Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 423
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'Jules,' she replied, 'let me paint; you know I have very little time. You are playing the spoiled child: you abuse my indulgence.'
'Indeed, Emily, I am not jesting; you must really speak to Henry. If you knew how unhappy he is!'
Mlle d'Orbe, raising her eyes to the boy, was struck with his pale and anxious face, and said to him in a kind voice, as she continued her painting: 'Forgive my rudeness, my little friend; this picture is to be sent to the Exposition, and I have not a moment to lose, because, both for my brother's sake and my own, I wish it to do me credit. But speak, my child; speak without fear, and be assured that I will not refuse you anything that is in the power of a poor artist.'
Henry, regaining a little courage, told her what he desired: then Jules having related his friend's visit to their master, Henry added: 'But I see very well, mademoiselle, that you cannot do this portrait either, and I am sorry to have disturbed you.'
In the meantime little Jules had been kissing his sister, and caressing her soft hair, entreating her not to refuse his little friend's request. Mlle d'Orbe was painting Anna Boleyn: she stopped her work; a struggle seemed to arise in the depth of her heart, while she looked affectionately on the children. She, however, soon laid aside her pallett, and casting one glance of regret on her picture: 'I will take your father's portrait,' she said to Henry—'that man of sorrow, and of genius. Your mother's wish shall be fulfilled.'
She had scarcely uttered these words when a lady entered the room. She was young, pretty, and richly dressed. Having announced her name, she asked Mlle d'Orbe to take her portrait, on the express condition that it should be finished in time to be placed in the Exposition.
'It is impossible for me to have this honour, madame,' replied the artist: 'I have a picture to finish, and I have just promised to do a portrait to which I must give all my spare time.'
'You would have been well paid for my portrait, and my name in the catalogue would have made yours known,' added the young countess.
Mlle d'Orbe only replied by a bow; and the lady had scarcely withdrawn, when taking her bonnet and shawl, the young artist embraced her brother, took Henry by the hand, and said to him: 'Bring me to your mother, my child.'
Henry flew rather than walked; Mlle d'Orbe could with difficulty keep up with him. Both ascended to the fifth storey in the house in the Rue Descartes, where this poor family lived. When they reached the door, Henry tapped softly at it. Mme G– opened it.
'Mamma,' said the boy, trembling with emotion, 'this lady is an artist: she is come to take papa's portrait.' The poor woman, who had not hoped for such an unexpected happiness, wept as she pressed to her lips the hands of Mlle d'Orbe, and could not find words to express her gratitude.
The portrait was commenced at once; and the young artist worked with zeal and devotion, for her admiration of the gifted and unfortunate man was intense. She resolved to make the piece valuable as a work of art, for posterity might one day demand the portrait of this gifted man, and her duty as a painter was to represent him in his noblest aspect.
Long sittings fatigued the invalid; so it was resolved to take two each day, and the young artist came regularly twice every day. As by degrees the strength of the sick man declined, the portrait advanced. At length, at the end of twelve days, it was finished: this was about a week before the death of M. G–.
At the same time that she was painting this portrait, Mlle d'Orbe worked with ardour on her large painting, always hoping to have it ready in time. This hope did not fail her until some days before the 1st of February. There was but a week longer to work: and this year she must abandon the idea of sending to the Exposition.
Some artists who had seen her picture had encouraged her very much; she could count, in their opinion, on brilliant success. This she desired with all her heart: first, from that noble thirst of glory which God has implanted in the souls of artists; and, secondly, from the influence it would have on the prospects of her little Jules, whom she loved with a mother's tenderness, and whom she wished to be able to endow with all the treasures of education. This disappointment, these long hours of toil, rendered so vain at the very moment when she looked forward to receive her reward, so depressed the young artist, that she became dangerously ill.
Mlle d'Orbe had very few friends, as she was an orphan, and lived in great retirement; she found herself therefore completely left to the care of her young attendant. When Jules met Henry at the drawing-school he told him of his sister's illness: Henry informed his mother, and Mme G– immediately hastened to Mlle d'Orbe, whom she found in the delirium of a fever from which she had been suffering for some days. The servant said that her mistress had refused to send for a doctor, pretending that her illness did not signify. Mme G–, terrified at the state of her young friend, went out and soon returned with Dr Raymond.
The invalid was delirious: she unceasingly repeated the words—'portrait,' 'Anna Boleyn,' 'exposition,' 'fortune,' 'disappointed hopes;' which plainly indicated the cause of her illness, and brought tears into the eyes of Mme G–. 'Alas!' she said, 'it is on my account she suffers: I am the cause of her not finishing her picture. Doctor, I am very unfortunate.'
'All may be repaired,' replied the doctor: 'if you will promise to nurse the invalid, I will answer for her recovery.'
In fact, Mme G– never left the sick-bed of Mlle d'Orbe. The doctor visited her twice in the day, and their united care soon restored the health of the interesting artist.
Mademoiselle was scarcely convalescent when she went to the Exposition of paintings at the Louvre, of which she had heard nothing—the doctor and Mme G– having, as she thought, avoided touching on a subject which might pain her. She passed alone through the galleries, crowded with distinguished artists and elegantly-dressed ladies, saying to herself that perhaps her picture would have been as good as many which attracted the admiration of the crowd. She was thus walking sadly on, looking at the spot where she had hoped to have seen her Anna Boleyn, when she found herself stopped by a group of artists. They were unanimous in their praises. 'This is the best portrait in the Exposition,' said one. 'A celebrated engraver is about to buy from the artist the right to engrave this portrait for the new edition of the author's works,' said another. 'We are very fortunate in having so faithful a likeness of so distinguished a writer as M. G–.'
At this name Mlle d'Orbe raised her eyes, and recognised her own work! Pale, trembling with emotion, the young artist was obliged to lean on the rail for support; then opening the catalogue, she read her name as if in a dream, and remained for some time to enjoy the pleasure of hearing the praises of her genius.
When the Exposition closed she hastened to Mme G–, and heard that it was Dr Raymond who had conceived the happy idea of sending the portrait to the Louvre. 'My only merit is the separating myself for a time from a picture which is my greatest consolation,' added Mme G–.
From this day the young artist became the friend of the poor widow, whose prospects soon brightened. Through the influence of some of the friends of her lost husband, she obtained a pension from government—a merited but tardy reward! The two ladies lived near each other, and spent their evenings together. Henry and Jules played and studied together. Marie read aloud, while her mother and Mlle d'Orbe worked. Dr Raymond sometimes shared in this pleasant intercourse. He had loved the young artist from the day he had seen her renounce so much to do a generous action; but, an orphan like herself, and with no fortune but his profession, he feared to be rejected if he offered her his hand. It was therefore Mme G– who charged herself with pleading his suit with the young artist.
Mlle d'Orbe felt a lively gratitude towards the young doctor for the care and solicitude he had shewn during her illness, and for sending her portrait to the Exposition. Thanks to him, she had become known; commissions arrived in numbers, a brilliant future opened before her and Jules. Mme G– had, then, a favourable answer to give to her young friend, who soon became the husband of the interesting artist whose generous sacrifice had been the foundation of her happiness.
ACCIDENTS AT SEA
On this subject an interesting return to an order of the House of Commons was lately made by the management of Lloyd's, and has caused some discussion in the public prints. The return applies to the four years ending December 1850; and during this period, it appears that the number of collisions, wrecks, and other accidents at sea, was 13,510; being at the rate of 3377 per annum, 9 per diem, or 1 for every 2¾ hours. Commenting on these details, the Times observes, that 'it must not be understood that every accident implies a total wreck, with the loss of all hands. If a ship carries away any of her important spars, or, on entering her port, strikes heavily against a pier, whereby serious damage is occasioned, the accident is duly registered in this pithy chronicle of Lloyd's. Nevertheless, as we glance up and down the columns, it is no exaggeration to say, that two-thirds of the accidents recorded are of the most serious description. We are unable to say to what degree this register of Lloyd's can be accepted as a fair index to the tragedies which are of such hourly occurrence upon the surface of the ocean. If all were known, we fear that this average of accident or wreck every 2¾ hours would be fearfully increased. The truth must he told. The incapacity of too many of the masters in the British mercantile marine has been the pregnant cause of loss to their owners and death to their crews. Men scarcely competent to take the responsibility of an ordinary day's work, or, if competent, of notoriously intemperate habits, were placed in command of sea-going ships through the parsimony or nepotism of the owners. The result of the educational clauses in the Mercantile Marine Bill of last session, will no doubt be to provide a much larger body of well-trained men, from among whom our shipowners can select the most competent persons for command.'
These observations called forth a reply from the President of the Seaman's Association, vindicating mariners from the charges so brought against them. A few passages from the letter of this respondent are worth noticing. 'Are British sailors,' he asks, 'really so bad as you represent? If so, then you condemn by implication the seamen of the United States, for they are also Anglo-Saxon. Let me direct your attention to a few facts bearing out this assertion. The desertions from the royal navy in 1846 (see Parliamentary Returns) were 2382; this is about 1 out of every 14 seamen annually. Nearly the whole of these men keep to the United States' service. Again, the desertions from Quebec in consequence of three things—first, low wages; secondly, register-tickets; thirdly, the payment of 1s., exacted from every man on shipment and discharge, to a shipping office, to uphold the Mercantile Marine Act, for which the men receive no value—were upwards of 1400 this season; and about 4000 from all other ports. From American statistics, it is proved that two-thirds of the seamen sailing in ships of the United States are British subjects; and if American ships are preferred to British, it must be because they are manned by our fine spirited tars. A large proportion of their ships are commanded by Englishmen.'
An effort, as is well known, has lately been made to elevate the character of British seamen, by means of registries under the Mercantile Marine Act, and the issuing of tickets, which must be produced by sailors. Our belief is, that much of the legislation on this subject has been injurious; as any law must be which attempts to regulate the bargains of employers and employed. It may be proper for master-mariners to be subjected to some kind of test of ability, but it appears to us that it would be equally beneficial to encourage young men to enter the profession. To pay well is, after all, the true way to get good servants. Why do British sailors desert to the American service? Because they are better paid. And having so deserted, they unfortunately cannot again procure employment under the British flag without producing a register-ticket, which, of course, they cannot do. Thus, picked men are permanently lost to the British navy. Besides offering higher wages, it might have proved extremely advantageous to open nautical schools for youths desirous of going to sea. According to existing arrangements, the sailor—like the French workman with his livret—is considered to be a child not fit to take care of himself; and the law interposes to say he shall do this, and do that, under a penalty for neglect of its provisions. This is to keep sailors in a state of perpetual tutelage; and being at variance with the principles of civil liberty, it is to be feared that the practice can lead to nothing but mischief.
As to wrecks, the cause of the chief disasters seems as often to be imperfect construction of vessels and imperfect stowage, as anything else; while loss of life for the greater part arises from a deficiency of boats, and the means of readily unshipping them. As victims of ill-made, badly-found, and rotten vessels, not to speak of land-sharks and sea-sharks—as the sufferers in life and limb when shippers and brokers may be actually benefiting from casualties—sailors, as a class, merit public sympathy instead of reproach or discouragement.
'VISIT TO AN ENGLISH MONASTERY.'
We have received a letter from the Abbot of Mount St Bernard's, pointing out, in courteous terms, several inaccuracies in the article which appeared with the above title in No. 413 of this Journal. Meat, it seems, is only 'strictly prohibited' to the healthy: it is allowed to the sick and infirm when prescribed by the doctor. Every night before compline the brethren meet to hear some pious lecture read, not to confess their thoughts to the superior. Instead of one meal a day, as stated by our correspondent, the lay-brethren, who are employed chiefly in manual labour, have at least two meals every day during the whole year, excepting fast-days; and the choir-brethren two meals a day during the summer, and one during the winter. To the latter, when they are of a weakly constitution, a collation is allowed in addition. The greatest error of all, however, appears to us to exist in the estimate formed of the abbot, who, judging by his correspondence, is evidently as informed and intelligent a person as is usually met with out of the monastic circle.
AMERICAN HOMAGE TO SHAKSPEARE AND MRS COWDEN CLARKE
There is a work to which many of our readers are probably strangers, but which has roused the enthusiasm of the New World. It is a work of immense labour, which in writing and correcting proofs occupied its author sixteen years. This author is a lady, and the production on which she bestowed so much unwearied patience and perseverance, during a space of time equivalent in most cases to an entire literary life, is a Concordance to Shakspeare. 'Her work,' says Mr Webster, the American Secretary of State, 'is a perfect wonder, surprisingly full and accurate, and exhibiting proof of unexampled labour and patience. She has treasured up every word of Shakspeare, as if he were her lover, and she were his.' But Mr Webster and his countrymen were not satisfied even with such generous praise: they determined to present Mrs Clarke with an enduring testimonial of their gratitude and respect; and, accordingly, the ceremony has recently been performed by Mr Abbot Laurence, the American minister. The list of subscribers, we are told, 'contains names from Maine to Mexico. Even the far, far west, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Illinois, have contributed; whilst Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Maryland, Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and South Carolina, swell the list of the most distinguished American literati, embracing a fair sprinkling of fair ladies. There is even a subscriber from the shores of the Pacific.' The testimonial is an elaborately carved library chair, bearing on the top rail a mask of Shakspeare, copied in ivory from the Stratford bust, wreathed with oak-leaves and laurel, and shaded by the wings of two of 'Avon's swans.' Although an elegant and costly gift, however, in itself, there is attached to this testimonial a meaning and a value which we trust will make its due impression in the native land of Shakspeare—in that mother-country to which the eyes of her western descendants are thus turned in the lofty sympathy which binds together throughout the whole world the children and worshippers of genius.
TO WORDSWORTH
The voice of Nature in her changeful moodsBreathes o'er the solemn waters as they flow,And 'mid the wavings of the ancient woodsMurmurs, now filled with joy, now sad and low.Thou gentle poet, she hath tuned thy mindTo deep accordance with the harmonyThat floats above the mountain summits free—A concert of Creation on the wind.And thy calm strains are breathed as though the doveAnd nightingale had given thee for thy dowerThe soul of music and the heart of love;And with a holy, tranquillising powerThey fall upon the spirit, like a gleamOf quiet star-light on a troubled stream.M.A. Hoare.INTELLECT DEVELOPED BY LABOUR
Are labour and self-culture irreconcilable to each other? In the first place, we have seen that a man, in the midst of labour, may and ought to give himself to the most important improvements, that he may cultivate his sense of justice, his benevolence, and the desire of perfection. Toil is the school for these high principles; and we have here a strong presumption that, in other respects, it does not necessarily blight the soul. Next, we have seen that the most fruitful sources of truth and wisdom are not books, precious as they are, but experience and observation; and these belong to all conditions. It is another important consideration, that almost all labour demands intellectual activity, and is best carried on by those who invigorate their minds; so that the two interests, toil and self-culture, are friends to each other. It is mind, after all, which does the work of the world, so that the more there is of mind, the more work will be accomplished. A man, in proportion as he is intelligent, makes a given force accomplish a greater task; makes skill take the place of muscle, and with less labour, gives a better product. Make men intelligent, and they become inventive; they find shorter processes. Their knowledge of nature helps them to turn its laws to account, to understand the substances on which they work, and to seize on useful hints, which experience continually furnishes. It is among workmen that some of the most useful machines have been contrived. Spread education, and as the history of this country shews, there will be no bounds to useful invention.—Channing.
Printed and Published by W. and K. Chambers, High Street, Edinburgh. Also sold by W.S. Orr, Amen Corner, London; D.N. Chambers, 55 West Nile Street, Glasgow; and J. M'Glashan, 50 Upper Sackville Street, Dublin.—Advertisements for Monthly Parts are requested to be sent to Maxwell & Co., 31 Nicholas Lane, Lombard Street, London, to whom all applications respecting their insertion must be made.
1
1. Friends in Council: a Series of Headings and Discourse thereon. New Edition. Two vols. 2. Companions of my Solitude. Pickering. London: 1851.
2
See article, 'A Child's Toy,' in No. 418.