MARY WESTON.
The history of this lady illustrates the development, amid unfavorable circumstances, of that self-reliant energy which often forms a marked characteristic of the natives of New England. The spirit of independence, when joined, as in her case, to feminine gentleness and grace, is ennobling to any woman, and its working is both interesting and instructive.
Mary Pillsbury was born in Hebron, New Hampshire. Her father was a Baptist clergyman, holding the strictest tenets of Calvinism. In her humble home among the mountains, though surrounded by nature’s wild beauty, the child found nothing to suggest to her an idea of what art could accomplish. Nevertheless, she saw objects with an artistic perception, and loved especially to study faces. When taken to church, she would sit gazing at those around her, and wishing that in some way—of which as yet she had no conception—she could copy their features. One day, when between seven and eight, she noticed a beautiful woman, and, returning home, went quietly to her father’s study—creeping in, as it was locked, through two panes of a window, to which she climbed by a chair on the bed—in search of a slate and pencil. With this she began to make a sketch of the face that had charmed her. She made the oval outline, but could not give the expression about the mouth and eyes. With a keen sense of disappointment she relinquished the hopeless task. But the artist-passion was awakened within her.
She loved to read books relating to artists better than any thing else, though fond of study in general, and her partiality for sketching was indulged whenever she had opportunity. Having observed the work of a profile-cutter who chanced to come into the neighborhood, she persevered in attempts at portraits, and practiced cutting them out of leaves and paper. She had a beautiful young sister, and often prevailed on her to sit, improving day by day in her untutored efforts, till at last she was able, by the eye, to take a correct likeness.
Her next achievement was copying the figures and decorations of Indian chiefs, who not unfrequently came into the little village. A servant girl, fifteen years old, who was employed in her father’s family, knew how to sketch houses, and this knowledge was willingly imparted to little Mary. Her pictures, though rude in design and execution, were in great demand among her schoolfellows; but Mrs. Pillsbury thought the study of painting would interfere with more important branches, and that a thorough English education should first be acquired. The young girl, however, could not be prevented from watching the drawing-lessons of other scholars. She would practice at home; and so earnest was her application that it was not long before she produced a drawing agreed on all sides to be superior to the exercises of the regular pupils.
For the colors of her flowers Mary used beet-juice, extract of bean leaves prepared by herself, etc., till the welcome present of a box of paints made her independent of such contrivances. The romantic scenery surrounding her home had now a new charm. Day after day she would wander about the fields and woods, sketching, and indulging in visions of an artistic life. When twelve years old, one day she accompanied her parents to Sutton, in New Hampshire. A protracted meeting was held, and her father was to preach. Paying little attention to the doctrines promulgated, as formerly Mary occupied herself in scanning new faces in the rural assemblage. Near the place of meeting was the colossal figure of the Goddess of Liberty, richly arrayed, and painted in colors by a Free-will Baptist preacher. She obtained a seat close to the window during one of the services, and carefully studied what appeared to her a perfect triumph of art. After she went home she produced a clever sketch of it. From this time goddesses of liberty multiplied in her hands, and became famous in the school and neighborhood. One of them was actually put into a magazine. So creditable were they considered, that a rather unscrupulous young girl of her acquaintance presented one to her lover as her own work; and when he challenged her to produce another, she came to persuade Mary to make it for her.
Caring little for the sports and pleasures of her age, it was Mary’s habit to shut herself up in her father’s study, and, seated upon the shelves, to read over and over again the biographies of great men and distinguished women. She kept in advance of all the school-girls meanwhile, and improved in her drawing during the hours stolen from her spinning-tasks and the duties involved in taking care of the other children. She entered now on the reading of the standard and classical works contained in her father’s library, and a new world seemed opening before her. Ambitious longings and dreams broke on the monotony of her lonely life. She resolved to become an artist like those persons of whom she had read, and compel appreciation from the world. But the mode of accomplishing her wishes perplexed her. She saw that it would be necessary to leave home and try her fortune among strangers; but she loved to picture the day when she would return, laden with honors and a rich reward for her labors—when her family would be proud of her success.
When about fourteen, she determined to take the first step toward the goal she panted to reach. Secretly she quitted her home, taking with her only a change of dress, and set out to walk through the forest to Hopkinton, on the way to Concord, where she intended to take up her abode temporarily, to earn a little money by her labor, and then establish herself as an artist. She walked thirty miles that day, and very late at night came to a small house in the country, at which she stopped, requesting permission to warm and rest herself. The simple people appeared surprised to see so young a girl traveling alone and so far from home. They inquired into the particulars of her story with curious interest, and earnestly pressed her to stay all night. She consented, and supper was prepared for her, after which she went to sleep, wearied with the day’s fatiguing journey.
On waking the next morning a strangely familiar voice struck her ear. She dressed hastily, and went down into the parlor, where she found her uncle, who had come that far in search of her. Both wept at the unexpected meeting; but when she had recovered from her confusion, Mary begged to be permitted to go on to Concord. This was decidedly refused, and, reluctant and mortified at the failure of her romantic enterprise, she was obliged to consent to be taken home.
She was received with tears and embraces by her family, and no word of reproach, nor even a distant allusion to her disobedience, followed her attempt to escape from the restraint of parental authority. The family seemed to be sensible that she had been hardly dealt with; for the dreams of youthful hope have significance, and nature’s bent should not be too rudely thwarted. From this time more indulgence was shown to her frequent neglect of work in which she felt no pleasure, and to her devotion to books. She engaged in her studies more ardently than ever.
Mr. Pillsbury was not rich, and his daughter had the prospect of being ultimately obliged to depend on her earnings for a subsistence. It was her desire to enter as soon as possible on the life whose hardships she expected to encounter and overcome. She wished to go beyond the mountains, into the beautiful world on the other side. To her imagination the soft and roseate tints reposing on those far-off summits were emblematic of the delights in store for her. But her parents opposed her wishes, and urged her to remain with them, for some years at least.
She was about nineteen when, on a visit to Lynn, she saw a portrait painted by a lady, which seized her attention amid a collection of indifferent pictures. The longing to be a painter again possessed her so strongly that she felt it an irresistible passion. Her first plan was to accompany the lady to Washington and take lessons, but this scheme was abandoned. About a year after this she went to Boston. Passing a shop window, she saw a fine painting, that once more enkindled the flame of artist ambition in her soul. Her determination was formed. With the sanguine hopes of youth, she fancied that a year’s preparation would enable her to paint professionally. She accordingly devoted herself to the practice of her art with that view. Her friends ridiculed the idea of her becoming an artist for a livelihood, and predicted the failure of her scheme without powerful patronage.
But this kind of opposition no longer discouraged her, though she was much hampered by the want of time. The winter was rapidly approaching, and she felt that it should not pass without some advance in her beloved studies. She now resolved to go to some place southward where she could see an artist work, and to paint cheap pictures for her own support, living plainly in the country till her lessons were completed. It seemed that she must either do this or die.
Without consulting any one, with only twelve dollars in her possession, she left Boston in the early morning train, leaving her trunk behind, and taking only a basket with a few changes of clothes. The undertaking was not without prayers for a blessing from the Providence who watches over all human affairs. Her father needed all the aid she could give him; he had suffered much, and sickness in his family had crippled his narrow resources. The thought of all this, and what she might do were she permitted to work out her own ideas, had tortured Mary and rendered her desperate. In the ardor of her determination now, obstacles seemed nothing; she was resolved to succeed.
An old man who occupied a seat opposite her in the car noticed her, and asked many questions. When they stopped at Providence, his evident curiosity annoyed and alarmed her so much that she ran with all her speed to the boat bound for New York. On the way she talked with the stewardess, and asked if she knew any respectable house in the city where she could obtain board. The stewardess was ignorant of New York, but inquired of the clerk, and he directed Miss Pillsbury to the house of Professor Gouraud, a then famous dancing-master.
On repairing to this place she learned that the professor did not receive boarders, but was recommended to look for a house in Canal Street. Here it occurred to her to go to a milliner’s shop; she knew there must be many girls there, respectable, though poor, and thought that she might hear of a lodging through some of them. She received a direction to the house of an old lady, whither she went. On being asked for references, she frankly owned that she had none, and, as the best explanation she could offer, related her story. The landlady had heard through a pious friend in Boston—Mrs. Colby, a lady well known for benevolence—of the strange girl who wanted to be a painter, and she willingly received the wanderer.
The next day Miss Pillsbury found out that an artist lived in the neighborhood, and went to him to see how oil-colors were used. She was allowed to watch him while painting a portrait. Afterward she went to Dechaux, who then kept a small store for colors; and, provided with the implements of art, she went to work in earnest. The little grandson of her landlady was her first subject, and she painted a good likeness of him, which was taken in part payment for board. Even the artist was surprised at her success, and prophesied that she would do well after a year’s study.
After she had been a week in New York, her hostess advised Mary to go to Hartford, Connecticut, and gave her a letter to the Rev. Henry Jackson of that place. She went there, and was kindly received. While there, she painted a little boy, and produced an astonishing likeness. She had to prepare her own canvas, and grind her paints on a plate with a case-knife. In about a week after her arrival in Hartford, Squire Rider and his wife, of Willington, came on a visit to Mr. Jackson. They were so much pleased with the pictures Mary had produced, that they invited her to return home with them and paint the members of their family at five dollars a head. She was to prepare the canvas, while they would find paints.
Mrs. Colby, in the mean time, had written to Mr. Jackson, requesting him to advance money on her account to Miss Pillsbury, should it be necessary; but Mary had no need of more than she could earn. She wrote to Boston for her trunk, and received it. Her parents, by this time, had learned her whereabouts, and no longer opposed her wish for independence.
She made portraits of all the Riders, and of thirty other persons in Willington. Among her sitters were members of the family of Jonathan Weston, Esq. Several persons raised a sum by subscription to pay for the portrait of Miranda Vinton, the Burmese missionary. Miss Pillsbury had many offers of a home, and invitations to spend her time in different families, but she preferred living entirely for her art.
Returning to Hartford, she painted a few more portraits. Mr. Weston’s daughter became her particular friend, and Mary was always warmly welcomed by her in her father’s house.
The young lady’s uncle, Mr. Weston, of New York, came to pay his brother a visit, and took a great interest in Mary’s paintings. He urged her to come to New York, and improve herself by lessons and study. After his departure, she became once more possessed by an intense desire to revisit the city, and find some method of making more rapid progress. She received a letter from the gentleman’s daughter, inviting her to come at once to New York, where she could profit by the instruction of experienced artists. The prospect was an alluring one, but Miss Pillsbury felt that she could not afford to give herself the luxury of such lessons. She said this in her reply to the letter of invitation.
Shortly afterward another letter came from Miss Weston, urging her coming more earnestly. Her father, she said, would procure her a teacher, and would make arrangements for the winter. She was pressed to make her home at his house; and, should she not be successful in her undertaking, he pledged himself to see her safely back to her friends.
This tempting offer was accepted. During the winter Miss Pillsbury devoted herself to copying paintings. Ere long she must have made the discovery that another feeling, besides the wish to foster genius, had led Mr. Weston to be so anxious for her presence. Suffice it to say that in three months she became his wife, with the understanding that she was to pursue the profession she had chosen without restraint.
For a few years Mrs. Weston exercised her skill in painting under circumstances tending to distract her attention. She became the mother of two children, and the care of them occupied most of her time. Several of her copies have great merit. Her large picture of the “Angel Gabriel and Infant Saviour,” from Murillo, is in the possession of Mr. Henry Stebbins, who married the daughter of Mr. Weston. She made a very fine copy of Titian’s “Bella Donna” and Guercino’s “Sibylla Samia.” That of “Beatrice Cenci” has been pronounced an admirable copy. She also painted a “Fornarina.”
One evening, at a watering-place, at the first ball Mrs. Weston had ever attended, she was struck by the appearance of a lady who passed her, leaning on her husband’s arm. The lovely features of this stranger, her pure and brilliant complexion, her eyes beaming with cheerful goodness, and an indefinable grace in all her movements, impressed the artist as if she had seen a vision. Some years afterward she met Mrs. Coventry Waddell, and recognized in her the charming ideal who had been enshrined in her memory. Her portrait of this lady belongs to Mr. George Vansandvoord, of Troy.
Mrs. Waddell’s appreciation of Mrs. Weston’s abilities, and her friendship, proved a valuable aid to the sometimes discouraged artist.
Mrs. Weston’s flesh tints are especially natural and beautiful, and she gives a high finish to her copies of paintings. Those from the old masters, and others, have such wonderful fidelity that her achievements in this line would alone suffice to make a reputation. “A Witch Scene,” from Teniers, is admirable. One of her own compositions is “A Scene from Lalla Rookh,” and she has painted both landscapes and portraits from nature. She still resides in New York.