss Edgeworth's Lady Davenant in Helen is perhaps the best example of the class. In pictorial art I know of no more im
Aliss Edgeworth (search for this): chapter 35
It is half a century since her death, and it is said that at least twenty of her books are still popular in France. This is to make the fruitage of a life better than the flower, and so is such a beautiful old age as that of Lucretia Mott or Lydia Maria Child. It is the fashion to sneer at old women; the novelists neglect — them: Howells hardly recognizes their existence; Thackeray makes them worldly and wicked, like old Lady Kew, or a little oversentimental, like Madame de Florae; Aliss Edgeworth's Lady Davenant in Helen is perhaps the best example of the class. In pictorial art I know of no more impressive representation of feminine old age, of the more commanding sort, than an etching in Mrs. Jameson's Commonplace book from a German artist, Steinle. Eve, in her banishment, prematurely old with care, sits leaning with stately poise against a tree and stretches one strong right arm to uphold Cain, a lovely naked child, upon a low branch. He carelessly drops an apple into her
Indians (search for this): chapter 35
em — that it held its strength even into advanced years. Such opinions as have been brought forward by Diderot in French, and by Godwin in English, impairing the feeling of filial reverence after the son grows to maturity, would have been abhorrent to the feelings of an ancient Greek. Those emotions took form in their reverence for the Graiae --nymphs who were born gray-headed — as did those of the Romans in the honor paid to the Sibyls, some of whom at least were old. Among our American Indians, Mr. Lucien Carr finds that supremacy accorded to women in age which is denied them in youth. Goethe, exhausting all mythology and allegory in the second part of Faust, gives mysterious reverence to the Mothers, makes the Fates the conservators of social order; while he, with keen satire, modernizes the Furies into beautiful and treacherous girls, each of them young and fair, a wheedling kitten. It seems to me clear that neither our literary women nor any others of their sex have any ne
Howells (search for this): chapter 35
er literary style; she died at eighty-four, and the edition of her works published just before her death comprised just eighty-four volumes-one for every year. It is half a century since her death, and it is said that at least twenty of her books are still popular in France. This is to make the fruitage of a life better than the flower, and so is such a beautiful old age as that of Lucretia Mott or Lydia Maria Child. It is the fashion to sneer at old women; the novelists neglect — them: Howells hardly recognizes their existence; Thackeray makes them worldly and wicked, like old Lady Kew, or a little oversentimental, like Madame de Florae; Aliss Edgeworth's Lady Davenant in Helen is perhaps the best example of the class. In pictorial art I know of no more impressive representation of feminine old age, of the more commanding sort, than an etching in Mrs. Jameson's Commonplace book from a German artist, Steinle. Eve, in her banishment, prematurely old with care, sits leaning with s
Lucien Carr (search for this): chapter 35
held its strength even into advanced years. Such opinions as have been brought forward by Diderot in French, and by Godwin in English, impairing the feeling of filial reverence after the son grows to maturity, would have been abhorrent to the feelings of an ancient Greek. Those emotions took form in their reverence for the Graiae --nymphs who were born gray-headed — as did those of the Romans in the honor paid to the Sibyls, some of whom at least were old. Among our American Indians, Mr. Lucien Carr finds that supremacy accorded to women in age which is denied them in youth. Goethe, exhausting all mythology and allegory in the second part of Faust, gives mysterious reverence to the Mothers, makes the Fates the conservators of social order; while he, with keen satire, modernizes the Furies into beautiful and treacherous girls, each of them young and fair, a wheedling kitten. It seems to me clear that neither our literary women nor any others of their sex have any need to be asha
Emily Marshall (search for this): chapter 35
are not only more lavishly distributed, but bring a more delicious adulation. There is probably no period in the life of any man, no matter how successful or powerful, which is so intoxicating, and so sums up all that is fascinating in the way of homage, as the few years' reign of an acknowledged belle. When we consider that the man of iron, William Lloyd Garrison, used, in his devout Calvinistic youth, to attend a certain church in Boston simply to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Miss Emily Marshall as she went in or out, we have a condensed example of the extraordinary power placed by nature in the hands of beauty and grace and youth. The sternest moralists, the soberest philosophers, are compelled to own its sway, and to place the radiance of blossoming womanhood at the head of all nature's visible loveliness: What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty As those two eyes become that heavenly face? And as a part of this unequalled charm resides in the clement of youthfuln
Cain (search for this): chapter 35
cked, like old Lady Kew, or a little oversentimental, like Madame de Florae; Aliss Edgeworth's Lady Davenant in Helen is perhaps the best example of the class. In pictorial art I know of no more impressive representation of feminine old age, of the more commanding sort, than an etching in Mrs. Jameson's Commonplace book from a German artist, Steinle. Eve, in her banishment, prematurely old with care, sits leaning with stately poise against a tree and stretches one strong right arm to uphold Cain, a lovely naked child, upon a low branch. He carelessly drops an apple into her lap, thus unconsciously recalling the sin that forfeited Paradise. Her drooping locks are white, but her noble eyes are undimmed, and seem to look beyond his sin, or hers, into some world where all isolated transgressions are merged in eternal life and disappear. In her other hand she holds a spindle, as if ready to weave the destinies of that world unseen. It is a group that William Blake might have drawn-and
Anna M. Jameson (search for this): chapter 35
age as that of Lucretia Mott or Lydia Maria Child. It is the fashion to sneer at old women; the novelists neglect — them: Howells hardly recognizes their existence; Thackeray makes them worldly and wicked, like old Lady Kew, or a little oversentimental, like Madame de Florae; Aliss Edgeworth's Lady Davenant in Helen is perhaps the best example of the class. In pictorial art I know of no more impressive representation of feminine old age, of the more commanding sort, than an etching in Mrs. Jameson's Commonplace book from a German artist, Steinle. Eve, in her banishment, prematurely old with care, sits leaning with stately poise against a tree and stretches one strong right arm to uphold Cain, a lovely naked child, upon a low branch. He carelessly drops an apple into her lap, thus unconsciously recalling the sin that forfeited Paradise. Her drooping locks are white, but her noble eyes are undimmed, and seem to look beyond his sin, or hers, into some world where all isolated trans
Lucretia Mott (search for this): chapter 35
tormy youth, reread, when seventy years old, all the classics of Louis XIV.'s time, in order to preserve her literary style; she died at eighty-four, and the edition of her works published just before her death comprised just eighty-four volumes-one for every year. It is half a century since her death, and it is said that at least twenty of her books are still popular in France. This is to make the fruitage of a life better than the flower, and so is such a beautiful old age as that of Lucretia Mott or Lydia Maria Child. It is the fashion to sneer at old women; the novelists neglect — them: Howells hardly recognizes their existence; Thackeray makes them worldly and wicked, like old Lady Kew, or a little oversentimental, like Madame de Florae; Aliss Edgeworth's Lady Davenant in Helen is perhaps the best example of the class. In pictorial art I know of no more impressive representation of feminine old age, of the more commanding sort, than an etching in Mrs. Jameson's Commonplace b
Gentlis (search for this): chapter 35
en satire, modernizes the Furies into beautiful and treacherous girls, each of them young and fair, a wheedling kitten. It seems to me clear that neither our literary women nor any others of their sex have any need to be ashamed of their birthdays, or to forego the dignity which is their rightful honor in age. In nature the period of blossom seems a time so beautiful that we think nothing can ever equal it, until we reach the period of fruitage; and so it should be with human life. Madame de Gentlis, after a brilliant and stormy youth, reread, when seventy years old, all the classics of Louis XIV.'s time, in order to preserve her literary style; she died at eighty-four, and the edition of her works published just before her death comprised just eighty-four volumes-one for every year. It is half a century since her death, and it is said that at least twenty of her books are still popular in France. This is to make the fruitage of a life better than the flower, and so is such a be
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