THE CHILD-LIFE OF THE STREETS.
Ragged, dirty, and unkempt; untrained in all the pretty graces of
refinement; deprived of all the fostering care of the home, how can the
children of the street afford the artist any subjects for his canvas?
Because, in spite of deprivation and poverty, they possess the
imperishable treasure of a happy heart; and happiness is the true secret
of the beauty of childhood. The child's buoyant vitality is proof
against any disadvantages in his external surroundings; for his horizon
is limited to the present. Yesterday's hunger is quickly forgotten in
to-day's plenty; the fatigue of the morning's toil vanishes in the
evening's frolic; even the wounds of a cruel blow are readily healed by
a friendly word. Unconscious of any disparity between himself and
others, he is equally contented with his lot, whether his clothing be
velvet or rags, whether his play-ground be a royal park or the streets
of a great city.
The artistic possibilities of street material lay long undiscovered
through the first centuries of the Art Renaissance, when the subjects
were chiefly religious and mythological. It is then to Murillo and his
matchless pictures of the beggar boys of Seville that we may attribute
the real origin of this department of _genre_ painting. Murillo had
himself known something of poverty and homelessness. Left an orphan at
the age of eleven, he was thrown entirely upon his own resources at
nineteen, his equipment for life being a few years' apprenticeship in
the studio of his uncle, Juan del Castillo. In the years of hard work
that followed, he laid the foundations of a career destined to be one of
the most notable in the history of art.
[Illustration: BEGGAR BOYS.--MURILLO.]
There was held one day every week, in a large public square of Seville,
an open-air market called the _Feria_, at which meat and fish, fruit and
vegetables, old clothes and old iron, were heaped upon stalls or piled
upon the pavement for the examination of customers. Last but not least
of all the commodities here displayed were paintings, offered for sale
by the artists themselves, who were supplied with brushes and colors to
adapt the details to the purchasers' taste. It may be imagined that
these pictures of the _Feria_ were not works of high art, nor was there
much stimulus to artistic talent in their production. Nevertheless, it
was in this business that the young Murillo began his career; and it
was in this way, doubtless, that he came to observe closely, and to
store up in his artist's memory the picturesque effects among the
children who swarmed in the sunny square. Perfect types of glowing
health were these nut-brown sons and daughters of Andalusia, enjoying
life with the indolence and simple merriment characteristic of a
southern race. It was Murillo's delight to portray them in their
happiest moods. Sometimes they are playing games on the pavement, as in
the Dice Players; again, they are feasting upon the luscious native
fruits, as in the celebrated pictures of the Munich Gallery. With what
delicious enjoyment do the little vagabonds poise above their open
mouths a cluster of purple grapes or a slice of rich melon! Their ragged
garments scarcely suffice to cover them; their arms and legs are bare;
their abundant dark curls have known no combing, and they are
undeniably dirty. And yet they are perfectly charming. The rich tints of
their sunburned skin; the dark liquid eyes of the Spanish race; the
beautiful curves of their plump necks and shoulders; the free grace of
their attitudes,--all combine to make them picturesque and attractive.
The dirt is rendered with an unsparing realism which, in a few
instances, is carried beyond the limits of good taste. Such is the case
with El Piojoso of the Louvre, which represents a little beggar removing
vermin from his body, and which Mr. Ruskin has severely denounced.
Another picture in Munich, and one at St. Petersburg, belong to the same
class; but these may be considered exceptions to the rule. The general
statement holds true, that the real _motif_ of Murillo's beggar-boy
pictures is the simple, natural enjoyment which may render attractive,
and even beautiful, the most unlovely surroundings.
The artist shows a fine insight into human nature in his appreciation of
the companionship between the street boy and the small dog. The famous
Beggar-boy of the Hermitage Gallery at St. Petersburg is a capital
example. The boy, standing by a wall, with a basket of fruit in his
hand, turns to smile at his dog, with a perfect expression of good
comradeship. In several other paintings, where the boys are eating, a
little dog stands by, watching the tempting morsels enviously, with the
hope of getting a share in due time.
England is especially rich in examples of Murillo's street scenes.
Besides the well-known picture in the National Gallery, there are three
fine works at Dulwich College,[15] and many others scattered through the
galleries of private collectors. This fact may be the reason that
Murillo was first popularly known in England for this class of
subjects, rather than for his religious art.
One of Murillo's most ardent admirers among modern English artists is
Mrs. Henry M. Stanley, first known in the art world as Dorothy Tennant.
She gayly avers that the most interesting object to her, when as a small
girl she was taken for her daily walk, was "some dear little child in
tatters." The small young lady's interest in street children was
something more than philanthropic; it was intensely artistic. As soon as
she could wield a pencil, she began to make ragamuffin pictures, and to
dream of a career as the "champion painter of the poor." Gifted with a
keen sense of humor, she was quick to see the happy side of a life whose
exterior is apparently one of misery; and it was this side which she
determined to portray. Murillo's happy beggar boys were her ideal;
Hogarth's work also commanded her admiration. Following in the
footsteps of these great predecessors, she sought for her models "the
merry, reckless, happy-go-lucky urchin; the tomboy girl; and the plump,
untidy mother, dancing and tossing her ragged baby."
Such subjects would naturally be more difficult to find in London than
in Seville; and one could not walk about the streets of the bleak
northern metropolis without seeing many little waifs whose pitiable
condition contrasts sadly with the jocund poverty of Murillo's
Andalusian beggars. Thus it is that, in spite of the most cheerful
intentions, Mrs. Stanley has often produced pictures full of pathos. The
wan little violinist, sitting on the edge of his poor bed, and clasping
his sister in his arms, is a sad little figure. Another picture, that
brings tears of sympathy to our eyes, is the hungry-looking boy, also
a violinist, gazing wistfully into the window of a pastry-cook's, where
a placard proclaims that hot dinners are five-pence. Equally pathetic is
a scene inside the same shop, where a little waif is held, fainting, in
the arms of the proprietor, while other children gather round to see.
[Illustration: LONDON STREET ARABS.--DOROTHY STANLEY.]
It is a relief to turn from these to the subjects which are the artist's
most characteristic field, and to enjoy with her the romps and pranks of
the street Arabs. A clever picture of this class is the big boy using a
smaller one as a wheelbarrow, the small boy's arms supporting the
machine, and his legs furnishing the handles. Of kindred nature is a
sort of double pick-a-back, or pyramid, in which three ragged urchins
are enjoying themselves hugely in the attempt to carry out so remarkable
a feat. In the line of gymnastics, also, is the really admirable
painting exhibited at the New Gallery in 1890, which portrays three
delicious youngsters turning somersaults over a rail, while a little
girl at each end looks on admiringly. The original of the little chap
hanging head downward may have been the "Boy Taylor," of dragon fame, of
whom the artist writes in her "Street Arabs." Having once figured in a
circus as a green demon, or dragon, his experience made him very quick
at catching attitudes; and, proud of his powers of endurance, he begged
Mrs. Stanley to paint him standing on his head, assuring her that he
preferred that position to any other!
Larger pictures of merry street life are a company of young people
dancing to the music of a hand-organ, a group of children playing
blind-man's buff, and so many others that the description would become
tiresome. Many of these were made to illustrate children's stories in
"Little Folks" and the "Quiver," while others adorn the collections of
fortunate possessors. All of them illustrate admirably the artist's firm
conviction that "no ragamuffin is ever common or vulgar."
The sympathetic interest and enthusiasm which Mrs. Stanley has shown for
the London street Arab finds an interesting parallel in the work of
Marie Bashkirtseff. Though Russian by birth, Mademoiselle Bashkirtseff
passed the greater part of her short life in France, and, belonging to a
wealthy and distinguished family, was educated amidst all the luxuries
and gayeties of fashionable Parisian life. But the girl's indomitable
spirit was not to be hindered by the bonds of social restraint, and she
devoted herself to art with an almost passionate intensity. Struggling
constantly against the inroads of a fatal disease, and cut down on the
very threshold of life, she produced but few works to show to the world
what heights she was capable of attaining. Of these, the two which rank
first, and which are best known to her admirers, are studies of the
Paris _gamin_.
Jean and Jacques was exhibited at the Salon of 1883, and not only won
the high praise of many eminent artists, but also received "honorable
mention" from the committee. The picture is described in the artist's
journal as "two little boys, who are walking along the pavement, holding
each other by the hand; the elder, a boy of seven, holds a leaf between
his teeth, and looks straight before him into space; the other, a couple
of years younger, has one hand thrust into the pocket of his little
trousers, and is regarding the passers-by."
Scarcely had this picture been completed, when another street scene
suddenly flashed upon the imagination of the ambitious young painter,
and she straightway set to work upon it. The result was The Meeting,
exhibited at the Salon of 1884. It represents a group of six boys,
standing at a street corner, engaged in plotting some mischief. From
the oldest, a school-boy of twelve, to the little fellow in a pinafore,
they are intent, eager, alert; absorbed in the scheme which they are
discussing. They have sometimes been criticised for being ugly; but as
the artist wittily says, "One does not see such miracles of beauty among
the little boys who run about the streets," and the models were chosen
for the _expressiveness_ of their faces.
The painting met with instantaneous approval, not only from eminent
artists, but from the public, whose judgment on such subjects is even
more conclusive. All the leading periodicals obtained permission to
engrave it, and it became the talk of the hour. The signature, "M.
Bashkirtseff," left the sex of the artist an open question, and there
were those who could not believe that it was the work of a woman, and
a young one at that.
[Illustration: THE MEETING.--MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF.]
Mademoiselle Bashkirtseff found great amusement in visiting the
exhibition, watching the people look at her picture, and laughing in
her sleeve to imagine their amazement should they know that the
elegantly dressed young lady sitting near it was the artist.
The sequel is full of pathos. In spite of all the praises heaped upon
it, The Meeting did not receive a medal. To the ambitious young girl the
disappointment was most humiliating, and with characteristic sincerity
she did not try to conceal her indignation and chagrin. Justice came at
last, but all too late. When the bright young hopes were stilled in the
quiet of death, the picture was honored with a place in the Luxembourg,
where it hangs to-day, an admirable representation of that most
interesting genus, the Paris _gamin_.
The American street boy is a distinct type: his ambition is to rise in
the world. Wealth, fame, and power may be his, if he will but labor to
attain them, and to this end he throws himself ardently into the
building of a career. For a certain portion of the day he is a man of
affairs. Dashing through the net-work of wheels, in the thickest traffic
of crowded thoroughfares, jumping on and off moving cars and carriages,
pushing his way with untiring zeal, he shows a reckless daring and a
dauntless energy which are unmatched among any other people. His duties
done, he is a gentleman of leisure. He may amuse himself now as he
pleases, and his recreations show the same versatility displayed in his
business enterprises. Possessed of a lively imagination and a keen sense
of humor, he is never at a loss for a source of fun. He is as generous
as he is mischievous, always willing to share his good things with his
companions. Altogether, he is an interesting and attractive figure, and
it is no wonder that he has long since made his appearance on the
canvas.
[Illustration: CASTLES IN SPAIN.--JOHN G. BROWN.]
Probably the most conspicuous painter of American street subjects is
John George Brown, of New York. A resident of this city for more than
forty years, Mr. Brown has made it his life-work to study the character
and customs of the poorer classes of children. Newsboys and boot-blacks
are his special friends, and among them he finds many fine examples of
the best characteristics of human nature.
The Wounded Playfellow shows how easily the street boy's sympathies are
touched by the suffering of an animal. A little urchin carefully holds a
dog in his arms, while another deftly binds a bandage about the poor
creature's broken leg. A third boy and a small girl are the interested
spectators. The intense and eager interest with which the entire group
regard the operation is admirably portrayed.
The natural bent of Young America towards politics and oratory is seen
in the Stump Speech, an oil painting which was exhibited at the
Columbian Exposition.
Mr. Brown uses water colors, as well as oils, for a medium of
expression, being the president of the Water Color Society, which he
helped to found. An example of this kind of work is his picture called
"Free from Care." A bright-faced boot-black stands leaning against a
wall, with one thumb thrust in his trousers pocket, and a general air of
having thrown aside business responsibility for a good time.
Equally "free from care," and happy in this privilege, is the boy,
seated on a box, blowing soap-bubbles. His simple delight in this
innocent pastime, and the almost dreamy look with which he watches the
fairy bubble, show a hitherto unsuspected vein of poetry in the
street-boy nature.
The boot-black appears ordinarily in the most prosaic light, as a
practical individual, whose chief concern is the struggle for daily
bread. But this is only half the truth. Under his rough exterior he
hides a heart keenly responsive to beauty. His youthful imagination is,
in Lowell's happy phrase, a veritable Aladdin's lamp, with which he
transforms the meagreness of his surroundings into the splendid luxuries
of a castle in Spain.
V.
CHILD-ANGELS.
He shall give his angels charge over thee,
To keep thee in all thy ways.
They shall bear thee up in their hands,
Lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.
PSALM XCI.