by Silverpen [Eliza Meteyard].
Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William & Mary Howitt) vol.3 #54 (09 Jan 1848).
Part I.
Vespers were over in the old cathedral of Beauvais and the good canon, or le pere Pacifique, as he was called, stepped thoughtfully from the cool shadows of his little oratory into the magnificent setting sunlight that fell aslant upon the aisle pavements. Prayer was never mere lip-service with this good father; and now the nune dimittis, even yet a hymn in the far up echoes of the lofty roof, had this hour, as it had often done before, filled his sublime nature with an intense sense and feeling, that the beautiful is immortally linked unto the good, and that nature has intrusted no diviner mission unto us, than to spread it like the glorious faith of Galilee beneath the poorest roofs, and place it every where, where untaught eyes may look upon its light, and see in it the presence of divinity. Thoughtfully he paced on from light to shade, from shade to light again, till he stood in a little sea of amber glory on the floor, in which lay reflected from the grand painted window far above, a purple taper vase, that there a virgin saint for many many ages, had held to drooping lips, of such as were poor garmented, way-faring, and alone! He looked and looked again, the feeling in his soul still more sublime, and then meekly crossing his hands, he gently made his way through the quaint, quiet cloisters, and from thence into a little dull untrodden street, whose vineyards and old wooden houses looked out upon the open country. Entering his old study, where the thick wooden jalousies thrown back showed the peaceful vineyard as it lay in the sinking light, he saw seated in his leathern chair, a young man, not however looking at the quaint old Latin folio reared up upon the reading desk, but round upon the few old vases that decked the walls. None of these were gay or costly, but beautiful in form, showed on their flowing surfaces such loveliness of shape and limb, that the ideal was deified, and humanity made angelic. The young man arose and warmly embraced the good father.
"From this early visit I fear you leave Beauvais tonight, my son."
"Yes, mon pere," replied the young man with earnest friendship, and retaining within his own two hands, the withered one of the admirable father, "two modellers have been hired from Sevres, and as our great order at home stays for their assistance, and my father is in but indifferent health, I have arranged to be in Paris to-morrow, and the day after to sail from Boulogne. Therefore, mon pere, in saying adieu, I have but two regrets—leaving you, and the last sight of your lovely Veiien vase, that makes yon niche so sacred."
"The first will give you prayers instead of looks, my son Richard, the last may rest in your grand country, even before an old man's death. We know not, mon cher fils. But let us stroll into the vineyard, I have that to say which would have remembered as a benediction."
Slowly they went together into the canon's favourite grassy walk, the vines trellised on old quaint-mossed poles on one side, and on the other a low hedge of oleander, separating the vineyard from a wide marish sort of lane. A little gate led into this, and close beside it ran a small but limpid spring, soon lost, however, amidst the skirting sedges of the grassy bank.
"Dear Richard Mason," said good Father Pacifique, after some minutes' conversation, "there are two things that I wish again to impress upon your mind. In your country, as somewhat in this, the amassment of capital seems the sole aim of the manufacturer, whether he be textile or artistic; but there must be purposes beyond this, there must be self-imposed duties, there must be begot and used a patriotic morality both nationally and individually, before art will become the great elevator and teacher that it may be made. By this I do not mean to negative the possession of capital to the individual; equality of wealth remains a moral impossibility, whilst idleness and industry are inherent in human nature, but what I mean to say is, that capital should be made far more conducive to the elevation and comfort of the artizan, than it has ever yet been made. Men, the poorest men, were destined by heaven to be somewhat more than mere drudges of the earth, that is, participators as well as creators of substance and beauty. This is a divine right of labour, which it is the large wisdom of individuals and nations to recognize. Go home then, Monsieur, and let not your visits to the museums of Naples, Tarquinii, Rome, Dresden, our Sevres and our towns of Arboras, Tarrequemines in the Moselle, Toulouse, Chantilly, Bordeaux, and this our old Beauvais, be solely productive of design as beneficial to your capital, exalt your workmen through design, let those same forms which minister to wealth and luxury, however less costly their substance, serve their necessities and decorate their homes. God, my son, made no man exempt from influence of the beautiful, and through this you would do more to grandly elevate design, and place beauty as it were in the hands of fabricators, than by all the visits and models in the world. Create but keen eyesight to beauty, and nature will reveal originality and grace. For Greece became great in art because she made beauty subservient to use, and placed it as a divinity round and about her common people. I have sought to act upon this consideration, and make the poor potters of this town and the villages around something beyond mere drudges, and I have been successful as far as very limited means will allow. I have dissipated much rudeness, much coarseness, and whereverI have done this, I have found I have exalted the spirit of religious worship. Within the graceful, though coarse, rude wine-cup, I have placed as it were an emotion of the soul; on the poor platter with its wavy line, I may have laid that as essential to true sustenance, as the coarse bread and garlic; around the brown earth vase, upon the shelf or window ledge, I may have set that spirit of severe grace which appeals more to the mind than to the senses; and poured into the pitcher for the fountain and the spring an element as pure as water. I may have done somewhat of these things, mon fils, but not half what you may do."
As he spoke thus the admirable canon, stopped abruptly, and pointed to the little rustic gate, that led into the marish lane. A few minutes previously, some little children had come up the lane, and now seated upon the grassy bank, a few feet from the gate, were intent upon fabricating little dishes and cups out of the soft argillaceous earth that made the bed of the trickling spring. They were very poorly dressed, and even without sabots; but their rosy faces and shining hair, bespoke health and cleanliness. The good canon had been arrested by their merry prattle, and now as he moved to the gate with Mr. Mason, the little girls rose and clapped their hand and danced around the little lad, who still seated on the grass held up in his hands the little dish he had just made.
"Ah, mon petit Jean" spoke the little sisters out of breath with their delight, "it's beautiful, it's beautiful, it's charming, we'll carry it to Virgine, and it shall hold the supper-grapes next fete day."
"It's pretty well," spoke the boy, somewhat contemptuously throwing back his head. "I shall do fifty things better by and by, my little ones. We can ask neighbour Epignon to put it in his furnace, but it won't stand the fire."
"It's beautiful, Jean," and the little sisters would still praise it.
"It's for me, that's all," said the boy. "I saw the very thing in the flow of the garment of the Virgin, our Lady in the cathedral window, the last fast-day we went to confession. It's pretty well my little ones; but I've seen twenty prettier things sometimes, in only the swimming of the clouds. We can take it home to Virgine and ask her."
The admirable canon, who knew the children well, called them, and the little lad with the most graceful of Normannais rustic bows, came forward to the gate, bearing the dish, and followed by his little sisters. Formed only by the fingers, though with a dexterity that might have honoured the most expert of potters, ean's little dish was as graceful as if Pomona herself had fashioned it to receive the luscious berry of the vintage. The rudest bit of clay, yet suggestive of a sublime idea to the appreciating eye. Such idea lived in the child's mind, and form expressed it outwardly, as all form of the beautiful does. Mason, whose taste had been highly cultivated, looked from the child's naked feet upwards to the dish, and from that into its bright happy face.
"This is remarkable," he said, to father Pacifique.
"Ah, Monsieur," said little Minilla, the elder of the sisters, as she put her hand with innocent frankness into that of Mason's, "Jean makes little vases too, that even Virgine often says are beautiful in shape, and Virgine has been a painter at Sevres, Monsieur, and we put summer flowers into them, and call them our garden. Jean would go too to Sevres and be taught, but now we have no father."
"Ah! it is a touching history, Monsieur," spoke the canon softly, "very touching, but linked to it is one of the best sights in old Beauvais. Come, if you have ten minutes to spare, it is no farther off than the bottom of this lane." The canon placed his arm within that of Mason's, and slowly they proceeded onwards, Jean running quickly on before, and the little sisters remaining and lingering on the footsteps of the stranger.
Two or three hundred yards, and a bend in the grassy lane, brought them to a group of wood buildings, partly dwellings and partly potters' sheds. Entering one dwelling, whose coarse open lattice showed a few plants upon its ledge, they found a mud floored chamber neatly swept, a table set with the frugal evening meal, of coarse bread, garlic, and thin vin du pays, and little Jean busied in placing a few grapes upon the small clay dish, the canon had admired. A young woman met them at the door. It was Virgine Marron, a penciller in one of the stoneware manufactories of the town. There was nothing of the coquettish light hearted grisette about her; and instead of the high Normannais cap, or the braid and the bow, her smooth hair was drawn backwards into a knot, as simple as any that ever confined the luxuriant tresses of the chastest and severest goddess. Her gown was dark and plain, and a small crucifix hung at her girdle; but her poor pale face bespoke much severe labour. The good canon would not let her put off the little ones' supper, so she made them lave their hands in water set ready, say a short verse of thankfulness to the Virgin, and then, placing them round the table, portioned them their supper. Mason had time to look round the chamber, and though of wood and mud, natural grace was as plainly painted on the walls, as ever beauty was in picture by the hand of Raphael. Beauty may dwell low, as she will by and by, and be exalted by her lowliness. Thank God for this, thank God for this! as Plato said, "Beauty is the soul itself, and a type of the most Adorable Infinite!!"
Five English shillings would possibly have purchased all within the chamber. A bench, an old carved chair or two, a sort of wardrobe, and one small table, besides that spread with supper, covered with Virgine's labours of the pencil, was all the furniture the poor room held; but a coarse vase upon a bracket here, an old dish, of the precious Majolica, or earthenware of Italy, and often found as heirlooms amongst les provinciales, these, in which were elegantly set a few wild flowers and leaves, which the children had gathered, and the poor penciller had been copying; a plaster cast or two of Canova's chef-d'œuvres and M. David's busts; two small prints of Beranger and Madame Roland pasted on to oval pieces of dark wood, and the few plants that served both as a shutter and a curtain to the lattice, showed that Refinement is stepping forth from palaces, and making wide town and country her home.
Virgine, at the request of the good canon, sat down, and the little ones were silent. "Virgine, Monsieur, is both mother and father to these dear children, and labours very hard for them, as you can judge. She has had twenty offers of marriage, and could earn good wages at both Sevres and Paris, but she cannot part with these poor little ones, les petits paueres, and does not like they should quit le pere religieux. This is Virgine, Monsieur, whose chastity and diligence were never excelled in the broad shadows of our holy cathedral."
"The holy father thinks too well of his humble pupil," said Virgine, modestly, and with that ease which every Frenchwoman, if at all educated, possesses; "I wish I could do more for the dear ones, but wages here are low. Ah! too, and it's sad; mon petit is so bright a child."
"More than bright, Mademoiselle." And a grisette is proud of this title of honour, replied Mason. "I am an English potter, and of course am acquainted with its relative design and art; and to me it appears that the child is not merely bright, but possesses original genius. The form of that little dish could only have been seen by the eye of genius."
"The little ones having supped, will go and play a-while," said Virgine, and the children reluctantly withdrawing, Jean, however, keeping close beside the door, she added, "I do not like Jean to hear too much praise, however just, Monsieur, for he is a spirited child, and might, in time, have contempt for the hard, but virtuous lot in life that is before him."
"Ay, but genius should be fostered, Mademoiselle," spoke Mason.
"As all things pure from Nature should, Virgine," added the admirable father; "for Nature, like the Blessed Mother in our cathedral window, mostly gives of her spiritual cup to the poorest and sadest wayfarers of the world."
"Just so," continued Mason gravely; "and now, Mademoiselle, hear the offer of an abrupt Englishman. I am struck with the evidence of the child's taste and genius; and as I have wealth and other means of assistance, I will, for the sake of my dear friend the canon here, educate him in my manufactory. I have a school of design for my own artizans, and I would place him under my best modeller."
"I thank you, noble sir," said Virgine, rising, with the grateful tears suffusing her eyes, and making the most touching of curtseys, "for your generous offer; but I would not part with the little one—he has no father."
"He should find one in me, Virgine; and, moreover, I employ some of your countrymen, and he would not thus be wholly amongst foreigners."
"It is ungrateful to refuse so good an offer, but the child is dear to me." Virgine said this firmly, but her face grew deadly pale. She felt she was refusing a true and perhaps noble friend to this child; but intense love prevailed even over interest.
"I am sorry, very sorry," replied Mason; "for ability to serve is the choicest blessing that money bestows. But as you will; it would have been a pleasure to have given my new Sevres designer Terence such a pupil!" Virgine had stood deadly pale before; she now sunk again upon the little bench beside the table, covering her face with her hands, but not able to conceal the intense blush that now made so strange and strong a contrast.
"Perhaps Virgine," said Mason with a smile, reading the whole truth in a moment, "I may have now proffered some inducement."
"Be candid, Virgine," said the good father, "as a chaste daughter of our Holy Mother ought." Virgine withdrew her hand, and her face was now pale again, though she visibly trembled.
"The sole inducement, gentlemen, for Baptiste Terence, is my fiance. But yet little Jean, Monsieur —."
Le petite Jean had no desire to be thus tied to the apron strings, small as he was, and having crept in he now stood beside his sister, and putting his arms roguishly around her neck, whispered, pretty loudly though—"Do let me go with the grand Englishman, Virgine, and make plates and dishes, and be a brave man, and earn money, and come back and love you, and buy you a new rosary and fete-day gift." Little Jean hung upon the reply.
The admirable father, who had interested himself much in the fortunes of Virgine, here stepped forward and said "That Mr. Mason being one of the most wealthy English potters, and a noble-hearted man, was likely to be a most true and useful friend to the child." The father's words had always been holy to Virgine, and so, in some half-hour's conversation that followed, her consent to part with Jean was obtained, and an arrangement made that Richard Mason should delay his departure from Beauvais till the morrow, and that little Jean should accompany him in the same diligence.
The news soon spread like wildfire through Beauvais, that Jean was going to England with the grand Monsieur, and good gossips came to hear, and help Virgine to wash and mend his small wardrobe, or bring some little token of remembrance from their poor stores; and decent artizans, who had known the child's father, to say a blessing, having children of their own; and Jean could not sleep in his little bed, but getting up again was busy half the night with little Minilla and the little Ninon packing a few dried flowers that they had gathered in their many summer play hours, amidst the green lanes and quiet woods; and then at the very first peep of the sun, running out, for the last time, hand in hand together, to view the little spring they called their own and take a last peep into the dear old canon's vineyard, who had been so kind as to say such good things to the "grand monsieur."
They by and by were called back by one of the good gossips, and poor Virgine, giving them their breakfast tearfully, washed the little lad, combed his bright hair, put on his best blouse and new shoes, and saying she was going out to matins, took Jean's hand and went forth alone with him to the grey and old cathedral. It was open, and the priests in the matin service were chanting Venite, exultemus Domino, and commenced this sublime verse as the sister and the child knelt—
"0, come, let us worship and fall down and kneel before the Lord our Maker."
* * * * *
And, after the context, this of the Benediction—
"And thou, child, shalt be called the Prophet of the Highest; for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord
to prepare his way,
And to give knowledge unto his people * * * *"
"Yes, knowledge, for it flows from the beautiful continuously, and from that knowledge is springing religion, of which every one is a prophet that teaches, exalts, and purifies nature."
After matins, one of the priests who knew of the child's coming departure, came and es the benediction, and then leaving them the child and sisters knelt alone. Not a sound broke the holy stillness of the aisle—nothing but the spirit of God was above, below, around; and the sun, stealing on the footsteps of the day, came through the eastern window, throwing, not the image of the holy vase upon the floor, but that of an angel blessing little children, to send them forth on the divine missions of the world!
"My little Jean," whispered the good sister, as she drew the child tenderly within her arms, "you are going away from me; but you must not forget God, my dear one, for he creates every beautiful thing you love, The flowers, the sky, the setting sun, the mornign light are magnificent through him alone, and therefore He is the beautiful; and you must worship him, my little one. Every beautiful line you trace will be to His glory; every form you place before the poor and rude, may teach them how to pray, by the best prayers of good to fellow-men. Think of this, my Jean; and though yet a little lad, be diligent and grateful to the good Monsieur. Pray for me, and your little Manilla, and your Minon; and when you feel cruel to others, or speak untruth, or grow idle, think of the vase that lies so holy on those grey stones in the broad sinking sun, and you will grow good, my little one. My spirit in prayer to our Holy Mother will watch over you, and you may be a good man, and a true man, if you will, my little Jean."
"I will, I will," said the sobbing child, clinging passionately to her, "and love you, Virgine."
The sister and the bright-haired boy were silent as they trod the shadows of the old cathedral.
There were many tears before little Jean was seated in the diligence besides Monsieur; but the poor grisette of Beauvais hid her tears, and bid Jean, in a whisper, be careful of the letter beneath his little blouse, and deliver it, when alone, to Baptiste Terence.
The admirable canon went even so far in his adieu to Richard Mason as to add, that he might visit England for his sake.
The sun shone brightly and hopefully on the grey cathedral, as the diligence rolled from the town towards the open country of vineyards and orchards.
Before a week was over, little Jean was safe in the hospitable house of Richard Mason, and busy with his drawing, under the care of the Sevres designer, Baptiste Terence.
No further off than the day after his return, Richard Mason took a short journey to the moorlands of Staffordshire. In its woodiest depths lay an old country hall, full of quaint gables, and old oriels richly stained. He tethered his horse to a stone buttress of the old fashioned terrace, and with quick but light step made his way to its most retired part. The lattice of the oriel was open, and a quaint old library lay within. On the broad window-seat sat a young woman of somewhat haughty beauty; on the table near were strewn books, at her feet lay an open folio, and on the leaf was shown the copy of an Etruscan pitcher, that for grace the naiads of old Thessaly might have held to the lips of their freshest fountain. In a moment, Richard was within the chamber, and by the side of his betrothed. Their marriage-day was to be within a week, and therefore their meeting was one of interest.
After the first hour of their interview was over, Richard began to talk of their life after marriage. "I am come back with new views of my duty as a capitalist and employer, and you must aid my views, dear Gertrude. From what I've seen, what I know, by what I have been taught, I have learnt that art will never spring spontaneously, or become original, till we make our artizans enjoyers as well as producers, and therefore, love, you must assist me in my views. I intend to enlarge my present humble drawing school, fabricate, even if in coarse material, utensils of the chastest design, for my various workmen, and take such means as shall appear unintentional to them, for decorating their homes, and placing form, where the eye of infancy may grow by it, and the mature mind at last recognise in it a visible, yet potent power, that can in nowise be long the associate of coarseness and vulgarity. You will assist me, I know, my Gertrude."
"I scarcely think I can, Richard," replied the proud young beauty; "I shall have so many visits to make, and so many to receive, after our marriage, that I shall have little time. Besides, dear Papa used to say it is at all times impolitic to meddle with the tastes of the vulgar; they have work, and are paid—is not that sufficient?" Richard looked at her rich dress, at the luxury of the quaint chamber, and the glorious book at her feet, and he turned away his face in bitterness, to think that here was everything to minister to the beautiful, and yet it was not, except as it existed a mere condition of self. The peasant girl of Beauvais rose up a sublime creature by the parallel. A few wild flowers, a vase upon the cathedral floor where the sun went west, these had been the rudimental teachers, and yet the beautiful existed.
The stern averted glance, the bitter sigh, touched Gertrude, and she took his hand. "Well, Richard, you know I cannot understand your new notions by instinct. Can I, for you, too, used to say wages paid work."
"Yes, but I know otherwise now. Money is but the material part of that which is due to the worker, so now the long old, but as yet new truths are teaching unto men. Individual capital perishes from hand to hand because of this selfishness; manufacturers are driven from our shores by the competitive part of this same monstrous selfishness; art in all shapes is comparatively inert and barren, because of this antagonistic principle, that sets apart beauty as solely a creation for the conventional and rich. But this must now be altered, THE MASTER MUST BECOME THE SPIRITUAL WORKMAN; manufacturers must not be expatriated from their several climates by a self-devouring selfishness; beauty, as a part, as a sublime and grand part of our new religion, our new humanities, our new philosophy, our new truths, our tendency of fearless inquiry, and investigation, must be used to elevate the souls of all. With this sublimity of reason, this perception of truth, the new philosophy, the eternal Shakspeare, the gorgeous mind of Milton, foreshadow by faith and works the coming advent of a great Age of Art, great because of beauty existing as the spiritual type of a severe yet vital souled morality, and morality the effect of an appreciation of good as a condition of the beautiful. Just as Plato and Homer were the creators of all that was sublime in Phidias and Praxiteles. This I have learnt, and whether I am aided or not, henceforth every cup I fabricate, every dish moulded, shall serve a double purpose if I have means and power."
"But why be so grave, Richard; people about here are not so wise as you, and care little whether you are called the new Wedgewood or not?"
"For this reason, those that have knowledge must work. And I am grave, because I hoped to find in you one that might have co-operated in my views."
"Well, Richard, you'll have these pictures, these books, this house, and they must make up for my want of interest in pots and pans."
Richard laughed at this last expression, and this laughter bringing back his good humour, the matter was presently forgotten.
A week after this Richard Mason was married, and upon his return with his bride from an excursion into Wales, a fete was given at the hall to the working people. As this place was not more than three miles distance from his works, Richard had now left his father and come to live here, and the festive preparations were laid out on the broad lawn. There was a grand dinner spread out on long tables, and after it, when fruit and ale were sent round, Mr. and Mrs. Mason and their visitors, came out upon the terrace to look on, and hear an address from the foreman of the works. All, by Richard's order had brought their little children, and when the health-giving and speeches were over, they were allowed to run uncontroulled far and wide upon the grassy sward. Amongst these was little Jean, and having heard from Terence so much about la grande dame of the "tres bon Monsieur," he stopped in his running beside the terrace, to look at her. She stood there richly dressed, but without, as the child's quick eye perceived, a boquet, pendent in her drooping hand, or at her girdle, and as in his country no one is in holiday attire without, he went away arid soon came back, with three or four of the richest coloured Autumn flowers, so placed as to form a little cupola. He begged a piece of paper from Terence's pocket book, and then covering their stems, he went sideling up to Mrs. Mason, and with much naivete placed them in her hand.
"Not any thank you," and Mrs. Mason with a haughty wave of her hand repulsed the gift. In his country, even in rustic Beauvais, it would have been received with a smile and a thank, but he understood the proud repulse, though he could not the words. The tears started to his eyes, for his heart was warm and affectionate. He drew aside to the solitary shade of some trees, and there sat down. But his little playmates soon found him out, for though they could not understand his words, they liked to hear his voice and see his gesticulation. They played on awhile merrily in the sunshine, when they were called to tea, which was placed for them on two round tables, with pyramids of cake and bread and butter. Jean had brought his boquet to the table and now climbing on the bench he stretched across and raised the flowers within the middle dish of cake. The little ones clapped their hands and were delighted and called out "more, more."
Mason was attracted by their voices, and came to look. "You're a good boy," he said, seeing it was Jean, "and as these flowers delight, you shall dress up all the dishes, Jean, and I give you leave to gather as many as you like from yonder bed."
Jean ran off and soon came back with his hands full. There were soon then enough to dress the dishes gaily, and the child with fertile invention laid them as a wreath round the table, so that they lay like a rib before each little cup. The effect was marvellous on the children and Mason not only watched the scene with absorbed intent, but also now and then stepped away to the other child's table in the distance to glance at the contrast where no beauty was.
"Oh, don't make crumbs," cried many little voices at the flower-table. "No, nor lay down a wet spoon.—See, don't spill the tea.—Please do not brush away my beautiful flowers as you lift the cake.—No, no, we won't eat that piece, the leaves would fall."—Mason was delighted, he stepped away and fetched his wife and some of his designers.