Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 420, New Series, Jan. 17, 1852 by Various
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Various >> Chambers\'s Edinburgh Journal, No. 420, New Series, Jan. 17, 1852
'I am sorry,' replied the amateur, 'but it was the picture you have
burned which I wished to have; and as that is gone, I shall not
trouble you to paint another.'
So he departed, and Rembrandt shortly afterwards received a second
letter to the following effect: 'MASTER REMBRANDT--You have broken
your engagement, told a falsehood, wearied yourself to death, and
lost the sale of your picture--all by listening to the dictates of
avarice. Let this lesson be a warning to you in future.'
'So,' said the painter, looking round at his pupils, 'one of you
must have played me this pretty trick. Well, well, I forgive it. You
young varlets do not know the value of a florin as I know it.'
Sometimes the students nailed small copper coins on the floor, for
the mischievous pleasure of seeing their master, who suffered much
from rheumatism in the back, stoop with pain and difficulty, and try
in vain to pick them up.
Rembrandt married an ignorant peasant who had served him as cook,
thinking this a more economical alliance than one with a person of
refined mind and habits. He and his wife usually dined on brown
bread, salt herrings, and small beer. He occasionally took portraits
at a high price, and in this way became acquainted with the
Burgomaster Six, a man of enlarged mind and unblemished character,
who yet continued faithfully attached to the avaricious painter. His
friendship was sometimes put to a severe test by such occurrences as
the following:--
Rembrandt remarked one day that the price of his engravings had
fallen.
'You are insatiable,' said the burgomaster.
'Perhaps so. I cannot help thirsting for gold.'
'You are a miser.'
'True: and I shall be one all my life.'
''Tis really a pity,' remarked his friend, 'that you will not be
able after death to act as your own treasurer, for whenever that
event occurs, all your works will rise to treble their present
value.'
A bright idea struck Rembrandt. He returned home, went to bed,
desired his wife and his son Titus to scatter straw before the door,
and give out, first, that he was dangerously ill, and then
dead--while the simulated fever was to be of so dreadfully
infectious a nature that none of the neighbours were to be admitted
near the sick-room. These instructions were followed to the letter;
and the disconsolate widow proclaimed that, in order to procure
money for her husband's interment, she must sell all his works, any
property that he left not being available on so short a notice.
The unworthy trick succeeded. The sale, including every trivial
scrap of painting or engraving, realised an enormous sum, and
Rembrandt was in ecstasy. The honest burgomaster, however, was
nearly frightened into a fit of apoplexy at seeing the man whose
death he had sincerely mourned standing alive and well at the door
of his studio. Meinherr Six obliged him to promise that he would in
future abstain from such abominable deceptions. One day he was
employed in painting in a group the likenesses of the whole family
of a rich citizen. He had nearly finished it, when intelligence was
brought him of the death of a tame ape which he greatly loved. The
creature had fallen off the roof of the house into the street.
Without interrupting his work, Rembrandt burst into loud
lamentations, and after some time announced that the piece was
finished. The whole family advanced to look at it, and what was
their horror to see introduced between the heads of the eldest son
and daughter an exact likeness of the dear departed ape. With one
voice they all exclaimed against this singular relative which it had
pleased the painter to introduce amongst them, and insisted on his
effacing it.
'What!' exclaimed Rembrandt, 'efface the finest figure in the
picture? No, indeed; I prefer keeping the piece for myself.' Which
he did, and carried off the painting.
Of Rembrandt's style it may be said that he painted with light, for
frequently an object was indicated merely by the projection of a
shadow on a wall. Often a luminous spot suggested, rather than
defined, a hand or a head. Yet there is nothing vague in his
paintings: the mind seizes the design immediately. His studio was a
circular room, lighted by several narrow slits, so contrived that
rays of sunshine entered through only one at a time, and thus
produced strange effects of light and shade. The room was filled
with old-world furniture, which made it resemble an antiquary's
museum. There were heaped up in the most picturesque confusion
curious old furniture, antique armour, gorgeously-tinted stuffs; and
these Rembrandt arranged in different forms and positions, so as to
vary the effects of light and colour. This he called 'making his
models sit to him.' And in this close adherence to reality consisted
the great secret of his art. It is strange that his favourite
amongst all his pupils was the one whose style least resembled his
own--Gerard Douw--he who aimed at the most excessive minuteness of
delineation, who stopped key-holes lest a particle of dust should
fall on his palette, who gloried in representing the effects of
fresh scouring on the side of a kettle.
Rembrandt died in 1674, at the age of sixty-eight. He passed all his
life at Amsterdam. Some of his biographers have told erroneously
that he once visited Italy: they were deceived by the word
_Venetiis_ placed at the bottom of several of his engravings. He
wrote it there with the intention of deluding his countrymen into
the belief that he was absent, and about to settle in Italy--an
impression which would materially raise the price of his
productions. Strange and sad it is to see so much genius united with
so much meanness--the head of fine gold with the feet of clay.[4]
* * * * *
[Footnote 3: This picture is believed to be no longer in existence. I have
found its description in the work of the historian Decamps.]
[Footnote 4: Abridged from the French of J. de Chatillon.]
ELECTIONEERING CURIOSITY.
[In giving the following address of an American candidate,
we must beg our readers to understand that it is not
intended as a joke. Electioneering in the States,
generally speaking, is carried on with good-humour; and
when there is no real cause of squabbling, the object of
the aspirant is to get the laugh in his favour. The orator
we introduce to the English public is Mr Daniel R.
Russell, a candidate for the Auditorship in Mississippi.]
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN--I rise--but there is no use telling you that;
you know I am up as well as I do. I am a modest man--very--but I
never lost a picayune by it in my life. Being a scarce commodity
among candidates, I thought I would mention it, for fear if I did
not, you never would hear it. Candidates are generally considered as
nuisances, but they are not; they are the politest men in the world,
shake you by the hand, ask how's your family, what's the prospect
for crops, &c.--and I am the politest man in the state. Davy
Crockett says the politest man he ever saw, when he asked a man to
drink, turned his back so that he might drink as much as he pleased.
I beat that all hollow: I give a man a chance to drink twice if he
wishes, for I not only turn my back, but shut my eyes! I am not only
the politest man, but the best electioneerer: you ought to see me
shaking hands with the vibrations, the pump-handle and pendulum, the
cross-cut and wiggle-waggle. I understand the science perfectly, and
if any of the country candidates wish instructions, they must call
upon me. Fellow-citizens, I was born--if I hadn't been I wouldn't
have been a candidate; but I am going to tell you where: 'twas in
Mississippi, but 'twas on the right side of the negro line; yet that
is no compliment, as the negroes are mostly born on the same side. I
started in the world as poor as a church-mouse, yet I came honestly
by my poverty, for I inherited it; and if I did start poor, no man
can say but that I have held my own remarkably well. Candidates
generally tell you--if you think they are qualified, &c. Now, I
don't ask your thoughts, I ask your votes. Why, there is nothing to
think of except to watch and see that Swan's name is not on the
ticket; if so, _think_ to scratch it off and put mine on. I am
certain that I am competent, for who ought to know better than I do?
Nobody. I will allow that Swan is the best auditor in the state;
that is, till I am elected: then perhaps it's not proper for me to
say anything more. Yet, as an honest man, I am bound to say that I
believe it's a grievous sin to hide anything from my
fellow-citizens; therefore say that it's my private opinion,
publicly expressed, that I'll make the best auditor ever in the
United States. 'Tis not for honour I wish to be auditor; for in my
own county I was offered an office that was all honour--coroner,
which I respectfully declined. The auditor's office is worth some
5000 dollars a year, and I am in for it like a thousand of brick. To
shew my goodness of heart, I'll make this offer to my competitor.
I'm sure of being elected, and he will lose something by the
canvass, therefore I am willing to divide equally with him, and make
these offers: I'll take the salary, and he may have the honour, or
he may have the honour, and I'll take the salary.
In the way of honours, I have received enough to satisfy me for
life. I went out to Mexico, ate pork and beans, slept in the rain
and mud, and swallowed everything but live Mexicans. When I was
ordered to go, I went; 'charge,' I charged; and 'break for the
chaperel'--you had better believe I beat a quarter nag in doing my
duty.
My competitor, Swan, is a bird of golden plumage, who has been
swimming for the last four years in the auditor's pond at 5000
dollars a year. I am for rotation. I want to rotate him out, and to
rotate myself in. There's a plenty of room for him to swim outside
of that pond; therefore _pop_ in your votes for me--I'll _pop_ him
out, and _pop_ myself in.
I am for a division of labour. Swan says he has to work all the
time, with his nose down upon the public grindstone. Four years must
have ground it to a _pint_. Poor fellow! the public ought not to
insist on having the handle of his mug ground clean off. I have a
large, full-grown, and well-blown nose, red as a beet, and tough as
sole-leather. I rush to the post of duty; I offer it up as a
sacrifice; I clap it on the grindstone. Fellow-citizens, grind till
I _holler enuff_--that'll be sometime first, for I'll hang like grim
death to a dead African.
Time's most out. Well, I like to forgot to tell you my name. It's
Daniel; for short, Dan. Not a handsome name, for my parents were
poor people, who lived where the quality appropriated all the nice
names; therefore they had to take what was left and divide around
among us--but it's as handsome as I am--D. Russell. Remember, all
and every one of you, that it's not Swan.
I am sure to be elected; so, one and all, great and small, short and
tall, when you come down to Jackson after the election, stop at the
auditor's office--the latch-string always hangs out; enter without
knocking, take off your things, and make yourself at home.
A NEGRO'S ACCOUNT OF LIBERIA.
All of you that feel like it, my friends, come on home--the bush is
cleared away--you can hear no one say there is nothing to eat here.
Why, one man, Gabriel Moore, brought better than 200 cattle from the
interior this year--another 100--some 60, some 50, &c. There are no
hogs there, they say--no turkeys--why, I saw 50 or 60 in the street
at Millsburg the other day. No horses: I have got four in my stable
now; I have a mare and two colts, and I have a horse that I have
been offered 100 dollars for here; if you had him he would bring
500. If you don't believe it, let some gentleman send me a buggy or
a single gig--you shall see how myself and wife will take pleasure,
going from town to town--throw the harness in too--any gentleman
that feels like it--white or coloured--and I will try to send him a
boa constrictor to take his comfort; I know how to take the
gentleman without any danger. My oxen I was working them yesterday;
and as for goats and sheep, we have a plenty. We have a plenty to
eat, every man that will half work. I give you this; you are all
writing to me to tell you about Liberia, what we eat, and all the
news--I mean my coloured friends. Yours truly, ZION HARRIS.
LARD-CANDLES.
One of the most important discoveries or improvements of the age, is
a new species of candle which has been recently made in Cincinnati,
and which will shortly be offered extensively for sale. It is
calculated to supersede all other kinds in use by its beauty,
freedom from guttering, hardness, and capacity of giving light, in
all which respects it is superior to every other species of candle.
This candle is nearly translucent, and can be made to exhibit the
wick, when the candle is held up between the eye and the light,
while the surface is as glossy as polished wax or varnish. The
principal ingredient is lard; and the value of this manufacture can
be hardly exaggerated. Taking durability into account, it can be
made as cheap as any other candle; and there exists no single
element of comfort, convenience, profit, and economy, in which this
article has not the advantage of sperm, star, wax, or tallow
candles. It will be readily conceded that the days of all other
portable or table light, including lard-oil, are numbered. In fact,
except where intense light, as in public buildings, is an object,
gas itself cannot compete with it for public favour.--_American
Paper_.
CALIFORNIA ITEMS.
Some idea of the traffic between San Francisco and the southern
mines may be formed from the fact, that there are at this moment ten
steamers plying between San Francisco and Sacramento. The latter are
for the most part of a larger size than those on the San Joaquin
river; and make the trip of about 120 miles in from seven to eight
hours. In the elegance of their accommodations and the luxuries of
their larder, they might compare favourably with any
passenger-vessels in the world. There are ten other steamers plying
from Sacramento to different places above that city. One year ago
there was but one steamboat in Oregon--the _Columbia_; now there are
eleven of different kinds running in the Columbia and Willamette
rivers, not including the Pacific steamers, _Sea-gull_ and
_Columbia_, running between Oregon and California.
THE NOBLE MARINER.
BY THE REV. JAMES GILBORNE LYONS, LL.D.
Most readers of these lines will remember that when the ship _Ocean
Monarch_ was turned off Liverpool on the 24th of August 1848,
Frederick Jerome of New York saved fifteen lives by an act of
singular courage and benevolence. They will also lament that one so
ready to help others should himself perish by violence: he was
killed in Central America in the autumn of 1851.
Shout the noble seaman's name,
Deeds like _his_ belong to fame:
Cottage roof and kingly dome,
Sound the praise of brave Jerome.
Let his acts be told and sung,
While his own high Saxon tongue--
Herald meet for worth sublime--
Peals from conquered clime to clime.
Madly rolled the giant wreck,
Fiercely blazed the riven deck;
Thick and fast as falling stars,
Crashed the flaming blocks and spars;
Loud as surf, when winds are strong,
Wailed the scorched and stricken throng,
Gazing on a rugged shore,
Fires behind, and seas before.
On the charred and reeling prow
Reft of hope, they gather now,
Finding, one by one, a grave
In the vexed and sullen wave.
Here the child, as if in sleep,
Floats on waters dark and deep;
There the mother sinks below,
Shrieking in her mighty wo.
Britons, quick to strive or feel,
Joined with chiefs of rich Brazil;
Western freemen, prompt to dare,
Side by side with Bourbon's heir;
Proving who could _then_ excel,
Came with succour long and well;
But Jerome, in peril nursed;
Shone among the foremost--_first_.
Through the reddened surge and spray,
Fast he cleaves his troubled way;
Boldly climbs and stoutly clings,
On the smoking timber springs;
Fronts the flames, nor fears to stand
In that lorn and weeping band;
Looks on death, nor tries to shun,
Till his work of love is done.
Glorious man!--immortal work!--
Claim thy hero, proud New York;
Harp of him when feasts are spread,
Tomb him with thy valiant dead.
Who that, bent on just renown,
Seeks a Christian's prize and crown,
Would not spurn whole years of life,
For one hour of _such_ a strife?
* * * * *
Printed and Published by W. and R. 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.