Part 1 (2/2)
Her att.i.tudes, gestures, and voice always captivated a crowd of people.
Rachel was a Jewish pedler's daughter, though she was born in Switzerland; and in these youthful days she wore a Swiss costume upon the boulevards.[11]
Boccaccio, the most famous of Italian novelists, was the illegitimate son of a Florentine tradesman, and began life as a merchant's clerk. It is well known that Shakespeare borrowed the plot of ”All's Well that Ends Well” from Boccaccio.[12] In fact, the ”Decamerone” furnished him with plots for several of his plays. Chaucer derived from the same source his poem of the ”Knight's Tale.” We never hear shallow people reflecting upon the Bard of Avon for taking some of his plots from earlier writers, and weaving about them the golden threads of his superb genius, without recalling Dryden's remark relative to Ben Jonson's adaptations and translations from the cla.s.sics, in such plays as ”Catiline” and ”Seja.n.u.s.” ”He invades authors,” says Dryden, ”like a monarch; and what would be theft in other writers is but victory in him.” Sterne's idea upon the same subject also suggests itself. ”As monarchs have a right,” he says, ”to call in the specie of a State and raise its value by their own impression, so are there certain prerogative geniuses who are above plagiaries, who cannot be said to steal, but from their improvement of a thought, rather to borrow it, and repay the commonwealth of letters with interest again, and may more properly be said to adopt than to kidnap a sentiment, by leaving it heir to their own fame.”
Columbus, who gave a new world to the old, was a weaver's son, and in his youth he earned his bread as a cabin-boy in a coasting-vessel which sailed from Genoa. The story of the great Genoese pilot possesses a more thrilling interest than any narrative which the imagination of poet or romancer has ever conceived. His name flashes a bright ray over the mental darkness of the period in which he lived. In imagination one sees him wandering for years from court to court, begging the necessary means wherewith to prosecute his inspired purpose,[13] and finally, after successfully accomplis.h.i.+ng his mission, languis.h.i.+ng in chains and in prison.
How naturally Halleck's invocation to Death, in ”Marco Bozarris,” occurs to us here, as the hero, when his object has been attained, joyfully faces the grim monarch:
”Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land; Thy summons welcome as the cry That told the Indian isles were nigh, To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land wind from woods of palm And orange-groves and fields of balm Blew o'er the Haytian seas.”
De Foe, the author of ”Robinson Crusoe,” and of over two hundred other books, was a hosier by trade, the son of a London butcher named James Foe. The particle _De_ was added by the son without other authority than the suggestion of his own fancy. Cardinal Wolsey and Kirke White were also sons of butchers.
Claude Lorraine, the glorious colorist, whose very name has become a synonym in art, was in youth employed as a pastry-cook. Moliere, the great French dramatist and actor, who presents one of the most remarkable instances of literary success known to history, was the son of a tapestry-maker, and was himself at one time apprenticed to a tailor, and afterwards became a _valet-de-chambre_. When Moliere was valet to Louis XIII., he had already appeared upon the stage, and was rather sneered at by the other members of the king's household. The generous monarch observed this, and determined to put a stop to it: ”I am told you have short commons here, Moliere, and some of my people decline to serve you,” said Louis, as he rose from his breakfast one day. ”Sit down here at my table. I warrant you are hungry.” And the king cut him a portion of chicken and put it upon his plate just at the moment when a distinguished member of the royal household entered. ”You see me,” said the king, ”giving Moliere his breakfast, as some of my people do not think him good enough company for themselves.” From that hour the royal valet was treated with due consideration. William Cobbett, the English author and vigorous political writer, was a poor farmer's boy and entirely self-educated. Izaak Walton, the delightful biographist and miscellaneous author, whose ”Complete Angler” would make any man's name justly famous, was for years a linen-draper in London.
Pope and Southey were the sons of linen-drapers.
How rapidly instances of the triumphs of genius over circ.u.mstances multiply upon us when the mind is permitted to roam at will through the long vista of the past! Cervantes, the Spanish Shakespeare, whose ”Don Quixote” is as much a cla.s.sic[14] as ”Hamlet,” was a common foot-soldier in the army of Castile. In 1575 he was captured by an Algerine corsair and carried as a slave to Algiers, where he endured the most terrible sufferings. He was finally ransomed and returned to Spain. Alexandre Dumas's grandmother was an African slave. Hugh Miller, author, editor, poet, distinguished naturalist, whose clear, choice Saxon-English caused the Edinburgh ”Review” to ask, ”Where could this man have acquired his style?” was a stone-mason, and his only college was a stone-quarry.[15]
Keats, the sweetest of English poets, whose delicacy of fancy and beauty of versification are ”a joy forever,” was born in a stable. Oliver Cromwell, one of the most extraordinary men in English history, famous as a citizen, great as a general, and greatest as a ruler, was the son of a malt-brewer. Howard, the philanthropist and author, whose name stands a monument of Christian fame, was at first a grocer's boy.
Rossini, one of the greatest of modern composers, was the son of an itinerant musician and a strolling actress. Andrea del Sarto was the son of a tailor, and took his name from his father's trade. Perino del Vaga was born in poverty and nearly starved in his boyhood. Perugino, whose n.o.ble painting of the ”Infant Christ and the Virgin” adorns the Albani Palace at Rome, grew up in want and misery. We all remember the story of the shepherd-boy Giotto, who finally came to be so eminent a painter, and the intimate friend of Dante; like Michael Angelo, he was an architect and sculptor. Paganini, one of the greatest of instrumental performers that ever lived, was born in poverty and was illegitimate. He gained enormous sums of money by his wonderful exhibitions and musical compositions, but was spoiled by adulation, becoming reckless and dissipated. His performances in the cities of Europe created a _furore_ before unparalleled in the history of music, and never since surpa.s.sed.
Wilson the unequalled ornithologist, Dr. Livingstone the heroic missionary and African traveller, and Tannahill[16] the Scottish poet,--author of that familiar and favorite song, ”Jessie, the Flower of Dumblane,”--earned their living in youth as journeymen weavers. Joost van den Vondel, the national poet of Holland, was a hosier's apprentice.
Moliere, already referred to, began his career as a journeyman tailor, but occasionally his maternal grandfather took him to the play, and thus were sown the seeds which led to his greatness as a dramatic author and actor. Samuel Woodworth, author of the ”Old Oaken Bucket,” one of the sweetest lyrics in our language, was a journeyman printer. Richard Cobden, statesman, economist, and author, was a poor Suss.e.x farmer's son, whose youthful occupation was that of tending sheep. John Bright, the intimate friend and coadjutor of Cobden, one of the greatest, most eloquent, and most successful of English reformers, was the son of a cotton-spinner. Lord Clyde, the successful general who crushed the rebellion in India, and who was made a peer of England, was the son of a carpenter. The motto of his life, always inscribed upon the fly-leaf of his pocket memorandum-book, was: ”By means of patience, common-sense, and time, impossibilities become possible.”
John Bunyan,[17] the author of ”Pilgrim's Progress,” the solace and delight of millions, and a text-book for all future time, was a tinker. His great work is said to have obtained a larger circulation than any other English book except the translation of the Bible.
Benjamin Franklin, statesman, philosopher, epigrammatist, was a tallow-chandler.[18] Nathaniel Bowditch, the eminent mathematician, was a cooper's apprentice. He was twenty-one years of age before he may be said to have begun his education, but in his prime was a Fellow of the Royal Society of London, and was offered the chair of mathematics in Harvard College. Hiram Powers, the first sculptor from this country to win European fame, was brought up a ploughboy on a Vermont farm; his ”Greek Slave” gave him high rank among modern sculptors. Elihu Burritt, the remarkable linguist, was a Connecticut horse-sh.o.e.r. Whitefield, the eloquent English preacher and father of the sect of Calvinistic Methodists, was in youth the stable-boy of an English inn. Cardinal Wolsey, chief minister of Henry VIII., was brought up to follow his father's humble calling of a butcher. Horne Tooke, the English wit, priest, lawyer, and genius, was the son of a poulterer.[19] Correra, afterwards president of Guatemala, was born in poverty, and for years was a drummer-boy in the army, where he was laughed at for saying that the world should some day hear from him, being reminded that his present business was to make a noise in the world. But he meant what he said, and acted under Lord Clyde's motto. He rose by degrees to the highest position in the gift of his countrymen. ”To the persevering mortal the blessed immortals are swift,” says Zoroaster.
Ebenezer Elliott, the English ”Corn-Law Rhymer,”[20] was a blacksmith, but a poet by nature, and his songs created a political revolution in his native land, though unlike Beranger's, in France, it was a peaceful revolution. He was ever a true champion of the poor and oppressed. In the latter portion of his life he was in easy pecuniary circ.u.mstances.
William Lloyd Garrison,[21] the beloved philanthropist, orator, and writer, was born in poverty, and was early apprenticed to a shoemaker, but became a journeyman printer before his majority. He suffered imprisonment for his opinions' sake, and may be said to have been the father of Abolitionism in America, fortunately living long enough to see the grand effort of his life crowned with success, in the emanc.i.p.ation of the blacks and the abolishment of slavery throughout the length and breadth of his native land. Kepler, the famous German astronomer, was the son of a poor innkeeper, and though enjoying royal patronage, often felt the pressure of poverty. Coleridge said: ”Galileo was a great genius and so was Newton; but it would take two or three Galileos and Newtons to make one Kepler.” We owe our knowledge of the laws of the planetary system to him.
Sir Richard Arkwright, inventor of the spinning-jenny, and founder of the great cotton industries of England, never saw the inside of a schoolhouse until after he was twenty years of age, having long served as a barber's a.s.sistant. Justice Tenterden, and Turner, greatest among landscape-painters, were also brought up to the same trade. James Brindley, the English engineer and mechanician, and Cook, the famed navigator, were day-laborers in early life. Romney, the artist, John Hunter, the physiologist, Professor Lee, the Orientalist, and John Gibson, the sculptor, were carpenters by trade. Shakespeare was a wool-comber in his youth. These low estates, the workshop and the mine, have often contributed liberally to recruit the ranks of those whom the world has recognized as men of genius.
Horace Mann declared that education is our only political safety. He might have gone further, and said our only moral safety also. It is not, however, the school and the college alone that bring about this grand object, though they are natural adjuncts. Real education is the apprentices.h.i.+p of life, and that is always the best which we realize in our struggle to obtain a livelihood. Genius, as a rule, owes little to scholastic training,--within these pages there will be found proof sufficient of this. Sir T. F. Buxton says he owed more to his father's gamekeeper, who could neither read nor write, than to any other source of knowledge. He said this man was truly his ”guide, philosopher, and friend,” whose memory was stored with more varied rustic knowledge, good sense, and mother wit, than his young master ever met with afterwards.
He adds that he was his first instructor, and that he profited far more by his remarks and admonitions than by those of his more learned tutors.[22]
Perhaps at first thought it may seem singular that so many unschooled geniuses should have risen to be famous in their several departments, but it is because they were geniuses. They saw and understood nature and art by intuition, while those of us who can claim no such distinction have been compelled to acquire knowledge by plummet and line, so to speak. ”The ambition of a man of parts,” says Sydney Smith, ”should be not to know books, but things; not to show other men that he has read Locke, and Montesquieu, and Beccaria, and Dumont, but to show that he knows the subjects upon which they have written.” Let us pursue our examples still further, for they are both interesting and remarkable when brought thus together.
Benjamin West[23] was born in Pennsylvania, a poor farmer's boy; but the genius of art was in him, and after patient study he became an eminent painter, finally succeeding Sir Joshua Reynolds as president of the Royal Academy in 1792. George III. was his personal friend and patron.
He was so thoroughly appreciated there that he made England his home, where he died in 1820. John Britton, author of the ”Beauties of England and Wales,” as well as of several valuable works on architecture, was born in a mud cabin in Wilts.h.i.+re, and was for years engaged as a bar-tender. He was finally turned adrift by his employer with two guineas in his pocket, but before his death his list of published books exceeded eighty volumes! Sir Francis Chantrey, the eminent sculptor, was in his minority a journeyman carver in wood. Talma, the great tragic actor of France, and favorite of the first Napoleon, was a dentist by trade. Gifford, the eminent English critic and essayist, was ”graduated”
from a cobbler's bench. When Cicero was asked concerning his lineage, he replied, ”I commence an ancestry.” Beaumarchais, the successful French dramatist, author of the ”Barber of Seville” and the ”Marriage of Figaro,” was a watchmaker by trade, but developed such versatile genius as finally to excite the jealousy of the unscrupulous Voltaire.
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