Part 25

At Concord, N. H., he had good success, writing home that he had "painted five portraits, had two more engaged, and many more talked of." While in London he had written to his parents, "I came very near being at my old game of falling in love; but I find that love and painting are quarrelsome companions, and that the house of my heart was too small for both of them, so I have turned Mrs. Love out-of-doors. 'Time enough,' thought I (with true old-bachelor complacency), 'time enough for you these ten years to come.'"

But Morse did not wait ten years, for at twenty-four he fell in love with Lucretia P. Walker of Concord, and was engaged to her. She was not only beautiful, but of the same lovable and intellectual type as Grace Webster, who held the heart of Daniel Webster while he lived. She combined sound judgment with much tenderness of feeling. Morse was a tall, graceful, handsome young man, with blue eyes and winsome manners.

Dr. Morse and his wife at once sent for their prospective daughter to visit them. She came, and, as she pleased a mother who idolized Finley, it is safe to conclude that she was indeed lovely.

In January, 1818, having been assured that he would find work in Charleston, S. C., he sailed from New York, and met with a pleasant reception in the home of his uncle, Dr. Finley. He found the society agreeable, but month after month passed, and there was not a single request for a portrait. At last, as he was about to return to New England, he begged his uncle to sit for a painting, as a small return for his kindness. He did so, and an admirable picture resulted.

Friends came to see it. At once Charleston perceived that a real artist was in the city. He soon had one hundred and fifty orders at sixty dollars each! Hope came again to his heart; after a few months he returned to Boston, and October 1, 1818, he married Lucretia Walker.

At the request of the Common Council of Charleston, he now painted the portrait of James Monroe, then President of the United States, and a year later went again to South Carolina, leaving his wife and an infant daughter in Concord, with her parents. On his return, Dr. Morse having resigned his pastorate at Charlestown, and moved to New Haven, Ct., Finley also moved thither. Here he found delight in renewing his studies of galvanism and electricity under Professor Silliman.

Tiring of portraits, and longing for preeminence in art, he conceived the idea of a historical piece, the "House of Representatives," with eighty portraits of individual members. For this purpose he went to Washington, and began his work in earnest. He writes to his young wife: "I am up at daylight, have my breakfast and prayers over, and commence the labors of the day long before the workmen are called to work on the Capitol by the bell. This I continue unremittingly till one o'clock, when I dine in about fifteen minutes, and then pursue my labors until tea, which scarcely interrupts me, as I often have my cup of tea in one hand and pencil in the other. Between ten and eleven o'clock I retire to rest. This has been my course every day (Sundays, of course, excepted) since I have been here, making about fourteen hours study out of the twenty-four. This, you will say, is too hard, and that I shall injure my health. I can say that I never enjoyed better health, and my body, by the simple fare I live on, is disciplined to this course.... I have had a great deal of difficulty with the perspective of my picture. But I have conquered, and have accomplished my purpose. After having drawn in the greater part three times, I have as many times rubbed it all out again. I have been, several times, from daylight until eleven o'clock at night, solving a simple problem.

"How I do long to see that dear little girl of mine, and to hear her sweet prattle! Instruct her early, my dear wife, in the most important of all concerns; teach her that there is a great Father above, her obligations to him and to her Saviour. Kiss her often for papa, and tell her he will come back one of these days."

So absorbed did he become in this picture, that once he arose in the night, mistaking the light of the moon for the day, and went to his work, and another time attempted to enter the hall on Sunday, forgetting even the days of the week. When the work was finished and exhibited, everybody was too much interested in his own affairs to care about congressmen, and the picture failed to attract the public. It proved a loss pecuniarily, and was purchased by an Englishman and taken to England. Twenty-five years afterward, it was found in the third story of a store in New York, nailed against a board partition, and covered with dust. It had been sent over from London by a house which had advanced a sum of money upon it while in England. The picture afterward became the property of the artist Daniel Huntington.

Morse now went to Albany, hoping to obtain some patronage from public men. After long waiting, he writes to his wife: "I have not as yet received any application for a portrait. Many tell me I have come at the wrong time--the same tune that has been rung in my ears so long! I hope the right time will come by and by. The winter, it is said, is the proper season; but, as it is better in the South in that season, and it will be more profitable to be there, I shall give Albany a thorough trial and do my best. If I should not find enough to employ me here, I think I shall return to New York and settle there. This I had rather not do at present, but it may be the best that I can do. Roaming becomes more and more irksome. Imperious necessity alone drives me to this course. Don't think by this I am faint-hearted. I shall persevere in this course, painful as is the separation from my family, until Providence clearly points out my duty to return."

Morse now turned his attention to the invention of a machine for carving marble, from which he hoped for pecuniary success, but success did not result from it. He now went to New York to try his fortune. But things were no brighter.

He wrote to Lucretia: "My last two letters have held out to you some encouraging prospects of success here, but now they seem darkened again. I have had nothing to do this week thus far but to wait patiently. I have advertised in both of the city papers that I should remain one week to receive applications, but as yet it has produced no effect.... I sleep in my room on the floor, and put my bed out of sight during the day, as at Washington.... I have been active in calling on my friends and inviting them to my room; they have promised to come, but as yet few have called. As far as human foresight can perceive, my prospects seem gloomy indeed. The only gleam of hope--and I cannot underrate it--is from confidence in God. When I look upward, it calms my apprehensions for the future, and I seem to hear a voice saying: 'If I clothe the lilies of the field, shall I not also clothe you?' Here is my strong confidence, and I will wait patiently for the direction of Providence."

Again he writes to his wife: "My cash is almost gone, and I begin to feel some anxiety and perplexity to know what to do. I have advertised, and visited, and hinted, and pleaded, and even asked one man to sit, but all to no purpose.... My expenses, with the most rigid economy too, are necessarily great; my rent to-morrow will amount to thirty-three dollars, and I have nothing to pay it with. What can I do? I have been here five weeks, and there is not the smallest prospect now of any difference as to business."

He now attempted to obtain a situation in the legation about to be sent to Mexico. The place was promised, and Morse went to Washington, only to find that the expedition had been abandoned.

There was an occasional rift in the clouds, as when the corporation of the city of New York commissioned Morse to paint for them a portrait of General Lafayette, then in Washington, the price to be about one thousand dollars. As Sully, Peale, Inman, and other prominent artists were competitors in the application for this picture, to receive the commission was indeed an honor.

Morse now wrote cheerfully to his wife: "When I consider how wonderfully things are working for the promotion of the great and long desired event,--that of being constantly with my dear family,--all unpleasant feelings are absorbed in this joyful anticipation, and I look forward to the spring of the year with delightful prospects of seeing my dear family permanently settled with me in our own hired house here."

February 8, 1825, he wrote his wife that he had met Lafayette, "the man whose beloved name has rung from one end of this continent to the other, whom all flock to see, whom all delight to honor."

That very day a letter was penned him, not this time by the wife, but by his father. "My affectionately beloved son: Mysterious are the ways of Providence. My heart is in pain and deeply sorrowful, while I announce to you the sudden and unexpected death of your dear and deservedly loved wife. Her death proved to be an affection of the heart, incurable had it been known.... I wrote you yesterday that she was convalescent. So she then appeared and so the doctor pronounced. She was up about five o'clock yesterday afternoon, to have her bed made, as usual; was unusually cheerful and social; spoke of the pleasure of being with her dear husband in New York ere long; stepped into bed herself, fell back, with a momentary struggle, on her pillow; her eyes were immediately fixed, the paleness of death overspread her countenance, and in five minutes more, without the slightest motion, her mortal life terminated.

"It happened that, just at this moment, I was entering her chamber-door, with Charles in my arms, to pay her my usual visit, and to pray with her. The nurse met me affrighted, calling for help. Your mother, the family, and neighbors, full of the tenderest sympathy and kindness, and the doctor, thronged the house in a few minutes; everything was done that could be done, to save her life. But her appointed time had come, and no earthly skill or power could stay the hand of death. It was the Lord who gave her to you, the chiefest of all your earthly blessings, and it is he that has taken her away; and may you be enabled, my son, from the heart to say, 'Blessed be the name of the Lord!'"

The heart of Morse was well nigh broken. The woman he had idolized had gone from him in a moment. He wrote back to his father: "Oh, is it possible? is it possible? Shall I never see my dear wife again? But I cannot trust myself to write on the subject. I need your prayers, and those of Christian friends, to God for support. I fear I shall sink under it.

"Oh, take good care of her dear children!

"Your agonized son, "FINLEY."

Travelling by stage, he did not reach New Haven till his wife had been buried a week. A month later he wrote to a friend: "I dare not yet give myself up to the full survey of its desolating effects; every day brings to my mind a thousand new and fond connections with dear Lucretia, all now ruptured. I feel a dreadful void, a heart-sickness, which time does not seem to heal, but rather to aggravate. You know the intensity of the attachment which existed between dear L. and me, never for a moment interrupted by the smallest cloud; an attachment founded, I trust, in the purest love, and daily strengthening by all the motives which the ties of nature and more especially of religion furnish.

"I found in dear L. everything that I could wish. Such ardor of affection, so uniform, so unaffected, I never saw nor read of, but in her. My fear with regard to the measure of my affection toward her, was not that I might fail of 'loving her as my own flesh,' but that I should put her in the place of Him who has said, 'Thou shalt have no other gods but me.' I felt this to be my greatest danger, and to be saved from this idolatry was often the subject of my earnest prayers. If I had desired anything in my dear L. different from what she was, it would have been that she had been less lovely. My whole soul seemed wrapped up in her; with her was connected all that I expected of happiness on earth."

She was but twenty-five, and had shared only the sorrows and privations of her young husband. How pitiful it seemed that she could not live to share his grand success. Whatever may come into a man's life afterwards, he never forgets an affection like this. It blossoms in the warm sunlight of his youth; it never withers, even though other flowers take root in the heart.

Truly says George Eliot: "There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and to have recovered hope."

This despair seemed to have settled upon Morse. He went back to New York, and now had plenty of work, but he said, "After being fatigued at night, and having my thoughts turned to my irreparable loss, I am ready almost to give up. The thought of seeing my dear Lucretia, and returning home to her, served always to give me fresh courage and spirits whenever I felt worn down by the labors of the day, and now I hardly know what to substitute in her place."

Hard, indeed, it seemed, that this "plenty of work" did not come in Lucretia's life-time. Why are so many of the best and sweetest things in this world a little too late in their coming? Is it because perfection attained is not best for mortals?