George Streynsham Master.

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to us for that.' I said : * You gentlemen
were ordered to bring me home without
harm ; and now will you yourselves murder
me? Therefore do what you will; it is
impossible for me to get so much money.'
Then they cut down half; and at last I
agreed with those three persons to give
every one of their men half a ruble each.
When they went out the other Streltsi would
not agree to this, and said that they must
each have a ruble. The three men, however,
said : * We have agreed with the landlord for
half a ruble, and cannot take our words
back, you must, therefore, be contented.'
Whereupon they all kept still. I then had
the money counted out, and wrapped each
half ruble separately in a paper, and had
the Streltsi counted, when we found them
to be 287 men strong. They then sat in a
circle all about my court-yard, and the
money was given out to them by two men,
and after they had all once more taken a
drink and had thanked me most heartily,
they went away. When they were out of
the court- yard, I fell on my knees, together
with my family, and thanked God for his
gracious preservation and assistance, for
according to all appearances if 1 had gone
out without my clothes, and on foot I
should not have come out of their hands
alive. If a single man of the Streltsi who
accompanied me, had lifted his finger to
mark me out I should have been killed.
The same day another party came to look
for the doctor, but they were somewhat
more civil than the first time; and in the
night (or early on the Wednesday morning)
stiU another party of Streltsi came and
searched through my house. They also
were civil enough, but they terrified us a
great deal, because we felt there would be
no end of it until the doctor was found, for
the Streltsi were immoderately embittered
against him. When at day-break the news
came that the doctor had been found, all
we neighbors were right glad, although we
knew he was iimocent; yet he could not
have escaped, and we were saved from

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much anxiety. That same day I asked
the Boyir Prince Bazil Galftsyn (who had
taken diarge of the Department of Foreign
Affairs, instead of Larion Ivdnof) to give
me some Streltsi as a guard, which was
done; and on Thursday five Streltsi were
put in my house, and changed every day."

The old Naif shkm, the father of the
Tsaritsa, with his sons, several other rela-
tives, and the son of Matv^ief, a youth of
seventeen, concealed themselves at first in
the dark closets in the bedroom of the little
•Princess Natalia, but were afterward taken
to the further room of the Tsaritsa Martha,
which had no windows, and was next to the
court of the Patriarch's palace. Here Ivdn
Naryshkin, who was particularly sought after
by the Streltsi, cut off his long hair, and then
an old bed-chamberwoman, Klush, — who
was the only one who knew exactly where
they were concealed, — took them out in the
morning into a dark store-room on the
ground floor, covered up the windows with
pillows, and wished to shut them in there,
but Matv^ief said "No; if you fasten the
door, the Streltsi will suspect something,
will break it open and find us and kill us."
The room was therefore made perfectly dark,
and the door was left open a few inches,
while the refugees crowded together in a
dark comer behind it. " We had scarcely
got there," says young Matv6ief, *' before
several Streltsi passed and looked quickly
round. Some of them looked in through
the open door, struck their spears into the
pillows, saying spitefully: *It is plain our
men have already been here.* "

That day the Streltsi captured Ivdn
Yazj^kof on the Nikitskaya street as he was
hurrying to a church to conceal himself
He was met by a servant who knew him.
Yazykof pulled off a valuable ring from his
finger and giving it to him begged him not to
tell anybody. The rascal promised not to
do so ; but immediately called some Streltsi,
who ran up, looked through the church and
found Yazykof, dragged him with jeers to
the Red Place and kUled him.

On the third day, the 27th of May, the
Streltsi again came to the Kremlin, and to
the .beating of drums, stationed themselves
about the palace, while some of them
climbed straight up to the balcony and in-
sisted on the surrender of Ivan Naryshkin.
They threatened all the servitors of the
palace with death if they did not find him,
and declared they would not leave the
Kremlin imtel they had possession of him.
They even threatened the life of the Tsaritsa

Natalia and of the other members of the
Tsar's family. At last it became evident
that nothing could be done, and the Prin-
cess Sophia went to Natalia and said :
" There is no way of getting out of it ; to
save the lives of all of us you must give
up your brother." Natalia, after useless
protests, then brought out Ivdn Naryshkin
and conducted him into the Church of
the Savior beyond the Wicket. Here he
received the Holy Communion and pre-
pared himself for death . Sophia handed him
an image of the Virgin and said, " Perhaps
when the Streltsi see this holy picture they
will let him go." All in the palace were
so terrified that it seemed to them that Ivin
Nar]^shkin was lingering too long. Even
the old prince Jacob Od6iefeky, a kindly
but timorous old man, went up to the
Tsaritsa and said : " How long, O lady, you
are keeping your brother. For you must
give him up. Go on quickly, Ivdn Kirf-
lovitch, and don't let us all be killed for your
sake." The Tsaritsa led him as far as the
Golden Wicket, where the Streltsi stood.
They immediately seized on him and began
to indulge in all sorts of abuse and insult
before her eyes. He was dragged by the
feet down the staircase through the square
to the Constantine torture-room. Though
most fearfully tortured, Naryshkin set his
teeth and uttered not a word. Here was also
brought Dr. Daniel Von Gaden, who was
caught in the dress of a beggar wearing
bark sandals, and with a wallet over his
shoulders. He had escaped from the town
and had passed two days in the woods, but
had become so famished that he had re-
turned to the German quarter to get some
food firom an acquaintance, when he was
recognized and arrested. Von Gaden, in
the midst of his tortures, begged for three
days more, in which he promised to name
those who deserved death more than he.
His words were written down, while others
cried out : " What is the use of listening to
him ? Tear up the paper," and dragged
him, together with Naryshkin, from the
torture-room to the Red Place. They were
both lifted up on the points of spears ; after-
ward their hands and feet were cut off, and
their bodies chopped up into small pieces
and trampled into the mud. With these
two deaths the murders came to an end.
The Streltsi went from the Red Place to
the palace of the Kremlin and cried : " We
are now content. Let your Tsarish Maj-
esty do with the other traitors as may seem
good. We are ready to lay down our heads

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for the Tsar, for the Tsaritsa, for the Tsar-
6vitch and the Tsar^vnas."

That very day permission was granted for
the burial of the bodies, many of which
had l)een lying in the Red Place since the
first day of the riot ; and the faithful black
servant of old Matv^ief went out with a
sheet and collected the mutilated remains
of his master, and carried them on pillows
to the parish church of St. Nicholas, where
they were buried.

On the 28th of May, deputies of the
Streltsi regiments came unarmed to the
palace and petitioned the Tsar to order his
grandfather, Cyril Nar^shkin, to be tonsured
as a monk. The old man was immediately
taken across the Kremlin to the Miracle
Monastery, and after taking monastic vows
under the name of Cyprian, was carried
off in a small cart to the monastery of St.
Cyril on the White Lake. His younger
sons, Leo, Martemian and Theodore, suc-
ceeded in escaping from Moscow in common
gray peasants' clothes under the care of
some of their faithful servants, and concealed

themselves in distant places, as did
of their relatives. Through the- kindness
of a dwarf named Komar who was mticfa
attached to Peter, young Matv^ief was dis-
guised as a groom, and boldly went out with
the dwarf down the chief staircase. There
the dwarf mounted his horse, which Ma.t«
v6ief led, and they went through the
Kremlin and the White Town to the
Smolensk Gate, where the strong guaixi
fortunately did not recognize him. He
was handed over to the care of the priest of
the Church of the Descent of the Holy Spiiit;^
with an order from the Tsaritsa Natalia to
conceal him. He was passed over by the
priest to his relative, a groom, where he lived
in peasant's clothing for some time under the
name of Kondfat, and then wandered from
one place to another until quiet was restored^
Three days after this, on the 30th of May,
the Streltsi petitioned again that the Tsar
should exile. the brothers Likhitchef, the
rest of the Naryshkins and young Matv^ief,
and some other adherents of Peter. This
decree was immediately issued.

(To be condnued.)



Strange spell of youth for age, and age for youth,
Afiinity between two forms of truth ! —
As if the dawn and sunset watched each other.
Like and unlike as children of one mother
And wondering at the likeness. Ardent eyes
Of young men see the prophecy arise
Of what their lives shall be when all is told ;
And in the far-off glow of years called old
Those other eyes look back to catch a trace
Of what was once their own unshadowed grace.
But here in our dear poet both are blended —
Ripe age begun, yet golden youth not ended —
Even as his song the willowy scent of spring
Doth blend with autumn's tender mellowing,
And mixes praise with satire, tears with fun.
In strains that ever delicately run.
So musical and wise, page after page.
The sage a minstrel grows, the bard a sage.
The dew of youth so fills his late-sprung flowers,
And day-break glory haunts his evening's hours.
Ah, such a life prefigures its own moral:
That first " Last Leaf" is now a leaf of laurel.
Which — ^smiling not, but trembling at the touch —
Youth gives back to the hand that gave so much.
Evening of December 3, 1879.

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The other day, there died in Paris a man
who was the universal comic reviewer for
France. Though but a draughtsman for the
comic papers, he exercised a distinct public
function — ^he was necessary to our mtelli-
gence of afifairs. No question was quite
understood until Cham had given us the
ridiculous side of it. The politicians might
speak, the journalists might write ; but there
was still more light wanting — Cham's sketch
in the " Charivari."

"Cham" was a pseudonym. He was
the Vicomte, and afterward the Comte, de
No^ ; and as N06 is the French for Noah,
and Cham is the French for the scriptural
Ham, the artist, who was the second son
of his father, took that name. The old
count was a stanch Legitimist; he married
an Englishwoman; and from the one or
the other circumstance of parentage we may
trace many of the peculiarities of Cham's
genius. He had our English humor to per-

fection — more humor, in fact, than esprit;
that is to say, a keener sense of the absurd
in differences than in resemblances. Much
of his fim, indeed, was the veritable horse-
play of mind. His father gave him the
seigneur's contempt for the mob and still
greater contempt for the middle class. But
of course Cham, as a modem Frenchman,
was a foster-son of the Revolution, whether
he liked it or no; and so, by way of
making the best of that situation, he spent
his life in laughing at revolutionary follies.
The laugh was a good-natured one, or
Cham's best things could never have beep
presented to the public through the medium
of a Republican journal, the " Charivari."
Perhaps it was the "Charivari's" way of
giving the losing side a hearing. All the
other contributors were ardent Republicans,
who lashed the Reaction with unsparing
fury. But their comrade was always at
hand to apply the correcrive, in the shape

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of pages of pictorial fun, illustrative of the
great truth that foolishness is never the
monopoly of a party.

Cham, as a matter of course, took some
little time to find what he was fit for, and
at first he thought that historical paint-
ing was his line. So he went to the stu-
dio of Paul Delaroche, and persistentiy
tried to draw things as other people saw
them, until he found himself compelled to
draw them as they appeared to himself;
that is to say, they all came out caricatures.
He was quicker than most artists of his
stamp in letting his genius have its own way.
Most of them, to the end of their lives, be-

lieve that the heroic is their true vocation.
Did Liston ever cease to look on Pciul l^j
as a stepping-stone to Richard III. ? After
going through the usual course of " the clas-
sics" in pictorial study, Cham laid aside
that style forever, and, under the influence
of Charlet, began to draw for the amuse-
ment of mankind.

There must have been a strong tempta-
tion to this course in the state of public
a^faiirs. While Cham was serving his af>-
prenticeship to art, France was jxassing
through an interval of unrest between two
revolutions — living alternately on the mem-
ory of the one, and the joyous expectation
of another that was to flnisb
off the whole fabric of uni-
versal happiness. Every kind
of visionary had his hour.
The young fellow had only to
open his eyes to behold the
richest harvest of eccentricities
ever offered to the reaper.
After one or two performances
of no great moment, he pro-
duced the "Assembl6e Na-
tionale Comique" of 1848,
which, as republished by
Michel L^vy, makes a bulky
volume. Lireux wrote the
letter-press. This volume is
very droll; and at the same
rime, as read in the light of
our present knowledge, it has
a tragic import. One sees
how it must all end. This
group of school-boys, who
have ))roken bounds, can
never be quieted without the
rod. Louis Napoleon is hard-
ly menrioned in the history,
yet, in a sense, he is in every
page of it. His somber fig-
ure,with his legions of butchers
behind him, seems to be in the
very water-mark of the paper.
The book is a course of phil-
osophic history, though Cham
only meant it to be a course
of satire. It carries us back
to a time of the maddest po-
litical confusion. We are in
another world, peopled by the
fantastic shapes of the prole-
tarian dream. Liberty, light,
plenty, happiness are to be-
come the universal heritage of
mankind. Afew good laws will


do it, or less than that j let us

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make haste and find " the formula " for one
grand regenerating decree. Those who have
nothing to give dignity and grace and sweet-
ness to life are suddenly to have all ; and if
they are baulked of their craving, France shall
expiate their disappointment in flames and
blood. Now, beanng the real nature of
this expectation in mmd, see the pathos
of M. de Lamartine*s attempt to fulfill
it with a hw fine words. He is a won-
derful talker; his rhetoric is a display of
fire-works. Somebody accuses him of
conspiring. " Yes," he says, " I conspire
as the metallic rod conspires with the
thunder cloud." Cham forthwith sketches
him as a lightning-conductor. There is
a good deal of lightning in the air: the
faubourgs have risen ; the democratic
clubs invade the Assembly, only half in
a friendly way. At first they only smile
on these amiable talkers, but the smile
serves to show their teeth. Then they
clamber into the galleries, chaff the
terrified representatives; bully them —
in fact, assume all the airs of an ill-con-
ditioned " boss " at odds with his work-
people. Then, for *' a lark," they dissolve
the Assembly — dissolving themselves five
minutes after on the approach of the
Guard. No one is more disgusted at the
outbreak than the man who has uninten-
tionally done his best to provoke it. Little

Louis Blanc is the god of the pUbs ; and,
as Cham shows us, he is, in the physical
sense at least, the very smallest deity that
ever kept the monster in awe. He sketches
him standing in the tribune in humilia-
ting contrast, or rather identity of bulk, with


the tumbler for his sugar and water; or, so
lost in sorrow and indignation, that we see
nothing of him but the tips of his tiny fin-
gers outstretched in despairing gesture above
his desk. The Assembly is too frightened
and angry to take his explanations in good

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part. It must have a victim. There is a
rumor that he knew more of the rising
than he cares to say, and the rumor soon
grows into an accusation. Jules Favre pre-
sents the accusation in the form of a report


on the proceedings of the day of tumult.
He does it with an insidious calm which
stirs all the bile of Cham. The caricaturist
seldom hates, but he makes an exception
in favor of this man. Much as he scorns
the violence and the pretension of the
roughs and their hero, he can still laugh
at it; but he has a sensation akin to sea-
sickness in contemplating their ac-
cuser. He draws Jules Favre with
the forked tongue of the serpent : it
is the one detestable figure of the
book. Lireux shares his aversion.
" Look on his pale face," he cries,
" mark the cruel perfidy of his ora-
torical precautions, his flowers of rhet-
oric dropped on the victim he is going
to slay.** By and by Cham, taking
advantage of some parliamentary
check which Jules Favre lias suffered,
gives us a picture of him as a sort
of viper crushed with an honest coun-
tryman's boot. And so our history
goes on. Louis Blanc clears himself
of the charge against him in a fine
explosive burst of eloquence almost
enough to shake his manikin organi-
zation to pieces; and presently we
have the figure of Cavaignac showing
the Assembly the sword which, as
long as he wields it, is the symbol of
order. Cavaignac is a true hero;
and Cham must think so, as he lets him
off very lightly in the drawing— only giving
him an elongated nose.

All the leading figures of the time are in
the "Assembl^e Nationale Comique.'* Here

is Pierre Leroux, the great Socialist, the in-
spirer of Georges Sand's ^* Consuelo," the
cb-eamer of dreams. Cham draws him like
the wild man he is — an admirable figure, as
of some not ignoble savage out of the for-
est who has lost his way in civilization.
The coadjutor hints that he is shabby and
rather dirty. *' One might call him an an-
cient Vicar of St. Eustache, who has taken
advantage of the Revolution to marry his
cook." Here is Lamennais in a fine ren-
dering of his peculiarly forlorn position in
this political turmoil. His timid, halting
voice, we are told, is the true expression of
his nature — of his life passed between the
two stools of the cloister and the tribune.
In a few bofd touches Cham pictures the
man standing before the National Assembly
as though on his trial. And, indeed, at this
moment he is on his trial, for he is
avowing his full responsibility for certain
articles for which the Assembly is going
to prosecute an unlucky printer. Mon-
talembert, another clerical politician, is less
satirically touched off, but the drawing is
at least a portrait. Cham, perhaps, did
not find enough in him at that time. Mon-
talembert had yet to acquire the full celeb-
rity of his condemnarion by the judges
under Napoleon III., for offensive compah-


sons between the liberries of England and
of France. F^lix Pyat is more happily
done. It is an actor at the foot-lights.
He is soaring; we can almost hear them
" giving him a hand." For we are in a tragi-

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CHAM. 745

robe him in a news-sheet, for he is the essential
journalist, the Horace Greeley of. France. He
has founded more papers than most French-
men have read. His notion of intellectual
activity is to have "a new idea every day."
He is old now, and sometimes he has no more
than two ideas a week, but an indulgent pub-
lic does not keep a strict account. There are
also representations of that essential soldier,
Changamier. Orleanist as he was, he de-
fended the Republic ; and he did it honestly,
for he told the Republicans that he should be
delighted to see the last of them. He oflfered
his sword to the government for the preserva-
'- tion of social order, but it was generally un-
;^ derstood, even by those who employed him,
that he was only waiting for his opportunity
, to play the part of General Monk. He was a
self-conscious hero ; and Cham says as much
in the sketch. During the coup d'^idt, Louis
Napoleon felt too imcertain of his support
to leave him at large. He was locked up
with the rest ; and in the darkest hour of
the Emperor's fortunes, he took his revenge
for the outrage, by hurrying with tottering
steps to Metz, to ofifer his old oppressor the
use of his sword. There is a gayer note in
comedy booth — nothing but that. For , other drawings. The negro deputy from
other diversions of the fair, here is little one of the French colonies passes to his
Thiers on stilts getting ready for a fight , seat in the Assembly, before a public rather


with Proudhon, another Socialist, and a
more dangefbus one than Leroux. That
most formidable of all formulas, " Property

terrified to think of its fellowship in civic
rights with anything so black, while Cremieux,
the Liberal and the Israelite, tumbles into a

is Robbery," was the mintage of his brain, vase of holy water!
Thiers faces him as the champion of the ! But Cham was not a great caricaturist ; he
bourgeois terrified for its money-bags ; and i was mainly a great joker. He would have
as it was fondly believed at the mo-
ment, with decisive success. Alas!
the victorious logician had to do his
work all over again with fire and sword
in the time of the Commune, for in
that movement the theories of Proud-
hon had their part He was buried
only the other day; but his body will
be very fine dust before Socialism ceases
to have its press and its prophets.
Here is Hugo in the orator's box,
making believe he is engaged in parlia-
mentary discussion, though really play-
ing the hero of one of his own pieces.
It is the Hugo of our fathers. This
generation knows him only as the old
man eloquent; but there was a time
when he posed as the literary dandy, as
the young lion of mind. Girardin ap-
pearsDext,in a copy of his latest journal,
worn like a Venetian cloak. He, too,
is living to this day, and is a force in
France. It was a happy thought to rtux pyat.

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done still better in the "Assembl6e Nation-
ale " if he had written the legends for his
own designs. When he had to run alone,
both for sketch and descriptive motto, he
was at his best Very often the motto was


the principal thing, and the sketch a mere
amplification of it. He seems to have appre-
hended things as a man of letters, and to
have drawn afterward only to make
a literary conception more clear. In
this respect he worked very much as
Thackeray did. He is often com-
pared to Daumier, the contemporary
Republican prophet of fun. But Dau-
mier drew well ; whereas Cham never
had any pretensions to academical
style. Daumier was full of purpose
and serious, while Cham showed a
more artistic temperament in being
very impatient of a moral. Nearly :
all Daumier's work is strong pictorial ~
satire ; his " Robert Macaire," for
instance, is one of the most pitiless
exposures of a corrupt society ever
presented to the world. Cham had
not the austerity of mind for that
He was more like the English Leech
in the quality of his genius, though
inferior to him as a draughtsman.
This last defect was, indeed, his
quality. The very looseness of his work-
manship gave his jests a certain homely
air and a sincerity which was half the
secret of their effect. Is it too much to
say that there is a law in this, and that the

great academical caricaturists have never
been truly amusing ? There is something a
little too good in their work for the perfect
grotesque; we feel reverent in looking at it:
we are within the portals of the Schools.
The Tenniel cartoon in " Punch " often com-

Online LibraryGeorge Streynsham MasterThe Century, Volume 19 → online text (page 125 of 160)