The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 117, July, 1867: A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics

In Short

This volume of The Atlantic Monthly functions as a panoramic mirror of the American experience in 1867. It blends serialized fiction by luminaries like Oliver Wendell Holmes and Henry James with rigorous essays on science, international politics, and the state of the arts. By balancing the practical—such as the economics of piano manufacturing—with the philosophical, the magazine documents a nation attempting to reconcile its frontier expansion and industrial growth with its traditional, often Eurocentric, cultural heritage. Its longevity stems from this meticulous documentation of a society in rapid, conscious transition.

The Story

The narrative arc of this volume is not a single plot, but a collective progression of national thought. The magazine opens with the earnest, domestic dramas of New England life, where characters like the impulsive Richard and the poised Gertrude navigate the social pressures of courtship and the weight of their own reputations. These personal tales provide a grounding in the era's Victorian sensibilities, where emotional restraint is the expected norm and romantic misunderstandings carry the gravity of life-altering failures.

As the volume moves toward its mid-section, the focus shifts to the broader world. We follow travelers through the quiet, storied streets of Padua or the rugged, snow-dusted wilderness of Greenland, where host and guest debate the "eternal fitness of things" while staring at arctic landscapes. These travelogues act as bridges, moving the reader from the intimate parlors of the American Northeast to the ancient, crumbling stones of Europe. The story here is one of discovery: the realization that the old world is both a place of historical beauty and a site of ongoing political turmoil.

The later sections of the volume turn toward the analytical. We find discussions on the nature of genius, the history of music, and the shifting role of the Church in an increasingly secular, state-focused world. The intellectual journey concludes with a series of retrospective assessments: the tragic, sudden death of a young woman in Paris, the cold, analytical breakdown of the history of the piano, and the legislative wisdom of ancient civilizations like Sybaris. The volume leaves the reader with a sense of the fragility of human institutions. Whether through the lens of a "slim black casket" standing in a darkened salon or the "parchment visages" of market women in an Italian square, the magazine illustrates a consistent theme: history is a palimpsest. Every era writes over the last, and the present is merely a brief, fleeting moment of "succulent verdure" before it, too, becomes a memory to be excavated by future generations.

How It Unfolds

The domestic sphere The volume begins by immersing the reader in the delicate social maneuvers of the parlor, where young men and women test the boundaries of affection. These early chapters establish a rhythm of quiet, conversational tension that underscores the period’s focus on propriety.

The wide horizon The narrative lens widens as contributors recount their travels through the "by-ways of Europe" and the frigid reaches of the far North. Here, the focus moves from local courtship to the philosophical implications of living in isolation or navigating foreign landscapes.

The mechanics of culture The magazine pivots to address the material reality of its readers, dissecting how pianos are manufactured and sold across the growing American landscape. This section grounds the reader in the industrial fervor of the 1860s, framing music as both a commercial product and a moral necessity.

The weight of history The tone turns meditative as the writers confront the collapse of empires and the inevitability of death. By contrasting the rise of new states with the static, wrinkled faces of the past, the volume highlights the relentless, cyclical nature of progress.

The final synthesis The concluding pages offer a critique of the modern age, urging the reader to look beyond contemporary political squabbles. The volume ends by examining the legacy of human thought, from ancient laws to the "music of charity" found in the simplest hymns.

The People

The volume is populated by a range of figures who reflect the diverse concerns of the era. We meet the impulsive and often jealous Richard, who struggles to master his own turbulent, "hot-blooded" impulses in the face of his unrequited love for the composed Gertrude. Alongside them, we see the tragic figure of Julie Dorine, whose sudden, silent death serves as a stark reminder of the brevity of life and the cruelty of miscommunication.

In the non-fiction contributions, the figures are often intellectual archetypes. We encounter the "luxury-loving" scholar in Greenland, who challenges his visitor’s assumptions about comfort, and the "old, parchment-faced" market women of Padua, whose wrinkled features are described as living records of the Hunnish invasions and the Roman past. We also see the "brave" and rigid Charondas, the ancient legislator whose own adherence to his laws leads to his eventual self-destruction, serving as a cautionary tale about the perils of absolute legalism. Finally, the "faithful" servant Janet acts as a bridge between the reader and the narrative, her quiet devotion to her mistress revealing the hidden, often painful, sacrifices made within the domestic household.

In Its Own Voice

"Women love the conquering party,--it is the way of their sex."

This observation highlights the period’s rigid, often essentialist, views on gender dynamics during a moment of romantic conflict.

"The moment the idea was conceived of striking the strings with hammers, unlimited improvement was possible."

This technical assessment captures the era’s fascination with industrial innovation as applied to the arts.

"If it were autumn, and I were in the great market-place before the Palazzo della Ragione, I should hear the baskets of amber-hued and honeyed grapes humming with the murmur of multitudinous bees."

This evocative description demonstrates the magazine's commitment to lyrical, sensory-rich travel writing.

What It's Really About

At its core, this volume grapples with the tension between the ideal and the real. It asks whether human civilization—represented by the mechanical, the legal, and the religious—can ever truly satisfy the "moral wants" of humanity. The contributors explore how the past imposes itself on the present, and whether modern man can maintain his "celestial harmonies" while working in a world defined by industrial competition, political corruption, and the relentless ticking of the clock. It is an argument for the necessity of art and intellectual rigor as defenses against a cold, increasingly materialistic existence.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate prose of the nineteenth century will find this volume deeply rewarding. It offers a rare, unfiltered look at the concerns of 1867, stripped of modern hindsight. You will find it feels like stepping into a crowded, dimly lit study where the greatest minds of the day are debating the future of the world. It is not always easy reading; the language is dense, the period attitudes toward women and social class are often starkly traditional, and the serialized fiction assumes a patience that modern readers may find challenging. However, for those who value the "rich and wholesome juices" of historical literature, the rewards are immense. The essays on the piano industry and the philosophical musings on the Papacy provide a fascinating contrast to our own era of rapid digital shift. You will leave these pages with a renewed appreciation for how much—and how little—has changed in the fundamental struggle to find meaning in a world that is always, and has always been, in a state of rapid transition.