Read Ebook: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature Science and Art No. 753 June 1 1878 by Various Chambers Robert Editor Chambers William Editor

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 129 lines and 20501 words, and 3 pages

Editor: William Chambers Robert Chambers

Charles Bianconi was altogether a very remarkable person, and not less for his energy and perseverance than for his public services, ought to be kept in remembrance. He was by birth an Italian--not, however, an Italian of the lethargic south, but of the northern mountainous district bordering on the Lake of Como. We might call him an Italian highlander. Belonging to a respectable though not affluent family, he was born on the 24th September 1786. At school he made so little progress as to be thought little better than a dunce. People did not quite understand his character. His impulse was to work, not to study. He wanted to have something to do, and if put on a fair track, was not afraid of being left behind in the ordinary business of life. With this adventurous disposition, and with a good physical stamina, he was bound for eighteen months to Andrea Faroni, who was to take him to London, and there learn the business of a dealer in prints, barometers, and small telescopes. Faroni did not strictly fulfil his part of the contract. Instead of proceeding to London, he took the boy to Dublin, at which he arrived in 1802; so there he was started in a business career in Ireland when sixteen years of age. Helpless, friendless, without money, and ignorant of the English language, his fate was rather hard; but his privations only served to strengthen his powers of self-reliance. Like a hero, he determined to overcome all difficulties.

Faroni, his master, seems to have made a trade of getting Italian boys into his clutches. Besides Bianconi, he had several others, whom he daily turned out to the streets to sell prints in a poor kind of frames, always making a point that they should set off on their travels without any money, and bring home to him the proceeds of their industry. At first, Bianconi was at a loss how to carry on his dealings. The only English word he was made acquainted with was 'buy, buy;' and when asked the price of his prints, he could only count on his fingers the number of pence he demanded. In a short time, he picked up other words; and gave so much satisfaction to his employer, that he was sent off to the country every Monday morning with two pounds worth of pictures, and a munificent allowance of fourpence in his pocket as subsistence-money until he returned on Saturday evening. How he contrived to live on less than a penny a day, is not mentioned. We daresay, he often got a warm potato as well as a night's lodging from the kind-hearted peasantry to whom he exhibited his wares. Opening his pack was as good as a show. He carried a variety of Scripture pieces, pictures of the Royal family, and portraits of Bonaparte and his distinguished generals, all which were profoundly interesting, and found willing purchasers. On one occasion, an over-zealous magistrate, thinking there was a treasonous purpose in selling effigies of Bonaparte, arrested the young pedler, and kept him all night in a guard-room without fire or bedding, and only in the morning was he liberated, almost in a perishing condition. Every Saturday night, Bianconi returned to Dublin to deliver the money he had gathered, and this he did with an honesty which commanded that degree of confidence and respect which led to his professional advancement.

Bianconi's rambles during three to four years took him chiefly in a south-western direction from Dublin, towards Waterford, Carrick-on-Suir, and Clonmel, in which neighbourhood he made many friends in respectable circles, who were anxious to help him with their countenance and advice, of which as a foreigner he stood in need. So encouraged, he dropped the trade of pedler, and set up as a carver and gilder in Carrick in 1806. Not long afterwards, he removed to Waterford, and issued cards intimating that he was 'a carver and gilder of the first class.' It was a bold announcement; but he resolved to make up for deficiencies by incessant industry; and with the exception of two hours for meals, he worked from six o'clock in the morning until past midnight. Hear that, ye false friends of the working classes--ye preachers of the gospel of idleness! Bianconi remained two years in Waterford, and having improved in means and mechanical knowledge, he removed to Clonmel, in which he settled down for a permanence. Clonmel is a thriving borough of some importance, on the river Suir, chiefly in the county of Tipperary, and fourteen miles south from Cashel. We shall not go into any account of his growing trade in mirrors and gilded picture-frames; it is enough to say that Bianconi, by his suavity, integrity, and diligence in his calling, laid the foundation of his fortunes, by which he was enabled to project and carry out a very stupendous undertaking.

A grand thought burst on Bianconi. He conceived the idea of establishing a system of cheap and commodious travelling through Ireland. The only public conveyances were a few mail and day coaches on the great lines of road. Across the country there was no means of transit between market-towns, except by private or specially hired carriages. The plan fallen upon was to start public cars, each with two wheels, drawn by a single horse, and carrying six passengers--three on each side, sitting with their faces outward, in the Irish fashion, with the driver on an elevated seat in front. The attempt was made in 1815, beginning with a car from Clonmel to Cahir, and subsequently extended to Tipperary and Limerick. The thing took. A grievous public want was supplied, and supplied by a foreigner. From town to town, this way and that way over hundreds of miles, Bianconi's cars spread, and became a great institution. On certain routes, cars with four wheels drawn by two horses, with accommodation for twelve passengers, were established; and latterly there were cars drawn by four horses, accommodating sixteen passengers. At Clonmel there was a gigantic establishment, the centre of the organisation, and at the head of the whole was Bianconi, like the general at the head of an army--his carving and gilding business, of course, being given up, and nothing thought of but cars, horses, drivers, and way-bills.

Bianconi's head was not turned by his surprising success. He was not one of your foolish persons who, having hit upon a successful enterprise, leave it to its fate, and heedlessly take their ease. His genius for organisation was exercised now only for the first time. The smallest as well as the greatest matters occupied his attention; yet Bianconi was not a mere business monster, set on making money. He was generous in his gifts for pious objects and the support of schools; nor was he less noted for his profuse and genial hospitality. He had, however, higher claims to the character of a public benefactor. When his cars were generally established, he realised the pleasure of seeing the good they were doing. In a paper read by him at the British Association meeting in 1857, he speaks of the many advantages arising from the speedy and free communication he had set on foot. 'As the establishment extended, I was surprised and delighted at its commercial and moral importance. I found, as soon as I had opened communication with the interior of the country, the consumption of manufactured goods greatly increased. In the remote parts of Ireland, before my cars ran from Tralee to Cahirciveen in the south, from Galway to Clifden in the west, and from Ballina to Belmullet in the north-west, purchasers were obliged to give eight or nine pence a yard for calico for shirts, which they afterwards bought for three or four pence. The poor people, therefore, who previously could ill afford to buy one shirt, were enabled to buy two for a less price than they had paid for one, and in the same ratio other commodities came into general use at reduced prices.' The introduction of railways naturally deranged the car traffic. But in 1857, Bianconi had still nine hundred horses, working sixty-seven conveyances, and travelling daily four thousand two hundred and forty-four miles. There was in fact as much car traffic as ever, only changed in many places into cross-roads, and running short distances in connection with railway stations--a fact which verifies what is obvious to everybody; for railways, instead of diminishing the number of horses in the country, as short-sighted people prognosticated, have greatly increased them. Bianconi felt a pride in thinking how through the agency of his cars the fisheries on the west of Ireland had been largely promoted, thereby contributing to the comfort and independence of the people; and he was prouder still to say, for the sake of Ireland, that his conveyances, though travelling night and day, and many of them carrying important mails, had never once been interrupted by any social disorder, and never suffered the slightest injury.

From prudential considerations, Bianconi continued a bachelor until he was well established in the car business, and was in good circumstances. When, as he thought, the proper time had come, and he had a handsomely furnished house in Clonmel into which he might introduce a wife, he in 1827 married a young and amiable lady, Eliza Hayes, daughter of a stock-broker in Dublin. Of this marriage there was a family of a son and two daughters. The son died while still a young man, and the eldest daughter, Kate, died unmarried. The youngest daughter, Mary Ann, was married to Morgan John O'Connell, M.P. for Kerry, and nephew of the famous Dan. O'Connell. Surviving her husband, this lady has lately given to the world a memoir of her father, 'Charles Bianconi, a Biography' , to which we have been indebted for a number of interesting particulars. Mrs O'Connell's recollections picture her father in his early married life as a man who gave little heed to home affairs. His time was divided on his cars, electioneering, and getting into the corporation of Clonmel. He was fond of his children, but too busy to think much about them. 'For a man of such excellent common-sense in most things,' says his daughter, 'he was not a judicious father. He suffered my handsome brother to grow up without a profession.' This is not said disrespectfully, but to present a type of men in married life, who, with excellent abilities and good intentions, habitually neglect the rearing of their sons to any useful purpose. Who could not point to lamentable instances of this indiscretion, and the unhappy consequences which follow?

Bianconi had an ambition. It was to be Mayor of Clonmel. Some will think this a weakness, but it was excusable. One who had begun life as a poor alien boy struggling with poverty, and cared for by nobody, wished to shew that by the revolution of fortune he was qualified for a position of honour and dignity. His ambition was gratified. In 1844, he was unanimously elected Mayor of Clonmel for the ensuing year; and such was the satisfaction he gave as a magistrate, that he was elected for a second term of office. For a position of this kind he was eminently qualified. He had learned to speak English with perfect fluency, and from observation was able to act his part in a manner equal to that of any native-born citizen. Intuitively he had caught up the fervour of the Irish character, as well as a knowledge of the legal disabilities which had hitherto exasperated the majority of the nation. A friend to justice and toleration, and on all sides desirous to promote peace and good-will, it is not surprising that he attained to popular favour.

In Mrs O'Connell's memoir of her father we have a glimpse of a few of his eccentricities. So anxious was he to be helpful when his interference could be of any use, that while acting as Mayor of Clonmel he did not mind clambering on the top of his cars to pack the luggage of passengers; and he would give himself any amount of trouble to get situations for young men in whom he had confidence. While generous in his charities, he was scrupulous to parsimony when there was a chance of making a good bargain. This trait of character, however, is not uncommon. We have heard related the anecdote of a wealthy London banker, who one day saw his coachman taking home a pie of tempting appearance for dinner. Inquiring the price of the pie, he learned that it cost half-a-crown. 'If you please, James, I'll take the bargain off your hands; there is half-a-crown for you, and you can easily get another pie for yourself.' So saying, the banker secured the pie, which would last him for dinner for a week. Bianconi was equally acute in trying to turn the penny. 'One day, in Fleet Street, just after he had engaged a four-wheeled cab, my father saw a stout gentleman walking very quickly towards him, and who was evidently in distress at not being able to find a conveyance. The spirit of Charles Bianconi, carman, woke up too strongly to be suddenly quelled. "I have a cab, sir," he said. "If you will give me your fare, I will set you down where you like." The stout gentleman was profuse with thanks, and said he wanted to go to the Exchange. When they were in the cab, he begged to be allowed to know to whom he was indebted. "My name is Bianconi," said my father. "The great Bianconi?" replied the gentleman. "And what is your name, sir?" replied my father, without half the politeness of his companion. "My name, sir, is Rothschild." My father, in telling me the story, admitted that he was so much overawed by the presence and the affability of so famous a man, that he had not presence of mind to return the compliment and say, "The great Rothschild?" This was by no means a singular instance of my father's eccentricities in this way; often at home, in Ireland, when he was driving in his own carriage along the high-road, he would take in a traveller who would otherwise have gone by the car, provided that he paid the car fare.'

In his broodings over change of circumstances, Bianconi had nourished another ambition than that of being some day Mayor of Clonmel. He wished to be a land-proprietor, but not being a natural-born subject, he was not, according to law, eligible for buying land until he went through certain formalities in 1831, after which he looked about for a suitable investment. His first and principal acquisition was Longfield, a property in Tipperary, extending to about a thousand English acres. On it was a large and cheerful house, overlooking the Suir, and well-wooded pleasure-grounds sloping down to the river. Here, with splendid views of distant mountains, Bianconi took up his residence--at his arrival on taking possession there being a grand flare-up of tenantry with no end of cheering, for the new landlord's beneficence and means of disbursement were pretty well understood. Bianconi did not disappoint expectations. When famine, from the failure of the potato crops, spread over the land in 1848, he employed all who would work, and no one died from want at Longfield. His many improvements in fencing, draining, and building cottages with slated roofs gave some offence to neighbouring proprietors of the old school; but he did not mind being looked coldly upon, and by his independence of character gained general esteem and respect.

Advancing in life, Bianconi disposed of his interest in the car system which he originated, several new proprietors taking his place. In 1851, he revisited Italy with his family, but found himself out of unison with all that fell under his notice. Some family property that devolved on him, he presented to several poor relations. It was a pleasure for him to return to Ireland, with which all his feelings were identified, and where he had made numerous warmly cherished acquaintances--among others, Daniel O'Connell, with whom he was in frequent correspondence. His daughter speaks of the immense mass of letters and papers which he left behind him, and presents us with a few specimens from persons of note, all in a complimentary strain. Referring to what he had effected by his ingenious enterprise, Lady Blessington writes to him from England--'I thank you for discovering those noble qualities in my poor countrymen which neglect and injustice may have concealed, but have not been able to destroy. While bettering their condition, you have elevated the moral character of those you employ; you have advanced civilisation while inculcating a practical code of morality that must ever prove the surest path to lead to an amelioration of Ireland. Wisdom and humanity, which ought ever to be inseparable, shine most luminously in the plan you have pursued, and its results must win for you the esteem, gratitude, and respect of all who love Ireland. The Irish are not an ungrateful people, as they have too often been represented. My own feelings satisfy me on this point. Six of the happiest years of my life have been spent in your country , where I learned to appreciate the high qualities of its natives; and consequently I am not surprised, though delighted, to find one Italian conferring so many benefits on mine.'

Afflicted with paralysis and confined to bed, poor Bianconi passed peacefully away after a long and useful career. Mrs O'Connell, who was attending on him at the last, strangely omits to give the date of his decease, which was September 22, 1875, when within two days of being eighty-nine years of age. His body was interred in a mortuary chapel, which he had prepared for himself and family within the grounds at Longfield. Although he had latterly been unable to appear in public affairs, his loss was felt to be national. Looking to the manner in which he self-reliantly rose from obscurity to distinction, and to the success of his vast undertakings, his memory cannot but be endeared to his adopted country, which stands particularly in need of men with his sound common-sense and commercial enterprise. In conclusion, we might almost be warranted in saying that Charles Bianconi did more practically to advance the civilisation and the prosperity of Ireland than all its professed patriots and politicians put together.

W. C.

HELENA, LADY HARROGATE.

'Gentleman--that is, person--wanted most particularly to know--please to see him, Sir Sykes!' deferentially hinted the under-butler, sliding on noiseless feet up to the angle of his master's library table. 'He was very pressing--send in card,' continued the man, slurring over the words he uttered with that inimitable slipperiness of diction of which the English, and indeed Cockney man-servant possesses the monopoly, and which seems obsequiously to suggest rather than boldly to announce. Sir Sykes looked up in some surprise.

'Did he mention what he wanted?' he asked.

'No, Sir Sykes,' replied the under-butler, edging the emblazoned tray on which lay the card, a little nearer, as an experienced angler might bring his bait within striking distance of the pike that lay among the weeds.

'You may shew him in--here,' said Sir Sykes, as, without taking the card, he read the name upon it, and which was legibly inscribed in a big, bold, black handwriting. With a bow the under-butler withdrew to execute his master's orders.

Great people--and a baronet of Sir Sykes Denzil's wealth and position may for all practical purposes be classed among the great of the earth--are proverbially difficult of access. It is the business of those about them to hedge them comfortably in from flippant or interested intrusions which might ruffle the golden calm of their existence; and suspicious-looking strangers by no means find the door of such a mansion as Carbery, as a rule, fly open at their summons.

The man who had on this occasion effected an entry was not one of those whose faces are their best letters of recommendation. The card he had given bore the name of Richard Hold, and under ordinary circumstances, such a caller as the mariner would never have succeeded in being put into communication with a higher dignitary than the house-steward or the groom of the chambers. However, by a judicious mixture of bribing and bullying, the visitor had induced the under-butler to do his errand. Under certain circumstances, half a sovereign is a sorry douceur, even to an under-butler, but when tendered in company with enigmatical threats of 'starting with a rope's end,' by a seafaring personage of stalwart build and resolute air, such a coin becomes doubly efficacious as a persuader.

Richard Hold, master mariner, came in with a curious gait and mien, half-slinking, half-swaggering, like a wolf that daylight has found far from the forests and among the haunts of men. He was dressed in very new black garments, 'shore-going clothes,' as he would himself have described them; and the hat that he carried in his hand was new and tall and hard. He had even provided himself with a pair of gloves, so desirous was he to omit no item of the customary garb of gentlemen; but these he carried loose, instead of subjecting his strong brown fingers to such unwonted confinement.

'I cannot say that I expected this honour, Mr Hold,' said the baronet, stiffly motioning his unwelcome visitor to a seat.

''Tis likely not,' coolly returned the adventurer, as he took a survey of the apartment. 'This sort of place, I don't mind admitting, is a cut, or even two cuts above me. Still, business is business, Sir Sykes Denzil, Baronet, and has got to be attended to, I reckon, even in such a gen-teel spot as this is, mister!'

There must be something in the American twang and the American forms of speech which all the world over hits the fancy of British-born rovers of Hold's caste, for in every quarter of the globe our home-reared rovers affect the idiom, and sometimes the accent, of Sam Slick's countrymen.

'I am scarcely aware, Mr Hold,' said the baronet with cold politeness, 'what business it can be to which I am indebted for the favour of your company, to-day.'

'Aren't you, though, skipper?' echoed Hold, whose natural audacity, for a moment repressed by the weight as it were of the grandeur around him, began to assert itself afresh. 'Well, let every fellow paddle his own canoe and shoe his own mustangs. The question is, Are you dealing fairly by me or are you not, Sir Sykes Denzil, Baronet?'

'I assure you that you are talking Greek to me,' said the master of Carbery Chase, with a tinge of colour rising to his pale face.

'A nod,' persisted Hold, 'is as good every bit as a wink--you know the rest of it, mister. But since you want plain speaking, you shall have it. You can't have forgot, no more than I can, that our bargain was just this: A certain young lady was to be married to a certain young gentleman.'

'I apprehend that you allude to--to my ward--Miss Ruth Willis,' said the baronet hesitatingly.

'You've hit it exactly,' exclaimed Hold, with a slap of his hard hand upon the crown of his hard hat, which sounded like a muffled drum, somewhat to the discomfiture of its proprietor, who eyed its ruffled surface ruefully. 'When is the wedding to come off?'

Sir Sykes contemplated his ruffianly visitor with a disgust which it required all his prudence to dissemble.

'In civilised society,' he said coldly, 'events of that sort do not take place with quite so expeditious a disregard of difficulties as your very apposite question suggests. In the backwoods it is perhaps otherwise.'

'In the backwoods,' roughly retorted Hold, 'we don't shilly-shally about righting a wrong, no more than about the marrying of a young couple that hev made up their minds to it. And let me tell you, Sir Sykes Denzil, Baronet, the superfine Saxony you fine gentlemen wear covers bigger rogues, often, than ever did the deerskin hunting-shirt with its Indian embroidery of wampum and coloured quills. Backwoodsmen! I've been in white-fisted company less to be trusted than theirs.'

Sir Sykes had imbibed too much of the spirit of that modern civilised society of which he spoke, to be readily nettled into a burst of anger by such taunts as these. Cool, save for one moment, from the first, the temperature of his calmly flowing blood seemed to grow more frigid as Hold's warmed.

'You have, I assure you, Mr Hold, no cause whatever for irritation,' he said smoothly: 'I mean--to use your own expression, which I willingly adopt--fairly by you. I neither repudiate nor ignore our tacit compact. It is my dearest wish that my son should become the husband of the exemplary young lady in whose prosperity you interest yourself.'

Hold gave a growl such as a bear, suddenly mollified by the gift of a glittering slice of toothsome honeycomb, might be expected to emit. His distrustful eye ranged over the baronet's plausible face, as though to test the sincerity of the assurance which had just been given.

'We're in the same boat,' he said, in a tone that, if dogged, was less surly than before. 'Our pumpkins, I guess, ought to go to the same market, they ought. But fair words don't put fresh butter into a dish of boiled batatas. I'm a British bull-dog of the game old breed,' he added gruffly; 'and I keep the grip, however I'm handled. Is there a likelihood of the marriage coming off soonish?'

'I hope so,' returned Sir Sykes. He would have given much to have avoided the slight embarrassment which he was conscious that his manner indicated, and which was not lost upon Hold's watchful eye.

'No day fixed? No banns put up--stop! I forgot--you swells marry by special license of the Archbishop of Canterbury--no cake ordered; no fal-lals bespoken from the milliner; no breakfast; no orange-flowers, eh? Well, I wish to be reasonable about it, Sir Sykes, but there must be an end of this. Do the young people understand one another, or do they not?'

Sir Sykes wavered miserably here. All his deportment seemed to fail him before Hold's merciless eye, the very gaze of which probed him to the quick.

'Aren't you captain in your own ship?' asked the adventurer curtly.

The baronet winced at the question. Captain in his own ship, in the sense that some men are commanders at home, he had never been. His own house, his own estate, had not from the first been managed in precise accordance with the views of him who owned them. But he had been a decorous captain, a captain who walked quarter-deck as solemnly as the greatest Tartar afloat, and who got lip-service and eye-service as a salve to his vanity, until quite recently.

Now there was a strong and not altogether an obedient hand on the helm. A new broom was making, in the person of Enoch Wilkins, attorney-at-law, a clean sweep of various time-honoured abuses such as always do grow up about a great estate, and the wails of the indignant sufferers could not always be kept from reaching the reluctant ears of Sir Sykes. People who were docked of perquisites came in respectful bitterness of soul to the baronet, and humbly prayed that he would take their part as against Wilkins the lawyer and Abrahams the steward.

Captain in his own ship! The word was a telling one, and it hit him hard. He was only captain in an ornamental sense, because Carbery was his freehold, and the baronetcy his, and he alone could sign receipts and draw cheques. He had loved his ease much; and now it was perpetually invaded. He was sorry for dismissed gamekeepers, and for tenants whose tenure was to expire on Lady-day. He gave them drafts on his banker as a plaster for the smart which he nevertheless felt sure was deserved. An unrespecting City solicitor, and the sharp London Jew whom Mr Wilkins had inducted into the stewardship, were swelling the rent-roll in despite of the feeble protests of the nominal lord of all.

'I can't compel Captain Denzil to take a wife of my choosing; that is beyond the power of a modern English father, at least where sons are concerned,' said Sir Sykes with a sickly smile.

'No; you can't do that, skipper. To knot the ninetailed cat and give the young fellow six dozen for mutiny,' said Hold, chuckling over the imaginary scene, 'would be too strict discipline for mealy-mouthed days like these. But you might let him have it, Sir Sykes, though not quite so downright. Make him understand that his allowances and his liberty all depend on good behaviour, and then see what comes of it.'

What Sir Sykes suffered during the delivery of this speech, could only be inferred from the fact that his lips became of a bluish white and that he drew his breath gaspingly.

He stopped again, gasping for breath, and the lines about his mouth, traced by pain, were visible enough to attract the notice of his unscrupulous guest.

'You shall have time, Sir Sykes Denzil, Baronet,' he said apologetically; 'take a fortnight if you like. I'm to be heard of meanwhile at old Plugger's;' and he threw the card of that establishment on the table.

Then Sir Sykes rang the bell for wine, and the wine was brought. Hold tossed off a bumper of sherry.

'Your health, skipper,' he said; 'and success to the wedding.' And so, with an impudent leer, he picked up his tall shining hat and departed.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet