WILLIAM GILPIN 133 chasm, and reposing on the tuftings of a clump, just removed from the eye, and strengthened by the deep shadows of trees behind, appears to great advantage; especially if some noble tree, standing on the foreground in deep shadow, flings athwart the sky its dark branches, here and there illumined with a splendid touch of light. In an open country, the most fortunate circumstance that attends a meridan sun is cloudy weather, which occasions partial lights. Then it is that the distant forest scene is spread with lengthened gleams, while the other parts of the landscape are in shadow; the tuftings of trees are particularly adapted to catch this effect with advantage; there is a richness in them from the strong opposition of light and shade, which is wonderfully fine. A distant forest thus illumined wants only a foreground to make it highly picturesque. As the sun descends, the effect of its illumination becomes stronger. It is a doubt whether the rising or the setting sun is more picturesque. The great beauty of both depends on the contrast between splendor and obscurity. But this contrast is produced by these different incidents in different ways. The grandest effects of the rising sun are produced by the vapors which envelop it— the setting sun rests its glory on the gloom which often accompanies its parting rays. A depth of shadow hanging over the eastern hemisphere gives the beams of the setting sun such powerful effects, that although in fact they are by no means equal to the splendor of a meridian sun, yet through force of contrast they appear superior. A distant forest scene under this brightened gloom is particularly rich, and glows with double splendor. This verdue of the summer leaf, and the varied tints of the autumnal one, are all lighted up with the most resplendent colors. IRARDIN, DELPHINE GAY DE, a French poet and novelist; born at Aix-la-Chapelle, Prussia, June 26, 1804; died at Paris, June 29, 1884. She was the daughter of Madame Sophie Gay, and the wife of the journalist Eme de Girardin, whom she married in 1831. When seventeen years old she received a prize from the French Academy for a poem entitled Les Saurs de Sainte Camille, celebrating the devotion of those sisters of charity during the plague at Barcelona. In 1824 she published a volume of Essais Poetiques, containing with other poems Magdaleine and Le Bonheur d'être Belle. In 1825 she improvised, at the tomb of General Foy, several verses on his death, and was rewarded by Charles X. with a pension of 1,500 francs. In the following year she went to Italy, where she was elected a member of the Tiber Academy, and escorted in triumph to the Capitol. She next visited Cape Messina, and composed a poem, Le Dernier Jour de Pompéi, which was published with other poems in 1829. Napoline, one of her best poems, appeared in 1833. Her first novel, Le Lorgnon, "The Quiz" (1831), was followed by M. le Marquis de Pontanges (1835) and La Canne de M. de Balzac (1836). In this year she began to contribute to La Presse, under the pseudonym of Viscount Charles de Launay, a series of Lettres Parisiennes, a part of which were published collectively in 1843. A complete edition of these letters appeared after her death. She wrote several successful plays-Cléopatre, a tragedy (1847); C'est la Faute du Mari, ou Les bons Maris font les bonnes Femmes (1851); Lady Tartufe (1853); La Joie fait Peur, and Le Chapeau d'un Horloger (1854). In 1853 she published two more novels, Marguerite, ou deux Amours, and Il ne faut pas jouer avec la Douleur. She was the author of several other works of prose and poetry. Her beauty and wit, as well as her literary talent, rendered her famous, and she was styled La Muse de la Patrie. THE MISFORTUNE OF BEING BEAUTIFUL. - There is a misfortune that nobody pities, a danger that nobody fears, a plague that nobody avoids. This plague, to tell the truth, is contagious in only one way - by heredity; and further, it is a very uncertain heritage. Nevertheless, it is a plague, a fatality, that forever pursues you, at every hour of your life; an obstacle to everything — not an obstacle that you meet with it is more: it is an obstacle that you may carry with you, a ridiculous blessing that simpletons envy you, a favor of the gods that renders you a pariah among men; to speak still more plainly, a gift of nature that makes a dunce of you in society. In short, this misfortune, this danger, this plague, this obstacle, this ridiculous thing is we wager that you do not guess it, and that, nevertheless, when you know you will say it is true. When the inconveniences of this advantage have been set before you, you will say "I covet no longer." This misfortune, then, is the misfortune of being beautiful. Some one has said somewhere, "What is the disagreeable thing that everybody wants?" and has answered his own question thus: "It is old age." We say, "What is the plague that everybody wishes for?" and we reply, "It is beauty." But by beauty we understand real beauty, perfect beauty, classic beauty, fatal beauty. There is beauty and beauty. He who has the first escapes fatality; he has a thousand chances of happiness. To begin with, he is almost always good-natured and well satisfied with himself. It follows that particular circumstances are created for his beauty. To be a handsome man is an occupation. The handsome man, properly speaking, can be happy as a hunter, with a green uniform, and with a plume on his head. He can be happy as a master-of-arms, and can find a thousand ineffable joys of pride in the stateliness of his attitudes. He can be happy as a hairdresser. He can be happy as a drum-major: oh, then he is very happy. He can also be happy as commander of the empire, at Franconi's theatre, and can represent, with delight, King Joachim Murat. Finally, he can be happy as a model in the most celebrated studios, can take his part in the success of our great painters, and can legitimize, so to speak, the gifts he has received from nature, by consecrating them to the fine arts. The handsome man can support life; can dream of happiness. But the beautiful man, the Antinoüs, the Greek Eros, the ideal man, the man of classic brow, of regular lines, of antique profile; the man young and perfectly beautiful, angelically beautiful, must drag out a miserable earthly existence, among prudent fathers, frightened husbands, who proscribe him, and, more terrible still, among the noble and ancient English-women who run after him. For it is an unaccountable and unfortunate fact that a very handsome young man, though not always enticing, is always compromising. It may be that in a country less civilized than ours beauty is a power; but here in Paris, where advantages are conventional, exquisite beauty is unappreciated: it is not in harmony with our customs; it is a splendor that produces too great an effect, an advantage which causes too much embarrassment. Beautiful men have gone out of fashion with historical pictures. Our women no longer dream of the loves of pages, and grace takes precedence of beauty. Ill-fortune, then, to the beautiful man! -La Canne de M. de Balzac. |