davidaulloa/AmericanStories huggingface dataset:
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

cievcrness run away with him and
instead of a work of art produces a
tour de force-a masterpiece. il you
like. but OF the hand. The gods
looked for something else from
Thayer
What rejoicing must there have
been in Elysium. or Parnassus. or
wherever these gods reside, when in
1884. aged 35 years. the same man
proved that something other than
the hand should lead him, For in
that year there came into his paint
ing a quality which defies definition
which lifted him into a sphere
whittier none could follow. The
Sisters marks the beginning OF
what ! call Thayer's singing period
Every great artist has his years OF
singing. years when everything he
touches IS in some miraculous way
lifted out OF itself. when words lose
themselves IN sheer music. pigment
is transmitted into light. and the why
and how OF craftsmanship are lost in
the great 1T is"
All else in art is a preparation for
this. and when the song is gone
nothing. neither nobility. strength.
hrilhance will console US.
II is incalculable. With one II comes
at the opening Of life. with another
at life's heyday. a third will find It
only at the end OF a long journey.
To few ii is recurrent. now lost.
now found again. Beethoven was
such a one. Milton another. Shelley
and Keats died young, still singing.
Wagner had his great lyrical out
burst midway in life. and never
wholly lost it. Francis Thompson
understood the meaning Of this
phrase when he took his poem on
Cecil Rhodes TO his editor. 1T is
good" he said, "as good as I can
make it. But my singing day is
past. can only write now. The
singing years are all too short" :"
Twachtman and Verdi present the
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

Thayer's heads haunt me- Their
eyes follow me. How can one resist
the desperate plunge into mysticism?
Yet il Thayer was a mystic he en-
ployed none of the machinery OF
mysticism. No deep shadows lit by
flashes of stage lightning. no strange
forms riding wild sky; he eschewed
even the now perfectly orthodox
veil that shrouds as in a mist the
figure from the spectator.
If he had been the veriest realist
his drawing could not have been
more exact, his flesh textures more
pure. his modelling firmer. His Gre
ations are solid. But-to live with one
of them is to feel ones self in the
presence of a familiar spirit. be-
lieve so intensely in the women and
children Thayer painted that 1 am
unable to conceive the possibility of
their growing old. That they should
die is incredible.
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

chronology matter of singular un-
Importance in analysis OF his work. :
To me, on the contrary il is OF the
very greatest Importance.
| have no means of telling what. if
any. were The causes of his great
lyrical outburst during these years.
This the story of his life, when it
comes to be written. will reveal
Probably they lay within himself.
But as / look into the face of Thay-
er's young wife. the mother in
Mother and Child" l cannot help
feeling that his song is intimately
bound up with her.
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

other worldly quality. ana for this
reason it and the year 1884 seem to
me, I had almost said, of supreme
Importance in Thayer's art. (That
honor is reserved for the year 1891,
which produced the Virgin En-
throned.") Nothing which Thayer
painted between 1884 and 1898, IL we
except the ''Half-draped Figure" the
dating of which is to me almost in
credible. and the 'Caritas," which is
already a prefiguring OF the later
manner. is wholly without this spirit.
His dependence on mood" writes
Mr.. Cortissoz in his introduction to
the Memorial Catalogue. makes
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

rare case OF men who at every stage
Of their development were fine tech
nicians. but burst into song only at
the very end of their lives.
1t is interesting to compare
Twachtman with Thayer. Twacht-
man in landscape began as a solid
Munichman. strong, bold and heavy
in his brushwork, his pigment hot
and rich. America cooled him. his
pigment lost its fatty quality. his
brushwork became more subtle. At
the end Of his life we find him paint
ing landscapes so delicate you would
think a breath would dissolve them.
But they are not SO fragile as they
The New York herald., 1922-08-13
Flowers Another Forte.

A moment passed. l sat musing.
II seemed to me that the spirits of
those whom Thayer had painted
were lowering around me: The Girl
In White" asking mute question and
never staying for an answer; the
Brother and Sister" friendly spirits
these, il little wistful, their eyes
the eyes of children orphaned, and
not yet reconciled to their loneliness.
Pleading eyes. But as | look into
them. trying to reassure them, they
fade. and / see again the eyes of the
mother. what are you saying of
US, you stranger? What do you
know of me and mine? Speak moth
ing ill.,
One cannot speak of this period of
Thayer's painting without praising
the small but how exquisite, group
of flower pictures. the two bowls of
roses and the water lilies. For my
self | would choose the roses that
belong to Miss Kane. rather than
those of the Worcester Museum
collection. choose them because of
the little group that hangs down to
the left of the bowl. These flowers
of Thayer's have the same intensity
that one feels in the faces of his
women. / would call them passion
ate. of pure white passion. Flowers
or human spirits. they seem bent on
breathing themselves out upon the
air. spending themselves.
In way the Winged Figure looks
far ahead of its dating. 1t prefigures
Thayer's later manner. i sometimes
think that compositionally it is the
happiest of the angel canvases. The
weight of the figure. combined with
the illusion which it gives of floating
through space. is a remarkable tour
de force. But l do not receive the
same Overwhelming conviction OF
life The angel does not speak to
ne.
The Virgin Enthroned': After
studying this amazing picture many
Continued on FoHoriR0 Page.
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

the head only suggested. Only one
portrait. as such, did he paint during
these years-that OF Mrs. William f.
Milton 1SSD. One of his earliest
commissions. this, and nobly done.
Magnificent, the head, hat, neck, full
bosom. lace. hands. fan superbly
painted. Magnificent, but-Holbein
perhaps? Certainly not Thayer.
The gods must have trembled at
that moment. A man. not too young.
either-32 already-his technique at
his fingertips. nothing definitely
achieved. with the promise Of the
Anne Palmer, Joe Evans. Annie Hoe
still unfulfilled, this man let's his
The New York herald., 1922-08-13
Girl in White.

appear. The strength is hidden. 1t
IS strength that aspires. that
would take wings. 1t was Twacht-
mans song.
Thayer. on the other hand. moves
from delicacy TO strength. His
brushwork becomes stronger. more
bold. more forceful as he grows older.
his impasto heavier. The song came
early
What a marvellous song il was.
Faced with the task OF having 10 try
to convey If only faint echo of its
melody. am poweriess. All can
% IS wave TO the pictures them
selves. The singing pictures. listed
them At the museum. Here they
are:
The Sisters Miss Bessie ana
Miss Cara Stiliman) ... 1884
Mother and Child. d......... 1886
Waterlilies: about. ..... 1886
Portrait OF Alice Freeman Pal
mer. no date: about ...... 1883
Girl in White margaret
Creenel ..... ..lSSS or 1889
Angel MARY Thayer) ....... 1889
Winged Figure ............. 1889
Brother and Sister. ......... 1889
Virgin Enthroned. d.... 1891
Portrait (Nliss Faith Mathew
SOM: about. ................ 1891
Roses: about. ................ 1896
Roses: about. ................ 1897
Cornish Headiands. ........ 1898
Rosemary MARY Dow Of st.
Iyesl ................... 1888
Portrait OF Elsie Pitcher. 1898
There Is in each OF these pictures
quality / will not attempt to de-
fine il. II is beyond my power of
words. a melting quality. One i not
conscious of the mechanism Of art
AS one sits before one Of these pic
lures it dissolves. becomes 4 living
being. a spirit.
1.-THE Sisters" is the first picture in
which am acutely conscious Of this
The New York herald., 1922-08-13
Precocious Talent.

Abbott Thayer is such a man.
Forty-odd years ago he was already
becoming power in American paint
ing. Thirty years ago he was in his
own field unsurpassed. Twenty years
ago he was a classic. ready for the
pigeonhole. To-day. al the Metro
politan Museum. i spread out sixty
years Of struggle ard achievement.
Now we can know.
We know now from what he de-
veloped. The watercolor study Of a
trout. done AZ eleven years. The
passenger Pigeons" described b.
the president OF the Museum OF Nat
urai History as probably the most
authentic study in existence OF a
now extinct species. done at the age
Portrait Of a Deg" and other por-
traits Of animals done about the
same time. How curious that he
SHOULD have taken such pains with
those little pictures OF animals in
bed. Like picture book illustrations,
but done very carefully in oils. These
are dated 1874 He was already
twenty-five. How slowly he de-
yeIoped
A year later he Is in Paris. study
ing. II you please. under Gerome.
Little came OF that. but the portrait
of Joe Evans. about 1877. possibly
later. gives the first promise Of what
he has in store. This Joe Evans was
a hunchback boy. one OF Thayer's
crowd. both in Paris and later in New
York. A couple OF landscapes with
cattle (lSTS ana 1879 give little OF
the mans original spirit. though the
later of the two contains passages OF
beauty. especially In the handling Of
the far distance. The cattle are not
well painted. although It is interest
ing to note that Thayer impressed
his contemporaries first by his por-
trayalS OF brute creation" as the
language OF the time expressed It.
Master of His Material.
But the portrait OF Miss Anne
Palmer Qs7S) is the first to show
unmistakably the direction in which.
slowly but very surely. he is pro-
crossing. In this. as in the por-
traits that follow (1SSO-1SS3). he is
master OF his material The day Of
fumbling IS at last over, his style is
formed. A cool palette. a smooth
texture. the brushwork carefully
covered. His aim. 10 paint not the
head only. though his passion for
Tightness allowed no shirking OF de-
tail under the excuse Of idealisrn. but
the spirit which he saw and which
The New York herald., 1922-08-13
By GUY c. EGLINcTON

VIXEN he is still with US.
Here a canvas. there a can
vas. A silence Of years. The man
we had almost forgotten reminds US
that he is still living. In the new
work we see traces OF the old. "StiIl
the same" We say. And we pass on
TO something newer. something which
appears more vital. We are chasing
the promise OF tie future. Let the
past take care Of itself We know
all about that.
Do VIC? Are we not wholly in the
ears? What have these isolated
works. seen over intervals of years.
told Us OF the mans struggle. of his
vision. OF his achievement, of his
failure. Of his being? We know moth
ing. And We have hidden our igno-
carefully filed away in pigeonholes.
IL is death. death which awakens
in US a sense of loss where We had
never experienced the sense of pos
session; death shakes us. makes us
cast overheard the cliches which we
bad fashioned so carefully: scrap for
hopelessly antiquated our precious
filing system in which we had taken
such pride; makes US open the cup
boards. shut for half century: bring
out from the dust and the darkness
the work We had dismissed and the
work We had praised: spread out on
a wall this thing that is a mans
hoping and loving and fighting and
seeing. and see il for what it is. 1t
may be greater. it may be smaller.
but il is always different We do not
kHOlr.
The New York herald., 1922-08-13
The Works of Abbott Thayer

A comprehensive exhibition was
recently shown at the Metropoii-
tan Museum of Art of the work
Of Abbott Henderson Thayer, who
died May 2o. Iesr. The artist
was the son of DR.. William Henry
Thayer. born in Boston. August
II. IS49. He studied in the Brook
Iyn Academy of Design and the
National Academy of New York.
and. from 1875 to 1879. in the
Ecole des Beaux Arts, Paris. un-
der Gerome.
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

Continued on FoHo,cino Page.
The New York herald., 1922-08-13

VI. ::'''; !: :. !. -:': :',', :: Vi. ma. =:
Here a canvas, there a can
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21

more, either. But let me make one
thing plain. No man, told TO go back
by me, ever has a chance to he told
again. This amt your cities-up here.
There amt any policemen. on every
corner. The woods are big. and all
kinds of things can happen In them
and be swallowed up-as ! swallow
these leaves In my hand"
His great arm reached out with
incredible power and seized a hand
full of leaves Off a nearby shrub. II
seemed TO Bruce that they crushed
like fruit and stained the dark skin.
I've already decided. I'm going
on
Once more they stood, eyes meeting
eyes on the trail. and Slmon's face was
%darkening with passion. Bruce knew
hat his hands were clenching, and
his own muscles punched and made
ready to resist any kind of attack.
But Simon didn't strike. He laughed
instead-a simple deep note Of utter
and depthless scorn. Then he drew
back and let Bruce pass on up the
road.
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21

now had began to grow In the east,
II wldene1. The light grew. The
night wind played one more little
game between the tree trunks and
slipped away to the Home OF Winds
that lies somewhere above the noun
tains. The little night sounds were
slowly stilled.
Bruce closed his eyes, not knowing
why. His blood was Ieaping In his
veins. An unfamiliar excitement. al
most an exuItation, had come upon
him. He lowered his head nearly to
his hands that rested in his lap, then
waited a full five minutes more.
Then he opened his eyes. The
light had grown around him. His
hands were quite plain. Slowly. as
n man raises his eyes to a miracle,
he lifted his face. ..
The forest was no longer Ohscured
In darkness. Tho great trees had
emerged, and only the dusk as Of
twilight was left between. He saw
them plainly.-their symmetrical
forms, their declining limbs, their tall
tops piercing the sky. He saw them
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21
CHAPTER IUI--continued.

Sand why have you been so long
In telling mef"
When Dawes chief asked questions
In this tone, always came
quickly. They rolled so fast from the
mouth that they blurred and ran to-
gether. "Why. Simon-you amt been
where ! could see you. Anyway, there
was nOthln' we could have DONE"
'"rhere wasn't. Ell? | don't suppose
you ever thought that there's yet two
months before we can clinch this
thing for good, and young Folger
might say might-have kicking
about somewhere In his belongings
the very document we've all of us
been worrying about for twenty
years" Simon cursed-a single, fiery
oath. "But we are yelling before
we're hurt. II isn't worth a crossword.
Like as not, this Wegan will never
take the trouble TO hunt him up. And
II he does-well, it's nothing to worry
about, either. There Is one back door
that has. been opened many times to
let his people go through, and II may
easily be opened again"
Dawes eyes filed with admiration.
Then he turned and gazed out through
the window. Against the eastern sky.
already wan and pale from The en-
croaching dawn, the long ridge of a
raountain stood in vivid and startling
silhouette. The edge Of II was curl
ously jagged with many little upright
points.
There was only m person who
would have been greatly amazed by
that outline Of the ridge; and the
years and distance had obscured her
long ago. This was a teacher at an or.
phanage In a distant city, who once
had taken q crude drawing from the
hands of a child. Here was the original
at last. Ii q the same ridge,
covered with pines, that little Bruce
had drawn.
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21

the she-bear knew how to penetrate.
Blu; II was enough for Bruce just
to stand at Its edges. The bushes
were bent down with a load OF de-
licious berries.
He wasn't In the least surprised. He
had known that he would find them.
Always, AT this season Of the year, the
woods were rich with them one only
had to slip quickly through the back
door-while the mothers eye was else
where-to find enough Of them not
only to pack the stomach full but to
stain and discOlor most Of the face.
But II seemed to him that he reached
them easier than he expected. Either
the bushes were no SO tall as he re-
membered them, or-since his first
knowledge of them-his own stature
had increased.
he could possibly hold. he went to
the creek 10 drink. He lay down be-
side q still pool, and the water was
cold to his lips. Then he rose ut the
sound of an approaching motor car
behind him.
The driver-evidently a cattleman-
stopped his car and looked at Bruce
with some curiosity. He marked the
perfectly fitting suit Of dark flannel,
the trim, expensive shoes that were
already dust-stained, the silken shirt
on which a juicy berry had been
crushed. "Howdy," the man said after
the western fashion.
"HOw do you do" Bruce replied.
"How far to Martins stOre?"
The man filed his pipe with great
the car" he replied at last, "and I'll
show you. I'm going up that way my
self"
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21
CHAPTER v

The dawn revealed a narrow road
brown little wanderer which, winding
here and there, did not seem to know
exactly where II wished to go. Bruce
didn't know which direction to take,
whether up or down the creek.
He gave the problem q moments
thought. take the road up the
Divide" Barney Wegan had said and
at once Bruce knew that the course
lay up the creek. rather than down.
A divide simply the high places
| between one watershed and another,
and OF course Trails End lay some
where beyond the source OF the stream.
The. creek itself was apparently a
sub-tributary Of the Rogue, the great
river to the south.
Bruce was In a mood to be delighted,
these early morning hours. He was on
the way to Linda a dream was about
To come true. The whole adventure
was Of the most thrilling and JOY
Gus anticipatiOns. He did not feel
the load Of his heavy suitcase. II
was nothing to his magnificent young
strength.
The sun rose higher, and be began
to feel It's power. The sweat came
out OH his bronze face. but he never
felt better In his life. There was but
one great need. and that was break
fast.
A man OK his physique feels hunger
quickly. The sensation Increased In
intensity. and the suitcase grew cor
respondingly heavy. And all at once
he stopped short IN the road. The
Impulse along his nerves to his leg
muscles was checked, like an cleo
trio current at the closing of a switch.
and an instinct Of unknown origin
struggled for expression within him.
In an instant he had II. He didn't
know whence Ii came. II vas moth
Ing he had read or that any n had
told him. It seemed to he rather the
result OF some experience In his own
immediate life. an occurrence OF 50
long ago that he had forgotten IT, He
suddenly knew where he could find
his breakfast. He SIT his suitcase
dowr. and with the confidence Of q
man who hears the dinner call In his
own home, he strrck on Into the
| thickefs Reside the creek bed. In
| stinct-nnd really. after all. instinct
is nothing but memory--led his steps
true.
He elsnced here and there, M ever
Wondering ~ the singular fact that
he did not know exactly what mannes
nf food he was seeking. m = mo
ment he came q q growth Of thorn
covered bushes. = thlcket that Gully
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21
Needle rrall. 1t leads from behind the

Needle Trail. II leads from behind the
cabin"
He tried to emerge from the dream.
like mists that had envelopel him.
"How far Is IT." he asked her steadily.
."To the end OF Pine-Needle Trail"
she rocked again. clutched for n of
his brown hands, and pressed 1t be-
tween hers.
Then she raised Il 70 her dry lips.
Bruce could not keep her from it. And
after an instant more he did not at
tempt to draw II from her embrace. In
the darkness of that mountain cabin.
In the shadow of the eternal pines, he
knew hat some great drama of human
life and love and hatred was behind
the action and he knew with a knowl-
edge unimpeachable that II would be
only insoIence for him to try further
to resist 1t. It's meaning went too
deep for him to see; but 1t filled him
with a great and wondering awe.
Then he turned away, up the Pine
needle Trail. Clear until the deeper
forest closed around him her voice still
followed him-a strange croaking In
the afternoon silence. "At last" he
heard her crying. "At last, at last
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21
CHAPTER vii

In almost a moment. Duncan was
timber. AS far as he could see there
was nothing but the great pines climb
ing up the long slope IF the ridge. They
stood straight and aloof, and they were
very old.
He fell into their spirit at once. The
misunderstood emotions that had
flooded him In the cabin below died
The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1922-12-21

within him. The great calm that is,
after all, the all-pervading quality of
the big pines came over him. Bruce
was rather tremulOus and exultant as
he crept softly up the trail.
It was the last lap of his journey.
AT the end of the trail he would find
Linda! And it seemed quite fitting
that she would be waiting there,
where the trail began, in the widest
heart of the pine woods. He was
quite himself once more-carefree,
delighting in all the little manifesto
tons Of the wild life that began to
stir about him.
His delight grew upon him. 1t was
a dream coming true. Always, Ii
seemed to him, he had carried in his
mind a picture of this very land. a
sort of dream place that was a real
ity at last. He had, known just how
1t would be. He had always known
how the pine shadows would fall
across the carpet Of needles. The
trees themselves were the same grave
companions that he had expected. but
his delight was all the more because
of his expectations.
As the trail climbed higher, the
sense of wilderness became more
pronounced. Even the trees seemed
larger and more majestic and the
glimpses of the wild pe,ple were
more frequent. The biros stopped
their rattle-brained conversation and
stared at him with frank curiosity.
The grouse let him get closer. before
they took to cover.
The hours passed. The trail grew
DINNER. Now it was just a brown
serpent in the pine needles, coiling
this way and that-but he loved every
foot of 1t. 1t dipped down to a little
stream, of which the blasting sun Of
summer had made only a succession
of shallow pools. Yet the water was
cold to his lips. And he knew that
little brook trout-waiting until the
fall rains should make a torrent of
their tiny stream and thus deliver
them-were gazing at him while he
drank.
BY a queer pounding of his blood
Bruce knew that he was In the high
attitudes. He had already come six
miles from the cabin. The hour was
about ~six-thirty; in two hours more
II would be too dark to make his way
at all.