Much interesting light is also thrown upon the singular and incongruous character of Louis Napoleon. Certainly our estimate of him is not enhanced; his narrow, intriguing selfishness, his puerile fanaticism, and the diabolical unscrupulousness of his coup d'état of December 2nd, seem to justify all that his worst enemies have said about him. A singular incident is recorded. The colonel of one of the regiments to be employed on December 2nd was absent on the previous night a few miles from Paris. An aide-de-camp of St Arnaud was sent to summon him. He owed his success in life to Changarnier. As he passed Changarnier's door he thought that this mysterious summons must have something to do with the coup d'état which everybody was expecting. He got off his horse, and rang the bell. The porter, probably in bed, did not answer. Second thoughts suggested to the aide-de-camp that to tell Changarnier would be a breach of duty. He rode off without ringing again. Had Changarnier been warned, the coup d'état might have been prevented, and the subsequent history of France might have been different.
Read in the light of the history of France during the last twelve months, Mr. Senior's volumes have a singular and instructive interest. The conclusion to which they force us is a melancholy one;—the French seem to have learned nothing, and to have forgotten nothing, but to be simply whirled in a chaotic circle of furious revolution and delusive order. 'The instant,' says M. Bastiat, 'three Frenchmen meet, they talk of nothing but extending French influence over Europe, and vote by acclamation for a military expenditure;' a singular comment upon which is the recent determination by M. Thiers and his Government to raise the French army to 500,000 men. In 1849, Mr. Senior was present at a meeting of the Assembly; Jules Favre attempted to read a letter from Rome stating that the French prisoners had offered to serve in the Roman army; a scene of indescribable confusion followed, some saying that, whether true or false, the ears of Frenchmen ought not to be disgusted with such statements. General Leflô protested against letters being read from a French tribune, which insultent le drapeau. 'You tell us that the enemy has taken one of our colours. You know it is impossible, for only five hundred men are said to have fallen on our side; but before a colour could be taken whole regiments must have died.' This was received with enthusiastic applause, and Jules Favre was not permitted to read the letter. De Beaumont is right, the French are too logical—even for facts. 'The French,' said Dunoyer to Bancroft, 'utterly misconceive the purposes for which a Government ought to exist, and if that misconception continue, they will fall from revolution to revolution, and from distress to distress, till they end in bankruptcy, anarchy, and barbarism. They think that the purpose of Government is not to allow men to make their fortunes, but to make their fortunes for them. The great object of every Frenchman is to exchange the labours and risks of a business or a profession or even a trade for a public salary. The thousands of workmen who deserted employments at which they were earning four or five francs a day to get thirty sous from the ateliers nationaux were mere examples of the general feeling. To satisfy this desire, every Government goes on increasing the extent of its duties, the number of its servants, and the amount of its expenditure.'
Sumner told Mr. Senior, on the authority of the Minister of War, that 'Persigny was going to Berlin and Vienna to ask for Belgium and the Rhine and Egypt, giving Hanover to Prussia, Wallachia and Moldavia and the legations to Austria, Constantinople to Russia, and Piedmont to the Prince of Leuchtenberg.' This was confirmed by Beaumont, who said that when he was French Minister at Vienna, in 1849, Schwartzenberg showed him pretty nearly the same propositions made by Persigny.
What hope can there be for a people so flippant, so superficial, so unscrupulous! One is almost thankful for the destruction of a power whose only law is that of selfishness and opportunity.
Mr. Senior's journals in Italy are scarcely less interesting; only they seem to belong to bygone centuries. The King of Naples and the Duke of Tuscany were in power, the Pope was recoiling into a despot, Charles Albert was staking and losing his crown at Novara, and Louis Napoleon was occupying Rome.
Mr. Senior's journals are choke full of interest—a social comment on public history which future generations will peruse with greater eagerness than ourselves.
Life and Letters of William Bewick (Artist). Edited by Thomas Landseer, A.R.A. Hurst and Blackett.
Mr. Landseer is not so careful as he should be to tell us that his hero is not the Bewick whose engravings are amongst the glories of the English school. True, William is not Thomas, and Mr. Landseer somewhat ambiguously suggests the distinction by appending in a parenthesis the word 'Artist' to his name; but Art knows only one Bewick, and the lustre of his surname may well make careless readers oblivious of his Christian name. Mr. Landseer does not tell us whether there was any relationship between the two northern men, less remote, that is, than the ancestry of whom Scott reminded William. The absence of affirmation leads to the conclusion that there was not; as, doubtless, William would have been proud of a family connection with Thomas. William Bewick, then, of whose existence we frankly confess we were ignorant until we made our acquaintance with him in Mr. Landseer's book, was, notwithstanding, a man and an artist of respectable ability, whose memoir and letters are interesting chiefly for their anecdotes and characterizations of people more illustrious than himself. His father was an upholsterer in Darlington, sorely disquieted by the artistic tendencies of his son, who bravely struggled against the genius of upholstery, and dared the paternal prognostications of beggary, and the stern refusal to give him any help in his artistic aspirations. He went to London almost penniless, pleased Haydon, who saw him drawing at Burlington House, and became his pupil, as were also George Lance, William Harvey, Sir Edwin Landseer, and the brothers Charles and Thomas Landseer. He struggled hard for existence, became a pupil at the Academy, so far won the approbation of Sir Thomas Lawrence as to be commissioned by him to copy some of Michael Angelo's figures in the Sistine Chapel; and greatly delighted him by his execution of the 'Sybil,' somewhat less by that of the 'Jeremiah.' The President intended to present these copies to the Royal Academy for the benefit of future students, but died when only four of them were completed. These were sold with his effects, and, with other copies made by Mr. Bewick, are hidden in some collection, or scattered among many. The difficulties of procuring them were very great; and we agree with Mr. Landseer in his regret that they are not secured for public inspection and use. Mr. Bewick seems to have had peculiar skill as a copyist. Goethe gave him a commission to execute copies of some of the figures in the Elgin marbles. A head painted by him was mistaken for a Murillo by both Wilkie and Calcott. His 'Jacob and Rachel' was exhibited in London, and won encomiums from men whose praise was almost fame. Mr. Bewick seems also to have been a skilful portrait painter, or rather sketcher, for he usually asked only a couple of sittings from the notable men whom he sought to include in his portfolio. Thus, he sketched Hazlitt, Scott, Brewster, Jeffrey, Professor Wilson, Mrs. Grant of Logan, Jamieson, McCulloch, Liston, the Ettrick Shepherd, Dr. Birkbeck, Lord Norbury, O'Connell, Lady Morgan, Maturin, Shiel, and many others. To these he easily procured introductions, and his artistic ability induced them to sit to him. He seems to have been singularly successful, and his personal agreeableness and social abilities seem to have won greatly upon all who thus made his acquaintance.
Hence he became acquainted with a large number of persons celebrated in literature and art. These he carefully Boswellized, drawing their portraits with the pen as well as with the pencil, and telling interesting anecdotes concerning them. Hence these volumes, consisting chiefly of his journals and letters, are a rich repertory of reminiscences of notable men, which, like Senior's journals in other circles of life, will have a permanent interest and value as the records of an intelligent contemporary observer. Mr. Bewick's literary style is somewhat inflated, and his story-telling is somewhat prolix; it is not therefore easy, within our limits, to pick out any of the plums of the really dainty feast that he has set before us. With Haydon and Hazlitt, Bewick was on terms of personal friendship, and of both he presents lengthened and interesting sketches. While, of course, fully conscious of Haydon's faults, he was bravely faithful to him. Haydon was very kind to Bewick. The latter was moneyless, and Haydon had only £5. 'However,' says he, 'I'll let you have five shillings, that will help a little.' He likewise offered to guarantee a quarter's living at an eating-house. Haydon took no fees from his pupils, but repaid himself in a characteristic way. He induced his pupils to put their names to accommodation bills, and Bewick was so implicated that when the smash came he 'found it impossible to deliver himself from the difficulties which beset him in consequence of the desperate state of Haydon's affairs.' Bewick sat as model for the head of Haydon's 'Lazarus,' he being at the time opportunely ill. Wilkie, otherwise a clumsy figure, had very fine hands. Taking hold of them, Haydon said one day, 'Look here, Bewick, these are what I painted my "Christ's" hands from. Wilkie's hands are the only parts of his person that are like his pictures. They are made for fine execution; my hands are very good, but they are not so tremulously nervous,—so delicate or refined. These will never paint large works with power, nor will mine ever paint small pictures with sufficient delicacy and refinement. You would never suppose that these hands would have such a miserable mess upon the palette as you see there (looking down at Wilkie's dirty palette). Wilkie's hands were copied for the real mother in my picture of "Solomon," and it has been said that they are the most tender and expressive part of the whole picture.' Wilkie's hands were artistically close as well as symmetrical. Haydon, hard up, as usual, went to Kensington to ask his friend for the loan of £5. 'I was struck with his blank expression of face; if I had given him a blow he could not have been more staggered. I knew he had received some hundreds for his last work, and I ought to have done the same. Wilkie put his hand to his mouth, and pressed his under lip between his finger and thumb, like one of the figures in his "Rent-Day," and drawled out in cold Scotch that he "raaly couldn't" let me have it. I said, "You can't, eh?" He replied, "No, indeed he could not." I was silent—numbed; my young heart, warm then in the feelings and sentiments of friendship, had received a shock. I felt my cheek hot with the blush of wounded pride and disappointment, and could only say, "I am sorry for it;" and, wishing him a good morning, left him to himself and his hundreds.' Haydon was an awkward leech; but considering their friendship, this was a little too bad of Wilkie. On his way home, an eating-house keeper was more generous. To eat was a necessity. Haydon, who had dined at the place often, went in therefore, and after his dinner 'my hand went into my empty pocket in make-belief, and I said, "Oh, I've forgot my money to-day, I will pay, you to-morrow!" Just as I put foot upon the step of the outer door, a gentle tap on my shoulder stayed my progress, and I was very civilly invited by the keeper of the eating-house to walk into his room, as he wished to speak to me. I returned with him. He then shut the door, and after apologising for the liberty he was taking, said he had read in the papers how badly I had been used with regard to my picture ("Macbeth," which Sir G. Beaumont had returned because Haydon had increased its size), and that if dining there, or living entirely at his house, would be any convenience to me, he should be quite delighted, and I might pay him when I was able. I agreed to dine there for the future, with many thanks for this noble, disinterested kindness.' It is pleasant to add that when, shortly afterwards, 'Solomon' sold for eight hundred guineas, Haydon paid all his creditors, the generous eating-housekeeper included; and, still more, that his friendship for Wilkie still continued. 'I did not let trifles of this kind come between us to mar our mutual satisfaction in the pursuit of our beloved art.'
We regret that we cannot extract Bewick's interesting descriptions of Hazlitt, nor his exciting account of an evening with Ugo Foscolo and Wordsworth—the best picture in the book—when the passionate Italian declaimed his poetry before the philosophic Lakeist; and in Haydon's small parlour, greatly to the peril of Wordsworth's nose, especially when, in the extraordinary discussion which followed, Foscolo clenched his fist in the poet's face. Amusing anecdotes of Wilkie, especially one of his visit to Castle Howard, and of Lord Carlisle's indignation at the thought that he wanted to dine with him—'What does the fellow mean? Does he want to dine with me? I think my steward or housekeeper might content him;' interviews with Curran, Lord Norbury, O'Connell; two visits to Abbotsford, introducing anecdotes and characteristic traits of Scott; a visit to the Ettrick Shepherd; sketches, anecdotes, gossip concerning dozens of notables in literature and art; letters and journals from Rome and Naples, with anecdotes of Gibson, whose friendship he secured, and who modelled his bust; correspondence in leisurely age with his friend Davison concerning art and artists, with the various methods and merits of the latter, make up two volumes of the most interesting ana, which few will be able to throw aside until they are finished. It is pleasant to add that Mr. Bewick acquired a competence, built a house and a picture gallery at Darlington, and although for some years a valetudinarian, died in a good old age, greatly respected by a large circle of friends.