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A Donkey Boy who Became a Famous Sculptor · Stories of Grit

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