CHAPTER XV
A Quaker Boy Who Astonished the World
One summer afternoon in 1745 a seven-year-old boy, living near Springfield, Pennsylvania, was given the task of looking after a little baby. His mother put a fan in his hand and told him to keep the flies away from the infant’s face. When at last she fell asleep, the boy, whose name was Benjamin West, was struck with the beauty of the sleeping child. Up till that time he had never even seen a picture, for his people were Quakers and regarded pictures as worldly and unnecessary. On a table near, were two bottles of ink, one red, the other black. Benjamin took a piece of paper and with the ink began to make a drawing of the little one asleep. Just as he finished the sketch his mother appeared. He tried to conceal the drawing but she saw it, and then, opened her eyes wide with astonishment: “Why, bless me!” she exclaimed, “it is a picture of little Sally.” She threw her arms around Benjamin’s neck and tenderly kissed him. After that he was never afraid to show his mother anything he had drawn.
From that time on young Benjamin scarcely allowed a day to pass without attempting some kind of drawing. Everything he saw around him came in for attention; the wild flowers and trees, the birds and cattle, the men, women and children, even the lovely sunsets, he attempted. Sometimes he used ink on sheets of paper, at other times he used chalk until nearly every board and door around the farmhouse was chalked up.
At that time there were a great many Mohawk Indians living in Pennsylvania. They made occasional visits to Springfield and they were greatly interested in Benjamin’s sketches. They used much red and yellow paint with which to decorate themselves, and some of this they gave to Benjamin. His mother gave him some indigo so he had red, yellow and blue colours, and he found out that by mixing the yellow and blue he could make green, so that enabled him to paint in four colours. The Indians also taught him how to shoot with bow and arrow, and in this way he captured many beautiful birds and used them as models for his pictures. The neighbouring white people, who visited the West family, were greatly interested and amused at the sketches which the little fellow had made on every available space but they expressed regret that he had not any brushes. Up till that time Benjamin did not even know what a brush looked like, nor had he ever seen a picture of any description. He was at a loss to know how to obtain a paint-brush, such as the neighbours talked of, until one day, as he watched the cat, he got the idea of making a brush from her fur. The brush was a success, but before long he needed another, then another. Soon the cat had big patches of its body without fur and Benjamin’s father said: “I don’t know what is the matter with that cat. All its fur is coming out.” When he learned what the real trouble was he did not know whether to chastise the boy or not, but he was so much amused that he forgave him.
When Benjamin was eight years old, a relative from Philadelphia, named Mr. Pennington, visited the family. He was greatly astonished at the drawings and paintings which his young relative had done without any assistance whatever. When he returned to Philadelphia he sent Benjamin a box of paints, several pieces of canvas, and six engravings by a famous artist of that time. Benjamin went nearly wild with joy. They were the first real drawings he had ever seen and they certainly seemed wonderful. That night, when he went to bed, he laid his presents on a chair, and several times during the night he put out his hand to make sure that they were still there. He almost thought that it must be a dream out of which he would awake.
The next day he carried his presents up to a garret in the house and began at once to make copies of the engravings. He became so interested that he forgot all about school and then evidently decided that he must finish his paintings for he did not go near the school for several days. The schoolmaster at last sent to enquire the reason of his absence. Benjamin’s mother did not know how he had been spending his time and, feeling very much annoyed, she went up to the garret to search for him. When she opened the door and saw the pictures which her eight-year-old boy had painted she was amazed and delighted, and interceded with his father so Benjamin was not punished.
Some time after this Mr. Pennington took Benjamin for a few days to Philadelphia. It was the boy’s first journey away from home and what he saw made him open his eyes wide with wonder. The houses, the people, and the ships on the river: how different they were to anything he had ever seen before. But that which interested him more than anything else was the pictures. Noticing his interest in these, an artist named Williams loaned him some books on the art of painting. These Benjamin took with him when he returned to his home and carefully studied them.
He had now definitely made up his mind to become an artist. He painted a picture of a lady and her children who lived in a nearby town and this aroused such favourable comment that soon he had far more orders for pictures than he could possibly fill. He was overwhelmed with requests from people who, of course, offered to pay him for his work.
Benjamin was now sixteen, and his father decided to put him out as an apprentice to some trade. But he had shown such remarkable artistic ability, and he was so much in love with his art, that he and his parents hoped that he could follow his bent. The Quakers did not believe in decorative art of any kind. They regarded pictures as indications of vanity. A meeting was called to discuss Benjamin’s future. For several hours the matter was carefully considered. The Quaker attitude towards pictures seemed to make an artist’s career for one of them, impossible, yet no one denied that Benjamin had remarkable gifts. At last one of the leading men arose and in a long speech declared that God undoubtedly had conferred upon Benjamin West a remarkable gift and he could see no reason why this gift should not be used for the glory of God. Others agreed with him and the members solemnly placed their hands upon his head and wished him God’s blessing in his career as a painter.
Benjamin went to Philadelphia to study. He received much kindness from Provost Smith, head of the college there, and soon he was hard at work trying to improve himself. Chiefly through the influence of Dr. Smith, it was made possible for him to go to Rome where so many of the great masterpieces of art are to be seen. After a voyage which filled him with a strange wonder he arrived at Rome in July, 1760, when he was twenty-two years of age. At that time America was little known and the news that a native-born American was in Rome excited a great deal of interest. Scores of people came to see him, fully expecting to find a redskin. When they did see him they were much surprised for he was fairer than themselves.
What Benjamin saw in the art galleries of Rome opened up a new world to him. He had never realised that such painting was possible. For days he gazed in admiration and awe, but these paintings made him more determined than ever to become a great artist. After three years of study in Rome he went to Florence and many other centres of culture in Italy. Later he visited Paris and then he arrived in London which he made his home.
He was not long in London before his pictures began to attract attention and he came under the notice of King George III. The King was greatly pleased with his work and gave him much work to do. In 1792 he succeeded Sir Joshua Reynolds as president of the Royal Academy of Arts, a position he held until his death in 1820.
Benjamin West painted a great many pictures, some of which are known to all lovers of art. One of his most famous paintings is “The Death of Wolfe.” This picture was presented to Canada by the Duke of Westminster in 1918 in recognition of Canada’s services to the Empire during the War. Another famous West picture is “Christ Healing the Sick.” When this great picture was hung in the Royal Academy in London, there was hung, alongside of it, the tiny picture that Benjamin had made in his father’s garret with the first box of paints he ever had. The small painting was a landscape scene and as the people gazed upon it they found it very hard to realise that it was the work of an eight-year-old boy, who, until he received the presents from Mr. Pennington, had never even seen a picture. But no one begrudged him his fame. All seemed eager to hail this boy from the wilds of America as one of the most distinguished painters of his time.