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.

[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.