University of Virginia Library

EYE-LANGUAGE.

Of Nature's minuter wonders, the human eye is the
paragon.—Vainly will Science explore her rich arcana
for a more impressive example of the marvels she would
illustrate. But it is not the apparatus which the delicate
knife of the anatomist reveals—the retina and lenses, or
even their combined arrangement that most strikingly
indicates the subtle workmanship involved in the little
fleshy globule we call the eye;—it is the effect they produce,
the purposes they subserve, the results they accomplish.
Far greater are these than the careless crowd
dream of; far more marvelous than even the intelligent
and imaginative can fully realize. The phenomenon of
sight is, indeed, sufficiently extraordinary. Not less so
are the minor missions which the visual organ fulfils.
The eye speaks—with an eloquence and a truthfulness
surpassing speech. It is the window out of which the
winged thoughts often fly unwittingly. It is the tiny
magic mirror on whose crystal surface the moods of feeling
fitfully play, like the sunlight and shadows on a still
stream. Yes—if there is one material form through

which the spirit is visible, and with which, when humanly
embodied, it has specially to do, that form is the EYE.
Even in animals it is emphatically the expressive feature.
Who that has noted the look of timid fondness with which
a recreant dog approaches his master, or observed the
gleam of wo with which the dying deer regards his hunters
—and has not felt this? How much more significant is the
language of the human eye! How ceaselessly does it
represent the soul! The instrument by which our most
valuable knowledge is received; it is, at the same time,
the outward interpreter of the inward world. How immediate
and delicate is the spirit's sway over the aspects and
movements of this complicated organ! Instinctively it is
raised in devotion, and bent downward in shame. When
enthusiasm lends fire to the soul, the eye flashes; when
pleasure stirs the heart, the eye sparkles; when deep
sorrow darkens the bosom, the eye distils hot tears, “faster
than Arabian trees their medicinal gum;” when confidence
stays the mind, the eye looks forth proudly; when love
fills the breast, the eye beams with glad sympathy; when
insanity desolates the brain, the eye roves wildly; and
Thus through all the epochs of human experience, the eye
typifies the workings of the soul.

To a warm-hearted wanderer through the world—to one
who finds in his fellow-beings the chief sources of by-way
pleasure—to a benevolent cosmopolite who is an adept
in eye-language, it is a delightful and constant resource.

He may be a silent man as far as regards his organs of
speech, yet he is ever conversing. In a stage-coach, by
one glance around, he discovers with whom he can find
sympathy. With these he interchanges looks during the
journey, and enjoys all the delights of sociability with
none of its trials. He reads family histories in the eye-language
of their members. If he but catch the `bonnie
blue e'en' of the passing peasant girl, a cheerful humor
is induced which abides with him for hours. And the
momentary beaming of a pair of dark lustrous orbs, fills
him with high and moving thoughts. A glance to him
is rife with expression, beyond that of his vernacular
tongue. And thus gazing into these fountains for refreshment,
and drawing thence inspiration and solace, his eye
at length meets one, the glance of which is deeply responsive—an
eye that shines like the star of a happy
destiny into his soul, and he is not again contented till
the beautiful orb beams only for him, and becomes the
light of his home. The most interesting portion of his
studies in eye-language is completed. A modern
writer, in order to illustrate an almost indescribable sentiment,
says `it was like the eye of a woman first-loved
to the soul of the poet.'

There is no lack of well-authenticated instances to
prove the power of eye-language. An infuriated animal
has often been kept trembling at bay, by the steadfast
gaze of man, beneath which its own angry eye quailed,
yet could not turn aside. I knew a venerable man who
kept a powerful ruffian quietly seated in his little parlor
for an hour at night, while the only servant of his small

household was absent in quest of aid, merely by silently
fixing upon him a fearless look, such as awed his perverted
heart and chained his strong limbs. Many a rebuke
has been silently but deeply conveyed, by the calm yet
indignant glance of the injured. How intuitively does a
child understand the slightest expression of its mother's
eye! How well do congenial beings comprehend their
affinity before any communion, save that of eye-converse!
Consider, too, the singular duration of the impression
imparted by this feature. The world abounds with minute
symbols. Each small and exquisite flower, gem or insect,
addresses the sense of the beautiful; yet they interest
but for a moment. What more expressive similitude
has poetry found for the stars, than `angels' eyes?' The
living gem of nature is the eye, and how like a spell
doth its language haunt us! Even in the pictures of the
old masters, the effect is often centered in the expression
of this single organ. What fanciful man, having an
inkling of superstition within him, has not sometimes
imagined a portrait animated with life? Shroud the eyes,
and the fantasy is gone. It has been finally remarked
of Titian's portraits that they look at us more than we at
them. We may forget the countenance of a friend from
whom we are divided in many respects; but if our
interest has ever been truly awakened in a fellow-being,
the eye-language of the individual can scarcely escape our
memories. Who cannot recall, though he may not describe,
the eye-language with which a gifted man, under
some strong inspiration, has uttered a memorable thought,
or that with which one near and dear to him has breathed
aught of deep interest to his ear? The dignity of self-possessed
thought was in the eye of Paul, ere his words
affected Festus. The beaming glance of the Grecian mother
pointed out her jewels before her lips proclaimed them.
The unfortunate know a friend and are re-assured, the
timid recognise a master spirit and are nerved, and the
guilty know their accuser and quail, at the first momentary
meeting of their gaze. Beware of the man whose eye
you can never meet.

Correggio excelled in painting downcast eyes; those
of Allston's pictures are remarkable for their grey, intellectual
expression. The St. Cecilia of Raphael probably
presents the best instance in the art, of the upturned eyes
of inspiration. Eye-language is richly illustrated in the
pages of Shakspeare. What an idea is given of its perversion
in Lear's adjuration to the unfortunate Gloster:—

Addressing Regan, he says of Goneril, `her eyes are
fierce, but thine do comfort and not burn.' Cordelia
envies not their `still soliciting eyes' and her more honest
orbs, at length, prove their sincerity, by shedding
`tears as pearls from diamonds dropp'd.' Othello when
first awoke to jealousy, in order to satisfy his doubts, exclaims
to Desdemona, `let me see your eyes!' Alas!
that he did not credit their truthful expression. Fear, too,'
is strongly evinced by the same wondrous organs. In
the awful hints the Ghost gives Hamlet of `that undiscoved
country,' among the effects prophecied from a more full

revelation, is to make his `eyes like stars start from their
spheres.' In some eyes, the bard bids us behold `a lurking
devil,' in others `love's richest book,'—in the poet's
`a fine frenzy;' and, be it remembered, it was upon the
eyes that that Puck was ordered to squeeze the little purple
flower. Perdita with her fine imagination, could find no
better similitude for `violets dim' than `the lids of Juno's
eyes.' Prospero exultingly declares, when Ferdinand
and Miranda meet, `at the first glance, they have changed
eyes.' Hear Olivia in Twelfth Night:

What poet has presented such an image of the closed
eyes of beauty as that contained in Iachimo's soliloquy
over the sleeping Imogen?—

The prominent part this miraculous little globe performs
in love, is indicated by Romeo in Capulet's garden;

And when Juliet warns him of her kinsman's designs,
he ardently exclaims,—

The fair object of his passion, as if to reciprocate the
sentiment, upon the idea of his death, cries out.—

Wolsey anticipated his downfall from the glance of
King Henry;—“ruin leaped from his eyes.” Faulcon-bridge,
as the favors of fortune depart from King John,
bids him

Biron, in Love's Labors Lost, in balancing the advantages
of book-lore and eye-language, declares—

How finely is the moral expression of the eye suggested
by the Friar who advocates the innocence of Hero;—

Bassanio augurs his success with Portia because, he
says

And even the incorrigible Benedick says to Beatrice—
“I will be buried in thy eyes.” Phœbe declares of Rosalind—

In discussing the beauty of the ancient Greeks, Shelley
suggests that the eyes of the women of that nation,
on account of their social degradation, `could not have
been deep and intricate from the workings of the mind.'
Eye-language is, indeed, no light test of cultivation; of
native disposition it is a most authentic reporter. Hunt,
in describing the hero of Rimini, alludes with singular
beauty, to the

Who has not realized the power of Byron's simile—
`like the light of a dark eye in woman?' Falstaff vaunts
of Page's wife `sometimes the beam of her view gilded
my foot, sometimes my portly belly.' Uncle Toby's dangerous
experiment in the sentry-box is well-known; and
what a holy guidance Petrarch found in the eyes of
Laura!

An old dramatist has this conceit;—

Eye-language in its sweetest manifestations, is unfortunately
liable to change, like every thing delightful upon
this earth. Touching this, a bacheloric essayist of some
note, thus reasoneth:—`Ask the married man who has
been so but a short time, if those blue eyes, where, during
many years of anxious courtship, truth, sweetness, serenity
seemed to be written in characters which could not be
misunderstood, ask him if the characters they now convey,
be exactly the same? if for truth, he does not read a
dull virtue (the mimic of constancy) which changes not
only because it wants the judgment to make a preference?
if for sweetness, he does not read a stupid habit of being
pleased at everything, if for sincerity he does not read animal
tranquillity, the dead pool of the heart, which no breeze
of passion can stir into health.'

According to Burke, clearness has much to do with the
beauty of the eye, and a languid movement of the organ is
most fascinating. Thus Venus is represented with drooping
lids. It is observable that while intense thought is indictated
by a fixed gaze, pleasurable emotions, especially of
a quiet kind, induce the lids to fall somewhat, while the orb
gently rolls. A naturalist once gave me a most vivid
description of a species of eagle common in the West,
the vibration of whose eye corresponded precisely with that
of the second hand of an old-fashioned clock. Whoever
has attentively watched the progress of a bust under the
hand of the modeller, must have realized the importance
of shape in giving its peculiar character to the eye. Indeed,
the skill of an artist may be estimated, in no small
degree, by his success in this regard. Inferior sculptors

generally fail in representing nice distinctions in the form
of the individual eye, which once caught, gives it even in
the cold and colorless marble, a life-like appearance.

Richly expressive as is the human eye, the depths and
gradations of its language are not to be lightly scanned.
Men of the most profound sentiment not unfrequently wear
an aspect of indifference, because common life awakens
not their spirits. We are often startled by the eye-language
of such persons, from the intensity with which it
breaks from the dimness of habitual reserve. I remember
two nobly endowed individuals—devoted to very different
pursuits—whose eyes are seldom lifted from the downward
gaze of meditation. I have often remarked the effect
upon their whole aspect, when, under the excitement of a
happy thought, they raise their eyes from their veiled abodes.
The sudden rising of a smiling star in a monotonous sky,
or the quick gleaming of a sunbeam athwart a dim landscape,
could not be more electrical. We are told of Coleridge,
that in moments of intense abstraction, his eyes
were so void of language as to appear almost senseless;
yet in an expressive mood they were proverbially eloquent.
And it is said of Schiller, “his deportment, his gait, the
mould of his limbs, his least motion was dignified and
grand, only his eyes were soft.” Whoever remarked the eye
of Spurzheim when he spoke of `the little beings,'—children,
must have realized the mildness and warmth of his
benevolence. I can never forget the conception of the
power of eye-language which dawned upon me, on seeing
an Italian vocalist, at the very climax of an opera, suffer the
melody to die away, and look the intense feeling of the

moment so effectively as to visibly impress the silent
multitude. Having heard much of the eye-language of
an accomplished lady, I was several times at great pains
to observe, but was invariably unsuccessful. The conversation
in each instance, had been of a general nature,
which helped to reconcile me to the disappointment. Being
soon after possessed of some circumstances of the
lady's history which gave me a clue to her inward experience,
I managed on the next opportunity to strike the
`electric chain,' and draw her into a brief but touching
narration. The gradual increase of expression and eventual
melting gaze induced by the excitement, was more
moving than any pathos of mere words or circumstance
that I ever knew.

The comparative dearth of eye-language in this country
is lamentably significant of the narrow sway of the
Ideal, and the rarity of fresh and spontaneous self-development.
Exceptions, many and brilliant, there
doubtless are;—but the traveller who has been wont to
note the eloquent activity and profundity of expression of
the eye in most of the continental countries, will feel, as
he wanders about the new world, a difference, not to say
a deficiency, in this respect. The guarded expression,
the waving, the indifferent or at best merely brisk tenor
of eye-language among the busy men around him, cannot
escape his notice. And when from beneath a fair brow,
or in the glance of an enthusiast, the mystic organ speaks
with unwonted freedom and effect, he feels revived as by
a fondly-remembered tune. Beautiful are the workings of
the mystic and microscopic machine. The flowers and

the stars speak a moving language; but from the eye
beams what will endure when fragrance and light are no
more. The curious characters of written language—barren
words treasured up by lexicographers, and arbitrarily
decreed—the lovelier hieroglyphics which bespangle the
sky, or deck the fields,—what are they compared with the
more subtle signs which beam in the visual organs—the
breathings of the soul, in that