Brought to Light Australian Art 1850-1965

He is dressed in a strong and serviceable knickerbocker suit, with a tam-o'-shanter on his head. His boots are shining and polished (with the implication that somewhere there is someone who cares for his well-being) but he seems to have no possessions or luggage other than the bundle, wrapped like Dick Whittington's, on the bench beside him, and the violin and bow (without case) tucked under his arm. A large coil of rope stands to his side instead of the girls' baskets of flowers. The boy's expression is equivocal: he looks sad but not tragically so; he is uncertain and he may have been crying, but his eyes are bright and his face is turned forward to the light. In this, he makes a strong contrast with the brooding sullenness in the face of the central figure in Ford Madox Brown's The last o f England 1852-55. Very different, too, is the isolation of the boy in comparison with Madox Brown's canvas crowded with other steerage passengers. This lad is totally alone. Seeking fortune was almost certainly inspired by the adventures of Chevalier's close friend, the author Benjamin Farjeon.10 Farjeon was born in Whitechapel in 1838. He received very little schooling, and at 13 he became a 'printers' devil' and then a skilled compositor, all the time driven by the ambition to write. In 1854, at 16, a breach with his father over their faith, and the lure of the gold-rushes in Australia, made the idea of making his own way in life irresistible. An uncle gave him fifty pounds for his passage and that is how he left England — without family, unaccompanied by any adult, and with only his wits to survive by. The boy of Chevalier's painting, with his so few possessions, will perhaps make his way in the new country through his musical skills, as Farjeon did with his pen, but in this picture Chevalier is again directing attention to the fate of many children in Victorian England. The protest is made quietly: like the other pictures, the painting itself is very well mannered. Well- to-do Victorian society could be assiduous in organising charitable institutions, hospitals and benevolent groups in an effort to ameliorate the social conditions of others less fortunate than themselves, but they did not like this half-recognised 'other-world' of frightening images to encroach too closely. As art historian Julian Treuherz has pointed out, 'almost unconsciously', Victorian artists frequently 'edited out anything which might be found offensive' to their patrons. Emigration, for instance, is 'shown by departures or the reading of letters, without picturing the slum conditions which caused the exodus', disease is suggested by the 'pale convalescent', and death by 'funerals and mourners, with rarely a corpse in sight'.1 So it is with Chevalier. Always intensely conscious of the markets open to the artist, he has adapted his style and subject matter to what he has judged it will bear. The emigrant boy is pictured at the moment of departure, with no more overt reference to the situation he is leaving than the two pages of a letter crumpled and rejected on the deck behind him. English art critic James Daffome, writing for Art Journal in 1879, described Weary: An episode at St Leonards as a 'touching picture, warm and richly-toned in colour'.12 That he is able to use the word 'touching' in this context is due to Chevalier's careful selection of key elements. The girl's form is slight but she is not obviously starving, her clothes are bedraggled but not filthy, her face is thin but her complexion is clear and smooth. Why her crutch should be necessary is not immediately apparent — her foot, or her leg, is not obviously deformed — and the crutch, as pathetic as Tiny Tim Cratchit's, is the only reference to any lack of physical perfection in the child. The purpose of the figure of Weary at Funchal, seated amongst the warmth and luxuriance of Madeira's temperate climate, seems only to act as an antithetical comment to the English Weary, but she, too, is a child-labourer, required to spend her time on the terraces rather than in school or with her family. From all accounts, Chevalier was an urbane and charming man: he spoke six languages fluently and his wife, writing after eighteen years of marriage, refers to him as 'full of fun, and busy'.13Nevertheless, his years as a satirical commentator for Left Nicholas Chevalier Seeking fortune 1887 Oil on canvas 122x91.5cm Sunderland Art Gallery and Museum, Tyne and Wear, England Melbourne Punch had developed in him a sharp eye for human frailties and society's foibles. His diaries and journals, and his correspondence, indicate that he was often deeply disturbed by the inequalities and injustices about him. These paintings, which seem to verge on the sentimental,14 in actuality have a deeper, hidden meaning. 'What civilised society', the artist appears to be saying, 'abandons its young ones to the world before they have properly begun their lives? What callousness or corruption leaves a crippled child to fend for herself? And what awfulness would make leaving family, home and native country, to travel alone to the ends of the earth, seem a viable alternative?' Each of these paintings is notable for its clarity, the careful balance of the composition, and the pleasing harmonies of colours and tonal values. Forms, features and surroundings have been painted with great sympathy and tenderness. Each brushstroke appears careful, but not laboured. An almost impressionistic lightness of touch is apparent in the treatment of the flowers especially, where curling petals and feathery fronds suggest and underline the unifying theme of these paintings: that is, the essential fragility of the innocence of childhood. Mary Laurenson has compiled a catalogue raisonné in four volumes of the works of Nicholas Chevalier. VICTORIA'S CHILDREN: Innocents Abroad 35