returned to Rome to study the works of Raphael and Michael Angelo.
From thence she went to Bologna and beautiful Venice. Here she met
Lady Wentworth, who took her to London, where she was introduced at
once to the highest circles. Sir Joshua Reynolds had the greatest
admiration for her, and, indeed, was said to have offered her his hand
and heart. The whole world of art and letters united in her praise.
Often she found laudatory verses pinned on her canvas. The great
people of the land crowded her studio for sittings. She lived in
Golden Square, now a rather dilapidated place back of Regent Street.
She was called the most fascinating woman in England. Sir Joshua
painted her as "Design Listening to Poetry," and she, in turn, painted
him. She was the pet of Buckingham House and Windsor Castle.
In the midst of all this unlimited attention, a man calling himself
the Swedish Count, Frederic de Horn, with fine manners and handsome
person, offered himself to Angelica. He represented that he was
calumniated by his enemies and that the Swedish Government was about
to demand his person. He assured her, if she were his wife, she could
intercede with the Queen and save him. She blindly consented to the
marriage, privately. At last, she confessed it to her father, who took
steps at once to see if the man were true, and found that he was the
vilest impostor. He had a young wife already in Germany, and would
have been condemned to a felon's death if Angelica had been willing.
She said, "He has betrayed me; but God will judge him."
She received several offers of marriage after this, but would accept
no one. Years after, when her father, to whom she was deeply devoted,
was about to die, he prevailed upon her to marry a friend of his,
Antonio Zucchi, thirteen years her senior, with whom she went to Rome,
and there died. He was a man of ability, and perhaps made her life
happy. At her burial, one hundred priests accompanied the coffin,
the pall being held by four young girls, dressed in white, the four
tassels held by four members of the Academy. Two of her pictures were
carried in triumph immediately after her coffin. Then followed a grand
procession of illustrious persons, each bearing a lighted taper.
Goethe was one of her chosen friends. He said of her: "She has a most
remarkable and, for a woman, really an unheard-of talent. No living
painter excels her in dignity, or in the delicate taste with which she
handles the pencil."
Miss Ellen C. Clayton, in her interesting volumes, _English Female
Artists_, says, "No lady artist, from the days of Angelica Kauffman,
ever created such a vivid interest as Elizabeth Thompson Butler. None
had ever stepped into the front rank in so short a time, or had in
England ever attained high celebrity at so early an age."
She was born in the Villa Clermont, Lausanne, Switzerland, a
country beautiful enough to inspire artistic sentiments in all its
inhabitants. Her father, Thomas James Thompson, a man of great culture
and refinement, educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, was a warm
friend of Charles Dickens, Lord Lytton, and their literary associates.
Somewhat frail in health, he travelled much of the time, collecting
pictures, of which he was extremely fond, and studying with the eye
of an artist the beauties of each country, whether America, Italy, or
France.
His first wife died early, leaving one son and daughter. The second
wife was an enthusiastic, artistic girl, especially musical, a friend
of Dickens, and every way fitted to be the intelligent companion of
her husband.
After the birth of Elizabeth, the family resided in various parts of
Southern Europe. Now they lived, says Mrs. Alice Meynell, her only
sister, in the January, 1883, _St. Nicholas_, "within sight of the
snow-capped peaks of the Apennines, in an old palace, the Villa de
Franchi, immediately overlooking the Mediterranean, with olive-clad
hills at the back; on the left, the great promontory of Porto Fino; on
the right, the Bay of Genoa, some twelve miles away, and the long
line of the Apennines sloping down into the sea. The palace garden
descended, terrace by terrace, to the rocks, being, indeed, less a
garden than what is called a _villa_ in the Liguria, and a _podere_
in Tuscany,--a fascinating mixture of vine, olive, maize, flowers,
and corn. A fountain in marble, lined with maiden-hair, played at the
junction of each flight of steps. A great billiard-room on the first
floor, hung with Chinese designs, was Elizabeth Thompson's first
school-room; and there Charles Dickens, upon one of his Italian
visits, burst in upon a lesson in multiplication.
"The two children never went to school, and had no other teacher than
their father,--except their mother for music, and the usual professors
for 'accomplishments' in later years. And whether living happily in
their beautiful Genoese home, or farther north among the picturesque
Italian lakes, or in Switzerland, or among the Kentish hop-gardens and
the parks of Surrey, Elizabeth's one central occupation of drawing was
never abandoned,--literally not for a day."
She was a close observer of nature, and especially fond of animals.
When not out of doors sketching landscapes, she would sit in the house
and draw, while her father read to her, as he believed the two things
could be carried on beneficially.
She loved to draw horses running, soldiers, and everything which
showed animation and energy. Her educated parents had the good sense
not to curb her in these perhaps unusual tastes for a girl. They saw
the sure hand and broad thought of their child, and, no doubt, had
expectations of her future fame.
At fifteen, as the family had removed to England, Elizabeth joined
the South Kensington School of Design, and, later, took lessons in oil
painting, for a year, of Mr. Standish. Thus from the years of five to
sixteen she had studied drawing carefully, so that now she was ready
to touch oil-painting for the first time. How few young ladies would
have been willing to study drawing for eleven years, before trying to
paint in oil!
The Thompson family now moved to Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight,
staying for three years at Bonchurch, one of the loveliest places in
the world. Ivy grows over walls and houses, roses and clematis bloom
luxuriantly, and the balmy air and beautiful sea make the place
as restful as it is beautiful. Here Elizabeth received lessons in
water-color and landscape from Mr. Gray.
After another visit abroad the family returned to London, and the
artist daughter attended the National Art School at South Kensington,
studying in the life-class. The head master, Mr. Richard Burchett, saw
her talent, and helped her in all ways possible.
Naturally anxious to test the world's opinion of her work, she sent
some water-colors to the Society of British Artists for exhibition,
and they were rejected. There is very little encouragement for
beginners in any profession. However, "Bavarian Artillery going into
Action" was exhibited at the Dudley Gallery, and received favorable
notice from Mr. Tom Taylor, art critic of the _Times_.
Between two long courses at South Kensington Elizabeth spent a summer
in Florence and a winter at Rome, studying in both places. At Florence
she entered the studio of Signor Guiseppe Bellucci, an eminent
historical painter and consummate draughtsman, a fellow-student of Sir
Frederick Leighton at the Academy.
Here the girlish student was intensely interested in her work.
She rose early, before the other members of the family, taking her
breakfast alone, that she might hasten to her beloved labor. "On the
day when she did not work with him," says Mrs. Meynell, "she copied
passages from the frescoes in the cloisters of the Annunziata,
masterpieces of Andrea del Sarto and Franciabigio, making a special
study of the drapery of the last-named painter. The sacristans of the
old church--the most popular church in Florence--knew and welcomed the
young English girl, who sat for hours so intently at her work in the
cloister, unheeding the coming and going of the long procession of
congregations passing through the gates.
"Her studies in the galleries were also full of delight and profit,
though she made no other copies, and she was wont to say that of all
the influences of the Florentine school which stood her in good stead
in her after-work, that of Andrea del Sarto was the most valuable and
the most important. The intense heat of a midsummer, which, day after
day, showed a hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, could not make
her relax work, and her master, Florentine as he was, was obliged
to beg her to spare him, at least for a week, if she would not spare
herself. It was toward the end of October that artist and pupil
parted, his confidence in her future being as unbounded as her
gratitude for his admirable skill and minute carefulness."
During her seven months in Rome she painted, in 1870, for an
ecclesiastical art exhibition, opened by Pope Pius IX., in the
cloisters of the Carthusian Monastery, the "Visitation of the Blessed
Virgin to St. Elizabeth," and the picture gained honorable mention.
On her return to England the painting was offered to the Royal Academy
and rejected. And what was worse still, a large hole had been torn
in the canvas, in the sky of the picture. Had she not been very
persevering, and believed in her heart that she had talent, perhaps
she would not have dared to try again, but she had worked steadily
for too many years to fail now. Those only win who can bear refusal a
thousand times if need be.
The next year, being at the Isle of Wight, she sent another picture to
the Academy, and it was rejected. Merit does not always win the
first, nor the second, nor the third time. It must have been a little
consolation to Elizabeth Thompson, to know that each year the judges
were reminded that a person by that name lived, and was painting
pictures!
The next year a subject from the Franco-Prussian War was taken, as
that was fresh in the minds of the people. The title was "Missing."
"Two French officers, old and young, both wounded, and with one
wounded horse between them, have lost their way after a disastrous
defeat; their names will appear in the sad roll as missing, and the
manner of their death will never be known."
The picture was received, but was "skyed," that is, placed so high
that nobody could well see it. During this year she received a
commission from a wealthy art patron to paint a picture. What should
it be? A battle scene, because into that she could put her heart.
A studio was taken in London, and the "Roll-Call" (calling the roll
after an engagement,--Crimea) was begun. She put life into the faces
and the attitudes of the men, as she worked with eager heart and
careful labor. In the spring of 1874 it was sent to the Royal Academy,
with, we may suppose, not very enthusiastic hopes.
The stirring battle piece pleased the committee, and they cheered when
it was received. Then it began to be talked at the clubs that a woman
had painted a battle scene! Some had even heard that it was a great
picture. When the Academy banquet was held, prior to the opening, the
speeches of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge, both gave
high praise to the "Roll-Call."
Such an honor was unusual. Everybody was eager to see the painting. It
was the talk at the clubs, on the railway trains, and on the crowded
thoroughfares. All day long crowds gathered before it, a policeman
keeping guard over the painting, that it be not injured by its eager
admirers. The Queen sent for it, and it was carried, for a few hours,
to Buckingham Palace, for her to gaze upon. So much was she pleased
that she desired to purchase it, and the person who had ordered it
gave way to Her Majesty. The copyright was bought for fifteen times
the original sum agreed upon as its value, and a steel-plate
engraving made from it at a cost of nearly ten thousand dollars. After
thirty-five hundred impressions, the plate was destroyed, that there
might be no inferior engravings of the picture. The "Roll-Call" was
for some time retained by the Fine Art Society, where it was seen by
a quarter of a million persons. Besides this, it was shown in all the
large towns of England. It is now at Windsor Castle.
Elizabeth Thompson had become famous in a day, but she was not elated
over it; for, young as she was, she did not forget that she had
been working diligently for twenty years. The newspapers teemed with
descriptions of her, and incidents of her life, many of which were, of
course, purely imaginative. Whenever she appeared in society, people
crowded to look at her.
Many a head would have been turned by all this praise; not so the
well-bred student. She at once set to work on a more difficult
subject, "The Twenty-eighth Regiment at Quatre Bras." When this
appeared, in 1875, it drew an enormous crowd. The true critics praised
heartily, but there were some persons who thought a woman could not
possibly know about the smoke of a battle, or how men would act under
fire. That she studied every detail of her work is shown by Mr. W.
H. Davenport Adams, in his _Woman's Work and Worth._ "The choice of
subject," he says, "though some people called it a 'very shocking one
for a young lady,' engaged the sympathy of military men, and she was
generously aided in obtaining material and all kinds of data for the
work. Infantry officers sent her photographs of 'squares.' But these
would not do, the men were not in earnest; they would kneel in such
positions as they found easiest for themselves; indeed, but for the
help of a worthy sergeant-major, who saw that each individual assumed
and maintained the attitude proper for the situation at whatever
inconvenience, the artist could not possibly have impressed upon her
picture that verisimilitude which it now presents.
"Through the kindness of the authorities, an amount of gunpowder was
expended at Chatham, to make her see, as she said, how 'the men's
faces looked through the smoke,' that would have justified the
criticisms of a rigid parliamentary economist. Not satisfied with
seeing how men _looked_ in square, she desired to secure some faint
idea of how they _felt_ in square while 'receiving cavalry.' And
accordingly she repaired frequently to the Knightsbridge Barracks,
where she would kneel to 'receive' the riding-master and a mounted
sergeant of the Blues, while they thundered down upon her the full
length of the riding-school, deftly pulling up, of course, to avoid
accident. The fallen horse presented with such truth and vigor in
'Quatre Bras' was drawn from a Russian horse belonging to Hengler's
Circus, the only one in England that could be trusted to remain for a
sufficient time in the required position. A sore trial of patience was
this to artist, to model, to Mr. Hengler, who held him down, and
to the artist's father, who was present as spectator. Finally the
rye,--the 'particularly tall rye' in which, as Colonel Siborne says,
the action was fought,--was conscientiously sought for, and found,
after much trouble, at Henly-on-Thames."
I saw this beautiful and stirring picture, as well as several others
of Mrs. Butler's, while in England. Mr. Ruskin says of "Quatre Bras":
"I never approached a picture with more iniquitous prejudice against
it than I did Miss Thompson's; partly because I have always said that
no woman could paint, and secondly, because I thought what the public
made such a fuss about _must_ be good for nothing. But it is Amazon's
work, this, no doubt of it, and the first fine pre-raphaelite picture
of battle we have had, profoundly interesting, and showing all manner
of illustrative and realistic faculty. The sky is most tenderly
painted, and with the truest outline of cloud of all in the
exhibition; and the terrific piece of gallant wrath and ruin on the
extreme left, where the cuirassier is catching round the neck of his
horse as he falls, and the convulsed fallen horse, seen through the
smoke below, is wrought through all the truth of its frantic passions
with gradations of color and shade which I have not seen the like of
since Turner's death."
This year, 1875, a figure from the picture, the "Tenth Bengal Lancers
at Tent-pegging," was published as a supplement to the Christmas
number of _London Graphic_, with the title "Missed." In 1876, "The
Return from Balaklava" was painted, and in 1877, "The Return from
Inkerman," for which latter work the Fine Art Society paid her fifteen
thousand dollars.
This year, 1877, on June 11, Miss Thompson was married to Major, now
Colonel, William Francis Butler, K.C.B. He was then thirty-nine years
of age, born in Ireland, educated in Dublin, and had received many
honors. He served on the Red River expedition, was sent on a special
mission to the Saskatchewan territories in 1870-71, and served on the
Ashantee expedition in 1873. He has been honorably mentioned several
times in the House of Lords by the Field-Marshal-Commanding-in-Chief.
He wrote _The Great Lone Land_ in 1872, _The Wild North Land_ in 1873,
and _A Kimfoo_ in 1875.
After the marriage they spent much time in Ireland, where Mrs. Butler
painted "Listed for the Connaught Rangers" in 1879. Her later works
are "The Remnant of an Army," showing the arrival at Jellalabad, in
1842, of Dr. Brydon, the sole survivor of the sixteen thousand men
under General Elphinstone, in the unfortunate Afghan campaign; the
"Scots Greys Advancing," "The Defence of Rorke's Drift," an incident
of the Zulu War, painted at the desire of the Queen and some others.
Still a young and very attractive woman, she has before her a bright
future. She will have exceptional opportunities for battle studies in
her husband's army life. She will probably spend much time in Africa,
India, and other places where the English army will be stationed. Her
husband now holds a prominent position in Africa.
In her studio, says her sister, "the walls are hung with old
uniforms--the tall shako, the little coatee, and the stiff
stock--which the visitor's imagination may stuff out with the form of
the British soldier as he fought in the days of Waterloo. These are
objects of use, not ornament; so are the relics from the fields of
France in 1871, and the assegais and spears and little sharp wooden
maces from Zululand."
Mrs. Butler has perseverance, faithfulness in her work, and courage.
She has won remarkable fame, but has proved herself deserving by her
constant labor, and attention to details. Mrs. Butler's mother has
also exhibited some fine paintings. The artist herself has illustrated
a volume of poems, the work of her sister, Mrs. Meynell. A cultivated
and artistic family have, of course, been an invaluable aid in Mrs.
Butler's development.
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
[Illustration: Florence Nightingale--From the "Portrait Gallery of
Eminent Men and Women."]
One of the most interesting places in the whole of London, is St.
Thomas' Hospital, an immense four-story structure of brick with
stone trimmings. Here is the Nightingale Training School for nurses,
established through the gift to Miss Nightingale of $250,000 by the
government, for her wonderful work in the Crimean War. She would not
take a cent for herself, but was glad to have this institution opened,
that girls through her training might become valuable to the world as
nurses, as she has been.
Here is the "Nightingale Home." The dining-room, with its three long
tables, is an inviting apartment. The colors of wall and ceiling are
in red and light shades. Here is a Swiss clock presented by the Grand
Duchess of Baden; here a harpsichord, also a gift. Here is the marble
face and figure I have come especially to see, that of lovely Florence
Nightingale. It is a face full of sweetness and refinement, having
withal an earnest look, as though life were well worth living.
What better work than to direct these girls how to be useful? Some
are here from the highest social circles. The "probationers," or nurse
pupils, must remain three years before they can become Protestant
"sisters." Each ward is in charge of a sister; now it is Leopold,
because the ward bears that name; and now Victoria in respect to the
Queen, who opened the institution.
The sisters look sunny and healthy, though they work hard. They have
regular hours for being off duty, and exercise in the open air. The
patients tell me how "homelike it seems to have women in the wards,
and what a comfort it is in their agony, to be handled by their
careful hands." Here are four hundred persons in all phases of
suffering, in neat, cheerful wards, brightened by pots of flowers, and
the faces of kind, devoted women.
And who is this woman to whom the government of Great Britain felt
that it owed so much, and whom the whole world delights to honor?
Florence Nightingale, born in 1820, in the beautiful Italian city
of that name, is the younger of two daughters of William Shore
Nightingale, a wealthy land-owner, who inherited both the name and
fortune of his granduncle, Peter Nightingale. The mother was the
daughter of the eminent philanthropist and member of Parliament,
William Smith.
Most of Miss Nightingale's life has been spent on their beautiful
estate, Lea Hurst, in Derbyshire, a lovely home in the midst of
picturesque scenery. In her youth her father instructed her carefully
in the classics and higher mathematics; a few years later, partly
through extensive travel, she became proficient in French, German, and
Italian.
Rich, pretty, and well-educated, what was there more that she could
wish for? Her heart, however, did not turn toward a fashionable life.
Very early she began to visit the poor and the sick near Lea Hurst,
and her father's other estate at Embly Park, Hampshire. Perhaps the
mantle of the mother's father had fallen upon the young girl.
She had also the greatest tenderness toward dumb animals, and never
could bear to see them injured. Miss Alldridge, in an interesting
sketch of Miss Nightingale, quotes the following story from _Little
Folks:_--
"Some years ago, when the celebrated Florence Nightingale was a little
girl, living at her father's home, a large, old Elizabethan house,
with great woods about it, in Hampshire, there was one thing that
struck everybody who knew her. It was that she seemed to be always
thinking what she could do to please or help any one who needed either
help or comfort. She was very fond, too, of animals, and she was so
gentle in her way, that even the shyest of them would come quite close
to her, and pick up whatever she flung down for them to eat.
"There was, in the garden behind the house, a long walk with trees on
each side, the abode of many squirrels; and when Florence came down
the walk, dropping nuts as she went along, the squirrels would run
down the trunks of their trees, and, hardly waiting until she passed
by, would pick up the prize and dart away, with their little bushy
tails curled over their backs, and their black eyes looking about as
if terrified at the least noise, though they did not seem to be afraid
of Florence.
"Then there was an old gray pony named Peggy, past work, living in
a paddock, with nothing to do all day long but to amuse herself.
Whenever Florence appeared at the gate, Peggy would come trotting up
and put her nose into the dress pocket of her little mistress, and
pick it of the apple or the roll of bread that she knew she would
always find there, for this was a trick Florence had taught the
pony. Florence was fond of riding, and her father's old friend, the
clergyman of the parish, used often to come and take her for a ride
with him when he went to the farm cottages at a distance. He was a
good man and very kind to the poor.
"As he had studied medicine when a young man, he was able to tell the
people what would do them good when they were ill, or had met with an
accident. Little Florence took great delight in helping to nurse those
who were ill; and whenever she went on these long rides, she had a
small basket fastened to her saddle, filled with something nice which
she saved from her breakfast or dinner, or carried for her mother, who
was very good to the poor.
"There lived in one of two or three solitary cottages in the wood
an old shepherd of her father's, named Roger, who had a favorite
sheep-dog called Cap. Roger had neither wife nor child, and Cap lived
with him and kept him, and kept him company at night after he had
penned his flock. Cap was a very sensible dog; indeed, people used to
say he could do everything but speak. He kept the sheep in wonderfully
good order, and thus saved his master a great deal of trouble. One
day, as Florence and her old friend were out for a ride, they came
to a field where they found the shepherd giving his sheep their night
feed; but he was without the dog, and the sheep knew it, for they were
scampering in every direction. Florence and her friend noticed that
the old shepherd looked very sad, and they stopped to ask what was the
matter, and what had become of his dog.