A few miles from the city of Sheffield in England there is a little village named Norton. It was on a tiny farm, near this village, that Francis Chantrey was born on April 7th, 1781. He learned the alphabet at home, and then at the age of six he went to the village school. The old school register is still in existence. It shows that he began to read in April 1787; to write in January, 1788; and to learn arithmetic in October, 1792. The register also shows that Francis often missed school; often for weeks and months at a time. Children were not compelled to attend school in those days, and as his parents were poor, it seems likely that Francis worked around the farm, driving cattle and working hard in the fields.
In those days the city of Sheffield was supplied with milk from the outlying farms. The milk was put into barrels, and two barrels were slung across a donkey's back, one to balance the other. The barrels had taps and the milk was drawn off into tins for house-to-house delivery. Many of the small boys, who drove the donkeys, became notorious for mischief. Often a donkey would refuse to budge an inch, and then the young driver would apply the whip with all his might, while the ass would fix its forelegs into the ground and throw up its hind legs in an effort to dislodge the driver. Very often there would be so much jumping around that the milk must have been nearly churned into butter.
One morning Francis Chantrey was sauntering along with his donkey when he came across a cat sitting on a wall. He made friends with pussy, and seeing a hollow place in the wall, he poured in some milk, and watched the cat drink. Next morning when he came to the same place the cat was there waiting for her breakfast, and he was so pleased that he gave her another supply. That continued for a long time. Each morning—no matter what the weather was—pussy was at her place by the hollow in the wall, and Francis never failed to pet her and leave a supply of milk.
He called his donkey "Jock", and one day when he had delivered all his milk in the city, he was returning with the week's supply of groceries, when Jock stopped to drink at a pool by the side of the road. The donkey found the water so cool and refreshing that before Francis Chantrey had time to prevent him, he slid down into the water, groceries and all. He was just about to roll over and over, when his young master made him get up. As it was, all the tea, sugar and other groceries were soaked, and it was a cross boy who tried to recover what he could from the pond with a rake.
Sometimes when Francis walked by the side of Jock to and from Sheffield, he would amuse himself by whittling a stick with his pocket-knife. One day he was doing this when a gentleman met him, and examined his work, and then asked what it was. "It is the head of Old Fox," said Francis, whose schoolmaster was named Fox. The man thought the carving was so good that he gave Francis sixpence, and that was the first money he ever earned by his carving.
The boy loved drawing pictures, and as the floor of his humble home was of stones, or flags as they are called in English farmhouses, he used to draw pictures upon the floor each Saturday before his mother scrubbed the floor. No doubt his mother often thought the drawings were so good that it was a shame to wash them off.
One day a gentleman came to Mr. Chantrey to do some business, and Mrs. Chantrey brought out a large pork pie, upon the top of which were worked cleverly in paste, a sow and several pigs. When the man saw it, he exclaimed: "What a shame that you should have gone to the expense of getting such a pie for me." When Mrs. Chantrey explained that she had made the pie herself, and Francis had modelled the young pigs, when the dough was soft, he was amazed at the boy's ingenuity.
Francis' father died when he was twelve years of age, and soon after he was apprenticed to a Mr. Robert Ramsay, who had a small shop in Sheffield where he sold pictures, plaster models, wood carvings, and such things. He was now in the midst of the things he loved, and he took great delight in handling pictures and plaster models. Nothing pleased him better than to model soft clay with his fingers. Sometimes a mould would be taken of a person's face, and young Chantrey thought that he would like to try and take a mould of this kind. He persuaded one of Mr. Ramsay's workmen to lie face upwards upon a table, and then he placed the soft plaster over the man's face and throat, and waited for it to harden. Suddenly the man rolled off the table and madly stripped away the plaster from his throat. Young Chantrey did not know that a man cannot breathe unless his throat can expand, and when this plaster began to harden it was making it impossible for the man to breathe.
He was so eager to gain knowledge that he rented a cheap little room, and spent his evenings and holidays drawing and making models. The long hours he spent in that room he never forgot, and in the year before he died he visited that little room, and spoke to friends of the many happy hours he had spent there.
When he was no longer an apprentice he looked around for some way in which to earn a living. He was severely handicapped in some ways. When he was ten years of age his parents made the discovery that he was quite blind in one eye. Up to that time no one had ever suspected such a thing. Then again he had attended school very little and was not by any means a good scholar. The letters which he wrote when he became a man show that even then he was a very poor scholar. His writing ran on without any punctuation; many words were wrongly spelt, and God was written with a small "g".
Those were the days when there were no photographers, and portrait painters could often make a fair living. Many artists went from farm to farm, seeking for work to do, and Francis Chantrey decided to do this. In 1802 he put the following advertisement in a Sheffield newspaper:
"Francis Chantrey begs permission to inform the ladies and gentlemen of Sheffield, and its vicinity, that, during his stay here, he wishes to employ his time in taking of portraits in crayons, and miniatures, at the pleasure of the person who shall do him the honour to sit. Although a young artist, he has had the opportunity of acquiring improvement from a strict attention to the works of Messrs. Smith, Arnold, gentlemen of eminence. He trusts in being happy to produce good and satisfactory likenesses; and no exertion shall be wanting on his part, to render his humble efforts deserving some small share of public patronage. Terms—from two to three guineas. 24 Paradise Square."
Chantrey was at this time twenty-one years of age. He worked hard at portrait-painting, and although he did not earn a great deal, he made a fair living. He painted shopkeepers, farmers and artisans. He painted a portrait of his old schoolmaster, Mr. Fox, and another of the vicar. The people of Norton Village were proud of him, and anxious to see him get a good start. At last he moved to London, and besides painting portraits he secured a position as a woodcarver's assistant. His total earnings were five shillings a day. For some time he had a very hard struggle. He was quite unknown and poor. It was only by taking care of every penny that he managed to live at all. In many ways these days were the hardest he had ever known, for he was all alone in London, and had to make his own way. He worked away at carving in a garret, and could only afford one candle, which he used to wear in his cap so that the light might move with him as he changed positions.
At this time the president of the Academy was the great painter, Benjamin West. Chantrey thought that if West would allow him to make a bust of him, it would do much to bring his work before the public, so he asked West to sit for a portrait in plaster. West was an unusually kind, but at the same time, a very busy man. He was at that time painting a great picture: "Christ Healing the Sick." He told Chantrey that if he were willing to catch his likeness as he worked away at his picture, he was welcome to try. Chantrey was pleased with the offer and for many days he sat and moulded the plaster, as West worked at his task. The bust Chantrey did at this time can now be seen at the Royal Academy in London. Soon afterwards he made a bust of Mr. Samuel Shore, for which he received one hundred guineas; by far the largest sum he had ever been paid. He gave up painting altogether, for he was now fairly well established as a sculptor.
At that time there was living in London a very brilliant man, named Horn Tooke. Chantrey made a bust in plaster of this man and sent it to the exhibition. It looked at first as though there would not be a place for it there, but another sculptor, Mr. Joseph Nollekens, saw it and was much impressed. He was not jealous, but said: "This is a fine, a very fine bust; let the man who made it be known. Remove one of my busts and put it in its place, for it well deserves it." This was a great thing for Chantrey, for this bust aroused a great deal of interest, and he soon received commissions to do work which brought him more than twelve thousand pounds.
Very soon after this something happened which helped to bring Francis Chantrey more to the front than ever and to establish him as "The Prince of British Sculptors". In 1811 it was decided to erect a statue of King George III. Naturally there was a great deal of excitement among sculptors; all were anxious to receive the honour of doing it. A committee was formed to choose a sculptor. Fifteen of the greatest sculptors submitted designs to the committee, and the members decided that Chantrey's was the best, and so he was given the important task of doing it.
As soon as it was known that the commission had been given to Francis Chantrey, he had the news conveyed to his mother. He knew that it would give her great pleasure; and indeed it did, for she burst into tears. It seemed to her marvellous that her boy, who only a few years before had drawn pictures on the kitchen floor, should be chosen to design a statue of the king. There was great stir and excitement in the village of Norton. The wonderful tidings spread from cottage to cottage. "Francis Chantrey has been chosen to make the king's statue," was the news that everybody was repeating.
After making a statue of the king, of course, Chantrey was considered capable of making a design for any one, as indeed he was. The rich and famous crowded to his studio in order to get busts made of themselves. It would be impossible to put here a complete list of all for whom he made designs, but among other well-known people there were: Sir Walter Scott, Bishop Heber, who wrote "From Greenland's Icy Mountains" and other fine hymns; James Watt, the inventor, and many others.
Some years later, when William IV was king, Francis Chantrey was knighted, and so became Sir Francis Chantrey. After that brief reign came to an end, and George IV came to the throne, the monarch became a great admirer of Chantrey, and was so well pleased with the statue of himself, which the sculptor made, that he insisted on paying much more than had been agreed upon. This very fine statue now stands in Trafalgar Square, London, and for it Chantrey received the sum of nine thousand guineas. Magnificent statues done by Francis Chantrey may now be seen in many lands. In Ireland, Scotland, India, United States, and other lands his work is seen and appreciated.
His deep affection for his mother was shown in many ways. He loved to have her visit him at his home in London, and though she had been a humble, hard-working woman all her life, he was always proud to make her known to his friends. When, on one occasion he was very ill, he would not allow any one to acquaint his mother lest she should worry. The letters he wrote to his mother were full of tenderness and scarcely a week passed in which he did not send her some present.
He was modest to an extraordinary degree. Many men who have risen from lowly circumstances have become spoiled by success and made vain. Such was not the case with Francis Chantrey. He became the friend of great men and of kings, but he loved to talk of his humble origin, and fame never made him, in the least degree, vain.
Standing in the most crowded thoroughfare of London, England; in that square which has the Bank of England on the north, the Royal Exchange upon the east, the Mansion House on the south, with Cheapside running west, there stands a magnificent statue of the Duke of Wellington on horseback. Thousands have gazed upon that noble monument, and admired it. It is the work of Francis Chantrey. No doubt many who see it will think of a lonely little farmhouse, one hundred and fifty miles away, where he first saw the light, and they will remember the donkey boy who became the greatest of British sculptors.