CHAPTER II._Biographical Stories (From: "True Stories of History and Biography")

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When evening came, Mr. Temple found Edward considerably revived in spirits

and disposed to be resigned to his misfortune. Indeed, the figure of the

boy, as it was dimly seen by the firelight, reclining in a well-stuffed

easy-chair, looked so very comfortable that many people might have envied

hun. When a man’s eyes have grown old with gazing at the ways of the

world, it does not seem such a terrible misfortune to have them bandaged.

Little Emily Robinson sat by Edward’s side with the air of an accomplished

nurse. As well as the duskiness of the chamber would permit she watched

all his motions and each varying expression of his face, and tried to

anticipate her patient’s wishes before his tongue could utter them. Yet it

was noticeable that the child manifested an indescribable awe and

disquietude whenever she fixed her eyes on the bandage; for, to her simple

and affectionate heart, it seemed as if her dear friend Edward was

separated from her because she could not see his eyes. A friend’s eyes

tell us many things which could never be spoken by the tongue.

George, likewise, looked awkward and confused, as stout and healthy boys

are accustomed to do in the society of the sick or afflicted. Never having

felt pain or sorrow, they are abashed, from not knowing how to sympathize

with the sufferings of others.

“Well, my dear Edward,” inquired Mrs. Temple, “is Your chair quite

comfortable? and has your little nurse provided for all your wants? If so,

your father is ready to begin his stories.”

“O, I am very well now,” answered Edward, with a faint smile. “And my ears

have not forsaken me, though my eyes are good for nothing. So pray, dear

father, begin.”

It was Mr. Temple’s design to tell the children a series of true stories,

the incidents of which should be taken from the childhood and early life

of eminent people. Thus he hoped to bring George, and Edward, and Emily

into closer acquaintance with the famous persons who have lived in other

times by showing that they also had been children once. Although Mr.

Temple was scrupulous to relate nothing but what was founded on fact, yet

he felt himself at liberty to clothe the incidents of his narrative in a

new coloring, so that his auditors might understand them the better.

“My first story,” said he, “shall be about a painter of pictures.”

“Dear me!” cried Edward, with a sigh. “I am afraid I shall never look at

pictures any more.”

“We will hope for the best,” answered his father. “In the mean time, you

must try to see things within your own mind.”

Mr. Temple then began the following story:—

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BENJAMIN WEST.

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[BORN 1738. DIED 1820]

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In the year 1735 there came into the world, in the town of Springfield,

Pennsylvania, a Quaker infant, from whom his parents and neighbors looked

for wonderful things. A famous preacher of the Society of Friends had

prophesied about little Ben, and foretold that he would be one of the most

remarkable characters that, had appeared on the earth since the days of

William Penn. On this account the eyes of many people were fixed upon the

boy. Some of his ancestors had won great renown in the old wars of England

and France; but it was probably expected that Ben would become a preacher,

and would convert multitudes to the peaceful doctrines of the Quakers.

Friend West and his wife were thought to be very fortunate in having such

a son.

Little Ben lived to the ripe age of six years without doing anything that

was worthy to be told in history. But one summer afternoon, in his seventh

year, his mother put a fan into his hand and bade him keep the flies away

from the face of a little babe who lay fast asleep in the cradle. She then

left the room.

The boy waved the fan to and fro and drove away the buzzing flies whenever

they had the impertinence to come near the baby’s face. When they had all

flown out of the window or into distant parts of the room, he bent over

the cradle and delighted himself with gazing at the sleeping infant. It

was, indeed, a very pretty sight. The little personage in the cradle

slumbered peacefully, with its waxen hands under its chin, looking as full

of blissful quiet as if angels were singing lullabies in its ear. Indeed,

it must have been dreaming about heaven; for, while Ben stooped over the

cradle, the little baby smiled.

“How beautiful she looks!” said Ben to himself. “What a pity it is that

such a pretty smile should not last forever!”

Now Ben, at this period of his life, had never heard of that wonderful art

by which a look, that appears and vanishes in a moment, may be made to

last for hundreds of years. But, though nobody had told him of such an

art, he may be said to have invented it for himself. On a table near at

hand there were pens and paper, and ink of two colors, black and red. The

boy seized a pen and sheet of paper, and, kneeling down beside the cradle,

began to draw a likeness of the infant. While he was busied in this manner

he heard his mother’s step approaching, and hastily tried to conceal the

paper.

“Benjamin, my son, what hast thou been doing?” inquired his mother,

observing marks of confusion in his face.

At first Ben was unwilling to tell; for he felt as if there might be

something wrong in stealing the baby’s face and putting it upon a sheet of

paper. However, as his mother insisted, he finally put the sketch into her

hand, and then hung his head, expecting to be well scolded. But when the

good lady saw what was on the paper, in lines of red and black ink, she

uttered a scream of surprise and joy.

“Bless me!” cried she. “It is a picture of little Sally!”

And then she threw her arms round our friend Benjamin, and kissed him so

tenderly that he never afterwards was afraid to show his performances to

his mother.

As Ben grew older, he was observed to take vast delight in looking at the

lines and forms of nature. For instance, he was greatly pleased with the

blue violets of spring, the wild roses of summer, and the scarlet

cardinal-flowers of early autumn. In the decline of the year, when the

woods were variegated with all the colors of the rainbow, Ben seemed to

desire nothing better than to gaze at them from morn till night. The

purple and golden clouds of sunset were a joy to him. And he was

continually endeavoring to draw the figures of trees, men, mountains,

houses, cattle, geese, ducks, and turkeys, with a piece of chalk, on barn

doors or on the floor.

In these old times the Mohawk Indians were still numerous in Pennsylvania.

Every year a party of them used to pay a visit to Springfield, because the

wigwams of their ancestors had formerly stood there. These wild men grew

fond of little Ben, and made him very happy by giving him some of the red

and yellow paint with which they were accustomed to adorn their faces. His

mother, too, presented him with a piece of indigo. Thus he now had three

colors,—red, blue, and yellow,—and could manufacture green by

mixing the yellow with the blue. Our friend Ben was overjoyed, and

doubtless showed his gratitude to the Indians by taking their likenesses

in the strange dresses which they wore, with feathers, tomahawks, and bows

and arrows.

But all this time the young artist had no paint-brushes; nor were there

any to be bought, unless he had sent to Philadelphia on purpose. However,

he was a very ingenious boy, aid resolved to manufacture paint-brushes for

himself. With this design he laid hold upon—what do you think? Why,

upon a respectable old black cat, who was sleeping quietly by the

fireside.

“Puss,” said little Ben to the cat, “pray give me some of the fur from the

tip of thy tail?”

Though he addressed the black cat so civilly, yet Ben was determined to

have the fur whether she were willing or not. Puss, who had no great zeal

for the fine arts, would have resisted if she could; but the boy was armed

with his mother’s scissors, and very dexterously clipped off fur enough to

make a paint-brush. This was of so much use to him that be applied to

Madame Puss again and again, until her warm coat of fur had become so thin

and ragged that she could hardly keep comfortable through the winter. Poor

thing! she was forced to creep close into the chimney-corner, and eyed Ben

with a very rueful physiognomy. But Ben considered it more necessary that

he should have paint-brushes than that puss should be warm.

About this period friend West received a visit from Mr. Pennington, a

merchant of Philadelphia, who was likewise a member of the Society of

Friends. The visitor, on entering the parlor, was surprised to see it

ornamented with drawings of Indian chiefs, and of birds with beautiful

plumage, and of the wild flowers of the forest. Nothing of the kind was

ever seen before in the habitation of a Quaker farmer.

“Why, Friend West,” exclaimed the Philadelphia merchant, “what has

possessed thee to cover thy walls with all these pictures? Where on earth

didst then get them?”

Then Friend West explained that all these pictures were painted by little

Ben, with no better materials than red and yellow ochre and a piece of

indigo, and with brushes made of the black cat’s fur.

“Verily,” said Mr. Pennington, “the boy hath a wonderful faculty. Some of

our friends might look upon these matters as vanity; but little Benjamin

appears to have been born a painter; and Providence is wiser than we are.”

The good merchant patted Benjamin on the head, and evidently considered

him a wonderful boy. When his parents saw how much their son’s

performances were admired, they, no doubt, remembered the prophecy of the

old Quaker preacher respecting Ben’s future eminence. Yet they could not

understand how he was ever to become a very great and useful man merely by

making pictures.

One evening, shortly after Mr. Pennington’s return to Philadelphia, a

package arrived at Springfield, directed to our little friend Ben.

“What can it possibly be?” thought Ben, when it was put into his hands.

“Who can have sent me such a great square package as this?”

On taking off the thick brown paper which enveloped it, behold! there was

a paint-box, with a great many cakes of paint, and brushes of various

sizes. It was the gift of good Mr. Pennington. There were likewise several

squares of canvas such as artists use for painting pictures upon, and, in

addition to all these treasures, some beautiful engravings of landscapes.

These were the first pictures that Ben had ever seen, except those of his

own drawing.

What a joyful evening was this for the little artist! At bedtime he put

the paint-box under his pillow, and got hardly a wink of sleep; for, all

night long, his fancy was painting pictures in the darkness. In the

morning he hurried to the garret, and was seen no more till the

dinner-hour; nor did he give himself time to eat more than a mouthful or

two of food before he hurried back to the garret again. The next day, and

the next, he was just as busy as ever; until at last his mother thought it

time to ascertain what he was about. She accordingly followed him to the

garret.

On opening the door, the first object that presented itself to her eyes

was our friend Benjamin, giving the last touches to a beautiful picture.

He had copied portions of two of the engravings, and made one picture out

of both, with such admirable skill that it was far more beautiful than the

originals. The grass, the trees, the water, the sky, and the houses were

all painted in their proper colors. There, too, where the sunshine and the

shadow, looking as natural as life.

“My dear child, thou hast done wonders!” cried his mother.

The good lady was in an ecstasy of delight. And well might she be proud of

her boy; for there were touches in this picture which old artists, who had

spent a lifetime in the business, need not have been ashamed of. Many a

year afterwards, this wonderful production was exhibited at the Royal

Academy in London.

When Benjamin was quite a large lad he was sent to school at Philadelphia.

Not long after his arrival he had a slight attack of fever, which confined

him to his bed. The light, which would otherwise have disturbed him, was

excluded from his chamber by means of closed wooden shutters. At first it

appeared so totally dark that Ben could not distinguish any object in the

room. By degrees, however, his eyes became accustomed to the scanty light.

He was lying on his back, looking up towards the ceiling, when suddenly he

beheld the dim apparition of a white cow moving slowly over his head! Ben

started, and rubbed his eyes in the greatest amazement.

“What can this mean?” thought he.

The white cow disappeared; and next came several pigs, which trotted along

the ceiling and vanished into the darkness of the chamber. So lifelike did

these grunters look that Ben almost seemed to hear them squeak.

“Well, this is very strange!” said Ben to himself.

When the people of the house came to see him, Benjamin told them of the

marvellous circumstance which had occurred. But they would not believe

him.

“Benjamin, thou art surely out of thy senses!” cried they. “How is it

possible that a white cow and a litter of pigs should be visible on the

ceiling of a dark chamber?”

Ben, however, had great confidence in his own eyesight, and was determined

to search the mystery to the bottom. For this purpose, when he was again

left alone, he got out of bed and examined the window-shutters. He soon

perceived a small chink in one of them, through which a ray of light found

its passage and rested upon the ceiling. Now, the science of optics will

inform us that the pictures of the white cow and the pigs, and of other

objects out of doors, came into the dark chamber through this narrow

chink, and were painted over Benjamin’s head. It is greatly to his credit

that he discovered the scientific principle of this phenomenon, and by

means of it constructed a camera-obscura, or magic-lantern, out of a

hollow box. This was of great advantage to him in drawing landscapes.

Well, time went on, and Benjamin continued to draw and paint pictures

until he had now reached the age when it was proper that he should choose

a business for life. His father and mother were in considerable perplexity

about him. According to the ideas of the Quakers, it is not right for

people to spend their lives in occupations that are of no real and

sensible advantage to the world. Now, what advantage could the world

expect from Benjamin’s pictures? This was a difficult question; and, in

order to set their minds at rest, his parents determined to consult the

preachers and wise men of their society. Accordingly, they all assembled

in the meeting-house, and discussed the matter from beginning to end.

Finally they came to a very wise decision. It seemed so evident that

Providence had created Benjamin to be a painter, and had given him

abilities which would be thrown away in any other business, that the

Quakers resolved not to oppose his inclination. They even acknowledged

that the sight of a beautiful picture might convey instruction to the mind

and might benefit the heart as much as a good book or a wise discourse.

They therefore committed the youth to the direction of God, being well

assured that he best knew what was his proper sphere of usefulness. The

old men laid their hands upon Benjamin’s head and gave him their blessing,

and the women kissed him affectionately. All consented that he should go

forth into the world and learn to be a painter by studying the best

pictures of ancient and modern times.

So our friend Benjamin left the dwelling of his parents, and his native

woods and streams, and the good Quakers of Springfield, and the Indians

who had given him his first colors; he left all the places and persons

whom he had hitherto known, and returned to them no more. He went first to

Philadelphia, and afterwards to Europe. Here he was noticed by many great

people, but retained all the sobriety and simplicity which he had learned

among the Quakers. It is related of him, that, when he was presented at

the court of the Prince of Parma, he kept his hat upon his head even while

kissing the Prince’s hand.

When he was twenty-five years old he went to London and established

himself there as all artist. In due course of time he acquired great fame

by his pictures, and was made chief painter to King George III. and

president of the Royal Academy of Arts. When the Quakers of Pennsylvania

heard of his success, they felt that the prophecy of the old preacher as

to little Ben’s future eminence was now accomplished. It is true, they

shook their heads at his pictures of battle and bloodshed, such as the

Death of Wolfe, thinking that these terrible scene, should not be held up

to the admiration of the world.

But they approved of the great paintings in which he represented the

miracles and sufferings of the Redeemer of mankind. King George employed

him to adorn a large and beautiful chapel at Windsor Castle with pictures

of these sacred subjects. He likewise painted a magnificent picture of

Christ Healing the Sick, which he gave to the hospital at Philadelphia. It

was exhibited to the public, and produced so much profit that the hospital

was enlarged so as to accommodate thirty more patients. If Benjamin West

had done no other good deed than this, yet it would have been enough to

entitle him to an honorable remembrance forever. At this very day there

are thirty poor people in the hospital who owe all their comforts to that

same picture..

We shall mention only a single incident more. The picture of Christ

Healing the Sick was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, where it

covered a vast space and displayed a multitude of figures as large as

life. On the wall, close beside this admirable picture, hung a small and

faded landscape. It was the same that little Ben had painted in his

father’s garret, after receiving the paint-box and engravings from good

Mr. Pennington.

He lived many years in peace and honor, and died in 1820, at the age of

eighty-two. The story of his life is almost as wonderful as a fairy tale;

for there are few stranger transformations than that of a little unknown

Quaker boy, in the wilds of America, into the most distinguished English

painter of his day. Let us each make the best use of our natural abilities

as Benjamin West did; and, with the blessing of Providence, we shall

arrive at some good end. As for fame, it is but little matter whether we

acquire it or not.

“Thank you for the story, my dear father,” said Edward, when it was

finished. “Do you know that it seems as if I could see things without the

help of my eyes? While you were speaking I have seen little Bert, and the

baby in its cradle, and the Indians, and the white cow, and the pigs, and

kind Mr. Pennington, and all the good old Quakers, almost as plainly as if

they were in this very room.”

“It is because your attention was not disturbed by outward objects,”

replied Mr. Temple. “People, when deprived of sight, often have more vivid

ideas than those who possess the perfect use of their eyes. I will venture

to say that George has not attended to the story quite so closely.”

“No, indeed,” said George; “but it was a very pretty story for all that.

How I should have laughed to see Ben making a paint-brush out of the black

cat’s tail! I intend to try the experiment with Emily’s kitten.”

“O no, no, George!” cried Emily, earnestly. “My kitten cannot spare her

tail.”

Edward being an invalid, it was now time for him to retire to bed. When

the family bade him good night he turned his face towards them, looking

very loath to part.

“I shall not know when morning comes,” said he, sorrowfully. “And besides,

I want to hear your voices all the time; for, when nobody is speaking, it

seems as if I were alone in a dark world.”

“You must have faith, my dear child,” replied his mother. “Faith is the

soul’s eyesight; and when we possess it the world is never dark nor

lonely.”

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Biographical Stories (From: "True Stories of History and Biography") · 第 2 / 9 章