Self Help
by Mark Zimmerman
Self Help; With
Illustrations of Conduct and Perseverance
By Samuel Smiles
CHAPTER VI. - WORKERS IN ART
"If what shone afar so grand, Turn to nothing in thy hand, On
again; the virtue lies In struggle, not the
prize." - R. M. Milnes.
"Excelle, et tu vivras." - Joubert.
Excellence in art, as in everything else, can only be achieved by dint
of painstaking labour.
There is nothing less accidental than the painting of a fine picture or
the chiselling of a noble statue. Every skilled touch of the
artist's brush or chisel, though guided by genius, is the product of
unremitting study.
Sir Joshua Reynolds was such a believer in the force of industry, that
he held that artistic excellence, "however expressed by genius, taste, or the
gift of heaven, may be acquired." Writing to Barry he said,
"Whoever is resolved to excel in painting, or indeed any other art, must bring all his mind to
bear upon that one object from the moment that he rises till he goes to
bed." And on another occasion he said, "Those who are
resolved to excel must go to their work, willing or unwilling, morning, noon,
and night: they will find it no play, but very hard labour." But although diligent application
is no doubt absolutely
necessary for the achievement of the highest distinction in art, it is
equally true that
without the inborn genius, no amount of mere industry, however well applied, will
make an artist. The gift comes by nature, but is perfected by self-culture,
which is of more avail than all the imparted education of the schools.
Some of the greatest artists have had to force their way upward in the
face of poverty and manifold obstructions. Illustrious instances will at once
flash upon the reader's mind. Claude Lorraine, the pastrycook; Tintoretto, the
dyer; the two Caravaggios, the one a colour-grinder, the other a mortar-carrier
at the Vatican; Salvator Rosa, the associate of bandits; Giotto, the peasant
boy; Zingaro, the gipsy; Cavedone, turned out of doors to beg by his father;
Canova, the stone-cutter; these, and many other well-known artists, succeeded
in achieving distinction by severe study and labour, under circumstances the
most adverse.
Nor have the most distinguished artists of our own country been born in
a position of life more than ordinarily favourable to the culture of artistic
genius. Gainsborough and Bacon were the sons of cloth-workers; Barry was an
Irish sailor boy, and Maclise a banker's apprentice at Cork; Opie and Romney, like Inigo Jones, were
carpenters; West was the son of a small Quaker farmer in Pennsylvania;
Northcote was a watchmaker, Jackson a tailor, and Etty a printer; Reynolds,
Wilson, and Wilkie, were the sons of clergymen; Lawrence was the son of a
publican, and Turner of a barber. Several of our painters, it is true,
originally had some connection with art, though in a very humble way, - such as
Flaxman, whose father sold plaster casts; Bird, who ornamented tea- trays;
Martin, who was a coach-painter; Wright and Gilpin, who were ship-painters;
Chantrey, who was a carver and gilder; and David Cox, Stanfield, and Roberts,
who were scene-painters.
It was not by luck or accident that these men achieved distinction, but
by sheer industry and hard work. Though some achieved wealth, yet this was
rarely, if ever, the ruling motive. Indeed, no mere love of money could sustain
the efforts of the artist in his early career of self-denial and
application. The pleasure of the pursuit has always been its best
reward; the wealth which followed but an accident. Many noble-minded artists
have preferred following the bent of their genius, to chaffering with the
public for terms.
Spagnoletto verified in his life the beautiful fiction of Xenophon, and
after he had acquired the means of luxury, preferred withdrawing himself from
their influence,
and voluntarily returned to poverty and labour. When Michael Angelo was asked
his opinion respecting a work which a painter had taken great pains to
exhibit for profit, he said, "I think that
he will be a poor fellow so long as he shows such an extreme eagerness to
become rich."
Like Sir Joshua Reynolds, Michael Angelo was a great believer in the
force of labour; and he held that there was nothing which the imagination
conceived, that could not be embodied in marble, if the hand were made
vigorously to obey the mind. He was himself one
of the most indefatigable of workers; and he attributed his power of studying for a greater number of hours than most of his contemporaries, to his
spare habits of living. A little bread and wine was all he required for the
chief part of the day when employed at his work; and very frequently he rose in
the middle of the night to resume his labours. On these occasions, it was his practice
to fix the candle, by the light of which he chiselled, on the summit of a
paste-board cap which he wore. Sometimes he was too wearied to undress, and he
slept in his clothes, ready to spring to his work so soon as refreshed by
sleep. He had a favourite device of an old man in a go-cart, with an hour-glass
upon it bearing the inscription, ANCORA IMPARO! Still I am
learning.
Titian, also, was an indefatigable worker. His celebrated "Pietro Martire"
was eight years in hand, and his "Last Supper" seven. In his letter
to Charles V. he said, "I send your Majesty the 'Last Supper' after
working at it almost daily for seven years - DOPO SETTE ANNI LAVORANDOVI QUASI CONTINUAMENTE." Few think of
the patient labour
and long training involved in the greatest works of the artist. They seem easy
and quickly accomplished, yet with how great difficulty has this ease been
acquired. "You charge me fifty sequins," said the Venetian nobleman to
the sculptor, "for a bust that cost you only ten days' labour." "You forget,"
said the artist, "that I have been thirty years learning to make that bust
in ten days." Once when Domenichino was blamed for his slowness
in finishing a picture which was bespoken, he made answer, "I am continually painting
it within myself." It
was eminently characteristic of
the industry of the late Sir Augustus Callcott, that he made not fewer than
forty separate sketches in the composition of his famous picture of "Rochester." This constant repetition
is one of the main conditions of success in art, as in life itself.
No matter how generous nature has been in bestowing the gift of genius,
the pursuit of art is nevertheless a long and continuous labour.
Many artists have been precocious, but without diligence their precocity would
have come to nothing. The anecdote related of West is well known. When only seven years old, struck with the beauty of
the sleeping infant of his eldest sister whilst watching by its cradle, he ran
to seek some paper and forthwith drew its portrait in red and black ink. The
little incident revealed the artist in him, and it was found impossible to draw
him from his bent. West might have been a greater painter, had he not been injured
by too early success: his fame, though great, was not purchased by study,
trials, and difficulties, and it has not been enduring.
Richard Wilson, when a mere child, indulged himself with
tracing figures of men and animals on
the walls of his father's house, with a burnt stick. He first directed his
attention to portrait painting; but when in Italy, calling one day at the house
of Zucarelli, and growing weary with waiting, he began painting the scene
on which his friend's chamber window looked. When Zucarelli arrived, he was so
charmed with the picture, that he asked if Wilson had not studied landscape, to which he
replied that he had not. "Then, I advise you," said the other,
"to try; for you are sure of great success." Wilson
adopted the advice, studied and worked hard, and became our first great English
landscape painter.
Sir Joshua Reynolds, when a boy, forgot his lessons, and took pleasure only
in drawing, for which his father was accustomed to rebuke him. The boy was
destined for the profession of physic, but his strong instinct for art could
not be repressed, and he became a painter. Gainsborough went sketching, when a
schoolboy, in the woods of Sudbury; and at twelve he was a confirmed artist: he
was a keen observer and a hard worker, - no picturesque feature of any scene he
had once looked upon, escaping his diligent pencil.
William Blake, a hosier's son, employed himself in
drawing designs on the backs of his father's shop-bills, and making sketches on
the counter. Edward Bird, when a child only three or four years old, would
mount a chair and draw figures on the walls, which he called French and English
soldiers. A box of colours was purchased for him, and his father, desirous of
turning his love of art to account, put him apprentice to a maker of tea-trays!
Out of this trade he gradually raised himself, by
study and labour, to the rank of a Royal Academician.
Hogarth, though a very dull boy at his lessons, took pleasure in
making drawings of the letters of the alphabet, and his school exercises were
more remarkable for the ornaments with which he embellished them, than for the
matter of the exercises themselves.
In the latter respect he was beaten by all the blockheads of the school,
but in his adornments he stood alone. His
father put him apprentice to a silversmith, where he learnt to draw, and also
to engrave spoons and forks with crests and ciphers. From silver- chasing, he
went on to teach himself engraving on copper, principally griffins and
monsters of heraldry, in the course of which practice he became ambitious to
delineate the varieties of human character.
The singular excellence which he reached in this art, was mainly the result of
careful observation and study. He had the gift, which he sedulously cultivated,
of committing to memory the precise features of any remarkable face,
and afterwards reproducing them on paper; but if any singularly fantastic form or OUTRE face came in his way, he would make a sketch of it on the spot, upon his
thumb-nail, and carry it home to expand at his leisure. Everything fantastical
and original had a powerful attraction for him, and he wandered into many
out-of-the-way places for the purpose of meeting with character. By
this careful storing of his mind, he was
afterwards enabled to crowd an immense amount of thought and
treasured observation into his works. Hence it is that Hogarth's pictures are
so truthful a
memorial of the character,
the manners, and even the very thoughts of
the times in which he lived. True painting,
he himself observed,
can only be learnt in one school, and that is kept by Nature. But he was not a highly
cultivated man, except in his own walk. His school education had been of the
slenderest kind, scarcely even perfecting him in the art of spelling; his self-culture did
the rest.
For a long time he was in very straitened circumstances, but nevertheless worked
on with a cheerful heart. Poor though he was, he contrived to live within his
small means, and he boasted, with becoming pride, that he was "a punctual
paymaster." When he had conquered all his difficulties and
become a famous and thriving man, he loved to dwell upon his early labours and
privations, and to fight over again the battle which ended so honourably to him as a man and so gloriously as
an artist. "I remember the time," said he on one occasion,
"when I have gone moping into the city with scarce a shilling, but as soon
as I have received ten guineas there for a plate, I have returned home, put on my sword, and sallied out with all the
confidence of a man who had thousands in his pockets."
"Industry and perseverance" was the motto of the sculptor
Banks, which he acted on himself, and strongly recommended to others. His well-known
kindness induced many aspiring youths to call upon him and ask for his advice
and assistance; and it is related that one day a boy called at his door to see him
with this object,
but the servant, angry at the loud knock he had given, scolded him, and
was about sending him away, when Banks
overhearing her, himself went out. The little boy stood at the door
with some drawings in his hand. "What do you want with me?" asked the
sculptor. "I want, sir, if you please, to be admitted to draw at the
Academy." Banks explained that he himself could
not procure his admission, but he asked to look at the boy's drawings.
Examining them, he said, "Time enough for the Academy, my little man! go
home - mind your
schooling - try to make a better drawing of the Apollo - and in a month come
again and let me see it." The boy went home – sketched and
worked with redoubled diligence - and, at the end of the month, called again on
the sculptor. The drawing was better; but again Banks sent him back, with good advice,
to work and study. In a week the boy was again at his door, his drawing much
improved; and Banks bid him be of good cheer,
for if spared he would distinguish himself. The
boy was Mulready; and the sculptor's augury was amply fulfilled.
The fame of Claude Lorraine is partly explained by his indefatigable
industry. Born at Champagne, in Lorraine, of poor parents,
he was first apprenticed to a pastrycook. His brother, who was a wood-carver,
afterwards took him into his shop to learn that trade. Having there shown
indications of artistic skill, a travelling dealer persuaded the brother to
allow Claude to accompany him to Italy. He assented, and the young
man reached Rome, where he
was shortly after engaged by Agostino Tassi, the landscape painter, as his
house-servant. In that capacity Claude first learnt landscape painting, and in
course of time he began to produce pictures. We next find him making the tour
of Italy, France, and Germany, occasionally resting by
the way to paint landscapes, and thereby replenish his purse. On returning to Rome he found an
increasing demand for his works, and his reputation at length became European.
He was unwearied in the study of nature in her various aspects. It was his
practice to spend a great part of his time in closely copying buildings, bits
of ground, trees, leaves, and such like, which he finished in detail, keeping
the drawings by him in store for the purpose of introducing them in his studied
landscapes. He also gave close attention to the sky, watching it for whole days
from morning till night, and noting the various changes occasioned by the
passing clouds and the increasing and waning light. By this constant practice
he acquired, although it is said very slowly, such a mastery of hand and eye as
eventually secured for him the first rank among landscape painters.
Turner, who has been styled "the English Claude," pursued a
careerof like laborious industry. He was destined by his father for his own
trade of a barber, which he carried on in London, until one day the sketch
which the boy had made of a coat of arms on a silver salver having attracted the notice of a customer whom his father was shaving,
the latter was urged to allow his son to follow his bias, and he was eventually
permitted to follow art as a profession. Like all young artists, Turner had
many difficulties to encounter, and they were all the greater that his
circumstances were so straitened. But he was always willing to work, and to
take pains with
his work, no matter how humble it might be. He was glad to hire himself out
at half-a-crown a night to wash in skies in Indian ink upon other people's
drawings, getting his supper into the bargain. Thus he earned money and
acquired expertness. Then he took to illustrating guide-books, almanacs, and
any sort of
books that wanted cheap frontispieces. "What could I have done better?"
said he afterwards; "it was first-rate practice." He did everything
carefully and conscientiously, never slurring over his work because he
was ill-remunerated for it. He aimed at learning as well as living; always doing his best, and never leaving a drawing without
having made a step in advance upon his previous work. A man who thus laboured
was sure to do much; and his growth in power
and grasp of thought was, to use Ruskin's words, "as steady as the increasing light of sunrise." But Turner's genius
needs no panegyric; his best monument is the noble gallery
of pictures bequeathed by him to the nation, which will ever be the most
lasting memorial of his fame.
To reach Rome,
the capital of the fine arts, is usually the highest ambition of the art student.
But the journey to Rome
is costly, and the student is often poor. With a will resolute to overcome difficulties,
Rome may
however at last be reached. Thus Francois Perrier, an early French painter, in his eager desire to
visit the Eternal
City, consented to act as
guide to a blind vagrant. After long wanderings he reached the Vatican,
studied and became famous.
Not less enthusiasm was displayed by Jacques Callot in his determination to
visit Rome.
Though opposed by his father in his wish to be an artist, the boy would not be
baulked, but fled from home to make his way to Italy. Having set out without
means, he was soon reduced to great straits; but falling in with a band of gipsies,
he joined their company, and wandered about with them from one fair to another,
sharing in their numerous adventures. During this remarkable journey Callot
picked up much of that extraordinary knowledge of
figure, feature, and character which he afterwards reproduced, sometimes in
such exaggerated forms, in his wonderful engravings.
When Callot at length reached Florence,
a gentleman, pleased with his ingenious ardour, placed him with an
artist to study; but he was not satisfied to
stop short of Rome,
and we find him shortly on his way thither. At Rome he made the acquaintance of Porigi and Thomassin, who, on seeing his crayon sketches, predicted for him a brilliant
career as an artist. But a friend of Callot's family having accidentally
encountered him, took steps to compel the fugitive to return home. By this time
he had acquired such a love of wandering that he could not rest; so he
ran away a second time, and a second time he was brought back by his elder
brother, who caught him at Turin.
At last the father, seeing resistance was in vain, gave his reluctant
consent to Callot's prosecuting his studies at Rome. Thither he went accordingly; and this
time he remained, diligently studying design and engraving for several years,
under competent masters. On his way back to France, he was encouraged by Cosmo
II. to remain at Florence,
where he studied and worked for several years more. On the death of his patron
he returned to his family at Nancy,
where, by the use of his burin and needle, he shortly acquired both wealth and
fame. When Nancy was taken by siege during the
civil wars, Callot was requested by Richelieu
to make a design and engraving of the event, but the artist would not
commemorate the disaster which had befallen his native place, and he refused
point-blank. Richelieu could not shake his
resolution, and threw him into prison. There Callot met with some of his old
friends the gipsies, who had relieved his wants on his first journey to Rome. When Louis
XIII. heard of
his imprisonment, he not only released him, but offered to grant him any favour
he might ask. Callot immediately requested that his old companions, the
gipsies, might be set free and permitted to beg in Paris without molestation. This odd request
was granted on condition that
Callot should engrave their portraits, and hence his curious book of engravings
entitled "The Beggars." Louis is said to have offered Callot a pension of 3000 livres provided he would not leave Paris; but the artist was now too much of a Bohemian, and prized
his liberty too highly to permit him to accept it;
and he returned to Nancy,
where he worked till his death. His industry may be inferred from the number of
his engravings and etchings, of which he left not fewer than 1600. He was
especially fond of grotesque subjects, which he treated with great skill; his
free etchings, touched with the graver, being executed
with especial delicacy and wonderful minuteness.
Still more romantic and adventurous was the career of Benvenuto Cellini,
the marvellous gold worker, painter, sculptor, engraver, engineer, and author.
His life, as told by himself, is one of the most extraordinary autobiographies
ever written. Giovanni Cellini, his father, was one of the Court musicians to
Lorenzo de Medici at Florence;
and his highest ambition concerning his son Benvenuto was that he should become
an expert player on the flute. But Giovanni having lost his appointment, found
it necessary to send his son to learn some trade, and he was apprenticed to a
goldsmith. The boy had already displayed a love of drawing and of art; and,
applying himself to
his business, he soon became a dexterous workman.
Having got mixed up in a quarrel with some of the townspeople, he was
banished for six months, during which period he worked with a goldsmith at
Sienna, gaining further experience in
jewellery and gold-working.
His father still insisting on his becoming a flute-player, Benvenuto
continued to practise on the instrument, though he detested it. His chief pleasure was
in art, which he pursued with enthusiasm. Returning to Florence,
he carefully studied the designs of Leonardo da Vinci and Michael Angelo; and,
still further to improve himself in gold-working, he went on foot to Rome, where he met with a
variety of adventures. He returned to Florence
with the reputation of being a most expert worker in the precious metals, and
his skill was soon in great request. But being of
an irascible temper, he was constantly getting into scrapes, and was frequently
under the necessity of flying for his life. Thus he fled from Florence
in the disguise of a friar, again taking refuge at Sienna, and afterwards at Rome.
During his second residence in Rome,
Cellini met with extensive patronage, and he was taken into the Pope's service
in the double capacity of goldsmith and musician. He was constantly studying
and improving himself by acquaintance with the works of the best masters. He mounted jewels, finished enamels, engraved seals, and designed and
executed works in gold, silver, and bronze, in such a style as to excel all
other artists.
Whenever he heard of a goldsmith who was famous in any particular
branch, he immediately determined to surpass him. Thus it was that he rivalled
the medals of one, the enamels of another, and the jewellery of a third; in fact, there
was not a branch of his business that he did not feel impelled
to excel in.
Working in this spirit, it is not so wonderful that Cellini should have
been able to accomplish so much. He was a man of indefatigable activity, and
was constantly on the move. At one time we find him at Florence, at another at
Rome; then he is at Mantua, at Rome, at Naples, and back to Florence again;
then at Venice, and in Paris, making all his long journeys on horseback. He
could not carry much luggage with him; so, wherever he went, he usually began
by making his own tools. He not only designed his works, but executed
them himself,
- hammered and carved, and cast and shaped them with his own hands. Indeed, his
works have the impress of genius so clearly stamped upon them, that they could never
have been designed by one person, and executed by another.
The humblest article - a buckle for a lady's girdle, a seal, a locket,
a brooch, a ring, or a button - became in his hands a beautiful work of art.
Cellini was remarkable for his readiness and dexterity in handicraft.
One day a surgeon entered the shop of Raffaello del Moro, the goldsmith, to
perform an operation on his daughter's hand. On looking at the surgeon's
instruments, Cellini, who was present, found them rude and clumsy, as they
usually were in those days, and he asked the surgeon to proceed no further with
the operation for a quarter of an hour. He then ran to his shop, and taking a
piece of the finest steel, wrought out of it a beautifully finished knife, with
which the operation was successfully performed.
Among the statues executed by Cellini, the most important are the silver
figure of Jupiter, executed at Paris for Francis I., and the Perseus, executed
in bronze for the Grand Duke Cosmo of Florence.
He also executed statues in marble of Apollo, Hyacinthus, Narcissus, and
Neptune. The extraordinary incidents connected with the casting of the Perseus
were peculiarly illustrative of the remarkable character of
the man.
The Grand Duke having expressed a decided opinion that the model, when
shown to him in wax, could not possibly be cast in bronze, Cellini was
immediately stimulated by the predicted impossibility, not only to attempt, but
to do it. He first made the clay model, baked it, and covered it with wax,
which he shaped into the perfect form of
a statue. Then coating the wax with a sort of earth, he baked the second
covering, during which the wax dissolved and escaped, leaving the space between
the two layers for the reception of the metal.
To avoid disturbance, the latter process was conducted in a pit dug
immediately under the furnace, from which the liquid metal was to be introduced
by pipes and apertures into the mould prepared for it.
Cellini had purchased and laid in several loads of pine-wood, in anticipation
of the process of casting, which now began. The furnace was filled with pieces
of brass and bronze, and the fire was lit. The resinous pine-wood was soon in
such a furious blaze, that the shop took fire, and part of the roof was burnt; while at the same time
the wind blowing and the rain filling on the furnace, kept down the heat, and
prevented the metals from melting. For hours Cellini struggled to keep up the
heat, continually throwing in more wood, until at length he became so exhausted and ill, that he feared he
should die before the statue could be cast. He was forced to leave to his
assistants the pouring in of the metal when melted, and betook himself to
his bed. While those about him were
condoling with him in his distress, a workman suddenly entered the room,
lamenting that "Poor Benvenuto's work was irretrievably spoiled!" On hearing this,
Cellini immediately sprang from his bed and rushed to the workshop, where he
found the fire so much gone
down that the metal had again become hard.
Sending across to a neighbour for a load of young oak which had been
more than a year in drying, he soon had the fire blazing again and the metal
melting and glittering. The wind was, however, still blowing with fury, and the
rain falling heavily; so, to protect himself,
Cellini had some tables with pieces of tapestry and old clothes brought to him,
behind which he went on hurling the wood into the furnace. A mass of pewter was
thrown in upon the other metal, and by stirring, sometimes with iron and
sometimes with long poles, the whole soon became completely melted. At this juncture, when the
trying moment was close at hand, a terrible noise as of a thunderbolt was heard, and a
glittering of fire flashed before Cellini's eyes. The cover of the furnace had
burst, and the metal began to flow! Finding that it did not run with the proper
velocity, Cellini rushed into the kitchen, bore away every piece of copper and
pewter that it contained - some two hundred porringers, dishes, and kettles of
different kinds - and threw them into the furnace. Then at length the metal
flowed freely, and thus the splendid statue of Perseus was cast.
The divine fury of genius in which Cellini rushed to his kitchen and
stripped it of its utensils for the purposes of his furnace, will remind the
reader of the like act of Pallissy in breaking up his furniture for the purpose
of baking his earthenware.
Excepting, however, in their enthusiasm, no two men could be less alike
in character.
Cellini was an Ishmael against whom, according to his own account, every man's
hand was turned. But about his extraordinary skill as a workman, and his genius
as an artist,
there cannot be two opinions.
Much less turbulent was the career of Nicolas Poussin, a man as pure
and elevated in his ideas of art as he was in his daily life, and distinguished
alike for his vigour of intellect, his rectitude of character,
and his noble simplicity.
He was born in a very humble station, at Andeleys, near Rouen, where his father kept a small school.
The boy had the benefit of his parent's instruction, such as it was, but of
that he is said to have been somewhat negligent, preferring to spend his time in covering his lesson- books and his
slate with drawings. A country painter, much pleased with
his sketches, besought his parents not to thwart him in his tastes. The
painter agreed to give Poussin lessons, and he soon made such progress that his
master had nothing more to teach him.
Becoming restless, and desirous of further improving himself, Poussin,
at the age of 18, set out for Paris,
painting signboards on his way for a maintenance.
At Paris
a new world of art opened before him, exciting his wonder and stimulating his emulation.
He worked diligently in many studios, drawing, copying, and painting pictures.
After a time, he resolved, if possible, to visit Rome,
and set out on his journey; but he only succeeded in getting as far as Florence,
and again returned to Paris.
A second attempt which he made to reach Rome was
even less successful; for this time he only got as far as Lyons. He was, nevertheless, careful to take
advantage of all opportunities for improvement which came in his way, and
continued as sedulous as before in studying and working.
Thus twelve years passed, years of obscurity and toil, of failures and
disappointments, and probably of privations. At length Poussin succeeded in
reaching Rome.
There he diligently studied the old masters, and especially the ancient
statues, with whose perfection he was greatly impressed. For some time he lived
with the sculptor Duquesnoi, as poor as himself, and
assisted him in modeling figures after the antique. With him he carefully
measured some of the most celebrated statues in Rome, more particularly the 'Antinous:' and it is supposed that this practice exercised considerable influence on
the formation of
his future style. At the same time he studied anatomy, practised drawing from
the life, and made a great store of sketches of postures and attitudes of
people whom he met, carefully reading at his leisure such standard books on art
as he could borrow from his friends.
During all this time he remained very poor, satisfied to
be continually improving himself. He
was glad to sell his pictures for whatever they would bring. One, of a prophet,
he sold for eight livres; and another, the 'Plague of the Philistines,' he sold
for 60 crowns - a picture afterwards bought by Cardinal de Richelieu for a
thousand. To add to his troubles, he was stricken by a cruel malady, during the
helplessness occasioned by which the Chevalier del Posso assisted him with
money. For this gentleman Poussin afterwards painted the 'Rest in the Desert,'
a fine picture, which far more than repaid the advances made during his illness.
The brave man went on toiling and learning through suffering. Still
aiming at higher things, he went to Florence and
Venice, enlarging
the range of his studies. The fruits of his conscientious labour
at length appeared in the series of great pictures which he now began to
produce, - his 'Death of Germanicus,' followed by 'Extreme Unction,' the
'Testament of Eudamidas,' the 'Manna,' and the 'Abduction of the Sabines.'
The reputation of Poussin, however, grew but
slowly. He was of aretiring disposition and shunned society. People
gave him credit for being a thinker much
more than a painter. When not actually employed in painting, he took long
solitary walks in the country, meditating the designs of future pictures. One of his
few friends while at Rome
was Claude Lorraine, with whom he spent many hours at a time on the terrace of
La Trinite-du-Mont, conversing about art and antiquarianism. The monotony and
the quiet of
Rome were
suited to his taste, and, provided he could earn a moderate living by his
brush, he had no wish to leave it.
But his fame now extended beyond Rome,
and repeated invitations were sent him to return to Paris. He was offered the appointment of
principal painter to the King. At first he hesitated; quoted the Italian
proverb, CHI STA BENE NON SI MUOVE; said he had lived fifteen years in Rome,
married a wife there, and looked forward to dying and being buried
there. Urged again, he consented, and returned to Paris. But his appearance there awakened much
professional jealousy, and he soon wished himself back in Rome again.
While in Paris
he painted some of his greatest works – his 'Saint Xavier,' the 'Baptism,' and
the 'Last Supper.' He was kept constantly at work. At first he did
whatever he was asked to do, such as designing frontispieces for the royal
books, more particularly a Bible and a Virgil, cartoons for the Louvre, and designs
for tapestry; but at length he expostulated:- "It is impossible for
me," he said to M. de Chanteloup, "to work at the same time at
frontispieces for books, at a Virgin, at a picture of the Congregation of St.
Louis, at the various designs for the gallery, and, finally, at designs for the
royal tapestry. I have only one pair of hands and a feeble head, and can
neither be helped
nor can my labours be lightened by another."
Annoyed by the enemies his success had provoked and whom he was unable
to conciliate, he determined, at the end of less than two years' labour in Paris, to return to Rome.
Again settled there in his humble
dwelling on Mont
Pincio, he employed himself diligently in the practice of his art
during the remaining years of his life, living in great simplicity and privacy.
Though suffering much from the disease which afflicted him, he solaced himself by
study, always striving after excellence.
"In growing old,"
he said, "I feel myself becoming more and more inflamed with the desire of
surpassing myself and
reaching the highest degree of perfection."
Thus toiling, struggling, and suffering, Poussin spent his later years.
He had no children; his wife died before him; all his friends were gone: so
that in his old age he was left absolutely alone in
Rome, so full of tombs, and died there in 1665, bequeathing to his relatives at
Andeleys the savings of his life, amounting to about 1000 crowns; and leaving
behind him, as a legacy to his race, the great works of his genius.
The career of Ary Scheffer furnishes one of the best examples in modern
times of a like high-minded devotion to art. Born at Dordrecht, the son of a German artist, he
early manifested an aptitude for drawing and painting, which his parents
encouraged.
His father dying while he was still young, his mother resolved, though
her means were but small, to remove the family to Paris, in order that her son
might obtain the best opportunities for instruction. There young Scheffer was
placed with Guerin the painter.
But his mother's means were too limited to
permit him to devote himself exclusively to study. She had sold the few
jewels she possessed, and refused herself every
indulgence, in order to forward the instruction of her other children. Under
such circumstances, it was natural that Ary should wish to help her;
and by the time he was eighteen years of age he began to paint small pictures
of simple subjects, which met with a ready sale at moderate prices. He also
practised portrait painting, at the same time gathering experience and
earning honest money. He gradually improved in drawing, colouring, and
composition. The 'Baptism' marked a new epoch in his career, and from that
point he went on advancing, until his fame culminated in his pictures
illustrative of 'Faust,' his 'Francisca de Rimini,' 'Christ the Consoler,' the 'Holy
Women,' 'St. Monica and St. Augustin,' and many other noble works.
"The amount of labour, thought, and
attention," says Mrs. Grote, "which Scheffer brought to the
production of the 'Francisca,' must have been enormous. In truth, his
technical education having been so imperfect, he was forced to climb the steep
of art by drawing upon his own resources, and thus, whilst his hand was at
work, his mind was
engaged in meditation.
He had to try various processes of handling, and experiments in colouring; to
paint and repaint, with tedious and unremitting assiduity. But Nature had
endowed him with that which proved in some sort an equivalent for shortcomings
of a
professional kind. His own elevation of character,
and his profound sensibility, aided him in acting upon the feelings of
others through the medium of the pencil." (21)
One of the artists whom Scheffer most admired was Flaxman; and he once
said to a friend, "If I have unconsciously borrowed from any one in the
design of the 'Francisca,' it must have been from something I had seen among
Flaxman's drawings." John Flaxman was the son of a humble
seller of plaster casts in New Street, Covent Garden.
When a child, he was such an invalid that it was his custom to sit behind his
father's shop counter propped by pillows, amusing himself with
drawing and reading. A benevolent clergyman, the Rev. Mr. Matthews, calling at the shop one day, saw the
boy trying to read a book, and on inquiring what it was, found it to be a
Cornelius Nepos, which his father had picked up for a few pence at a bookstall.
The gentleman, after some conversation with the boy, said that was not the proper book for him to read, but that he would bring
him one. The next day he called with translations of Homer and 'Don Quixote,'
which the boy proceeded to read with
great avidity. His mind was soon filled with the heroism which breathed through
the pages of the former, and, with the stucco Ajaxes and Achilleses about him,
ranged along the shop shelves, the ambition took possession of him, that he too
would design and embody in poetic forms those
majestic heroes.
Like all youthful efforts, his first designs were crude. The proud father
one day showed some of them to Roubilliac the sculptor, who turned from them
with a contemptuous "pshaw!" But the boy had the right
stuff in him; he had industry and patience; and
he continued to labour incessantly at his books and drawings. He then tried his
young powers in modelling figures in plaster of Paris, wax, and clay. Some of
these early works are still preserved, not because of their merit, but because
they are curious as the first healthy efforts of patient genius.
It was long before the boy could walk, and he only learnt to do so by hobbling
along upon crutches. At length he became strong enough to walk without them.
The kind Mr. Matthews invited him to his house, where his wife explained
Homer and Milton to him. They helped him
also in his self-culture -
giving him lessons in Greek and Latin, the study of which he prosecuted at
home. By dint of patience and perseverance, his drawing improved so much that he obtained a commission from a lady, to
execute six original drawings in black chalk of subjects in Homer. His first
commission! What an event in the artist's life! A surgeon's first fee, a
lawyer's first retainer, a legislator's first speech, a singer's first
appearance behind the foot-lights, an author's first book, are not any of them
more full of interest to the aspirant for fame than the artist's first commission.
The boy at once proceeded to execute the order, and he was both well praised
and well paid for his work. At fifteen Flaxman entered a pupil at the Royal Academy.
Notwithstanding his retiring disposition,
he soon became known among the students, and great things were expected of
him. Nor were their expectations disappointed: in his fifteenth year he gained
the silver prize, and next year he became a candidate for the gold one.
Everybody prophesied that he would carry off the medal, for there was none who
surpassed him in ability and industry. Yet he lost it, and the gold medal was
adjudged to a pupil who was not afterwards heard of.
This failure on the part of the youth was really of
service to him; for defeats do not long cast down the resolute-hearted, but
only serve to call forth their real powers. "Give me time," said he to his
father, "and I will yet produce works that the Academy will be proud to
recognise." He redoubled his efforts, spared no pains,
designed and modeled incessantly, and made steady if not rapid progress. But
meanwhile poverty threatened his father's household; the plaster-cast trade yielded a very bare living; and young Flaxman, with resolute self- denial,
curtailed his hours of study, and devoted himself to
helping his
father in the humble details of his business. He laid aside his Homer to take
up the plaster-trowel. He was willing to work in the humblest department of the trade so that his father's family might
be supported, and the wolf kept from the door. To this drudgery of his art he
served a long apprenticeship; but it did him good. It
familiarised him with steady work, and cultivated in him the spirit of patience. The
discipline may have been hard, but it was wholesome.
Happily,
young Flaxman's skill in design had reached the knowledge of
Josiah Wedgwood, who sought him out for the purpose of employing him to design
improved patterns of china and earthenware. It may seem a humble department of
art for such a genius as Flaxman to work in; but it really was
not so. An artist may be labouring truly in
his vocation while designing a common teapot or water-jug. Articles in daily
use amongst the people, which are before their eyes at every meal, may be made
the vehicles of education to all, and minister to their highest culture. The
most ambitious artist way thus confer a greater practical benefit on his countrymen than by executing
an elaborate work which he may sell for thousands of pounds to be placed in
some wealthy man's gallery where it is hidden away from public sight. Before
Wedgwood's time the designs which figured upon our china and stoneware were
hideous both in drawing and execution, and he determined to improve both.
Flaxman did his best to carry out the manufacturer's views. He supplied him
from time to time with models and designs of various pieces of earthenware, the
subjects of which were principally from ancient verse and history. Many of them
are still in existence, and some are equal in beauty and simplicity to
his after designs for marble.
The celebrated Etruscan vases, specimens of which were to be found in
public museums and in the cabinets of the curious, furnished him with the best
examples of form, and these he embellished with his own elegant devices.
Stuart's 'Athens,'
then recently published, furnished him with specimens of the purest-shaped
Greek utensils; of these he adopted the best, and worked them into new shapes
of elegance and beauty. Flaxman then saw that
he was labouring in a great work - no less than the promotion of popular
education; and he was proud, in after life, to allude to his early labours in
this walk, by which he was enabled at the same time to cultivate his love of
the beautiful, to diffuse a taste for
art among the people, and to replenish his own purse, while he promoted the
prosperity of his friend and benefactor.
At length, in the year 1782, when twenty-seven years of age, he quitted
his father's roof and rented a small house and studio in Wardour Street, Soho;
and what was more, he married - Ann Denman was the name of his wife - and a
cheerful, bright-souled, noble woman she was. He believed that in marrying her he should be able to work with
an intenser spirit; for, like him, she had a taste for
poetry and art; and besides was an enthusiastic admirer of her husband's
genius. Yet when Sir Joshua Reynolds - himself a bachelor - met Flaxman shortly after his marriage, he said to him, "So, Flaxman, I am told
you are married; if so, sir, I tell you you are ruined for an artist." Flaxman
went straight home, sat down beside his wife, took her hand in his, and said,
"Ann, I am ruined
for an artist." "How so, John? How has it happened? and
who has done it?" "It happened," he replied, "in
the church, and Ann Denman has done it." He then told her of
Sir Joshua's remark - whose opinion was well known, and
had often been expressed, that if students would excel they must bring the
whole powers of their mind to bear upon their art, from the moment they rose
until they went to bed; and also, that no man could be a GREAT artist unless he
studied the grand works of Raffaelle, Michael Angelo, and others, at Rome and
Florence. "And I," said Flaxman, drawing up his little figure to its
full height, "I would be a great artist." "And a great
artist you shall be," said his wife, "and visit Rome too, if that be really necessary
to make you great." "But how?" asked Flaxman.
"WORK AND ECONOMISE," rejoined the brave wife; "I will never
have it said that Ann Denman ruined John Flaxman for an artist." And so it was determined by the pair that the journey
to Rome was to
be made when their means would admit. "I will go to Rome," said Flaxman, "and show the
President that wedlock is for a man's good rather
than his harm; and you, Ann, shall accompany me."
Patiently and happily the
affectionate couple plodded on during five years in their humble little home in
Wardour Street,
always with the long journey to Rome
before them. It was never lost sight of for
a moment, and not a penny was uselessly spent that could be saved towards the necessary expenses. They said no word to any one about their
project; solicited no aid from the Academy; but trusted only to their own patient labour
and love to pursue and achieve their object.
During this time Flaxman exhibited very few works.
He could not afford marble to experiment in original designs; but he
obtained frequent commissions for monuments, by the profits of which he
maintained himself.
He still worked for Wedgwood, who was a prompt paymaster; and, on the whole, he
was thriving, happy, and hopeful. His local respectability was even such
as to bring local honours and local work upon him; for he was elected by the ratepayers to
collect the watch-rate for the Parish of St. Anne, when he might be seen going
about with an ink-bottle suspended from his button-hole, collecting the money.
At length Flaxman and his wife having accumulated a sufficient store of
savings, set out for Rome.
Arrived there, he applied himself diligently to study, maintaining himself, like
other poor artists, by making copies from the antique. English visitors sought
his studio, and gave him commissions; and it was then that he composed his
beautiful designs illustrative of Homer, AEschylus, and Dante. The price paid
for them was moderate - only fifteen shillings a-piece; but Flaxman worked for
art as well as money; and the beauty of the designs brought him other friends
and patrons.
He executed Cupid and Aurora for the munificent Thomas Hope, and the
Fury of Athamas for the Earl of Bristol.
He then prepared to return to England,
his taste improved
and cultivated by careful study; but before he left Italy,
the Academies of Florence and Carrara recognised his merit by electing him
a member.
His fame had preceded him to London,
where he soon found abundant employment. While at Rome
he had been commissioned to execute his famous monument in memory of
Lord Mansfield, and it was erected in the north transept of Westminster Abbey shortly after his return. It
stands there in majestic grandeur, a monument to the genius of Flaxman himself -
calm, simple, and severe. No wonder that Banks, the sculptor, then in the
heyday of his fame, exclaimed when he saw it,
"This little man cuts us all out!"
When the members of the Royal Academy heard of
Flaxman's return, and especially when they had an opportunity of seeing and
admiring his portrait-statue of Mansfield,
they were eager to have him enrolled among their number. He allowed his name to
be proposed in the candidates' list of associates, and was immediately elected.
Shortly after, he appeared in an entirely new character.
The little boy who had begun his studies behind the plaster-cast- seller's
shop-counter in New Street,
Covent Garden, was now a man of high intellect and recognised supremacy in art,
to instruct students, in the character of
Professor of Sculpture to the Royal
Academy! And no man
better deserved to fill that distinguished office; for none is so able to
instruct others as he who, for himself and by his own efforts, has learnt to grapple
with and overcome difficulties.
After a long, peaceful, and happy life,
Flaxman found himself growing old. The loss which he sustained by the death
of his affectionate wife Ann, was a severe shock to him; but he survived her
several years, during which he executed his celebrated "Shield of
Achilles," and his noble "Archangel Michael vanquishing Satan,"
- perhaps his two greatest works.
Chantrey was a more robust man; - somewhat rough, but hearty in his demeanour;
proud of his successful struggle with the difficulties which beset him in early
life; and, above all, proud of his independence. He was born a poor man's
child, at Norton, near Sheffield. His father
dying when he was a mere boy, his mother married again. Young Chantrey used to
drive an ass laden with milk-cans across its back into the neighbouring town of
Sheffield, and
there serve his mother's customers with milk. Such was the humble beginning of
his industrial career; and it was by his own strength that he rose from that
position, and achieved the highest eminence as an artist. Not taking kindly to
his step-father, the boy was sent to trade, and was first placed with a grocer
in Sheffield. The business was very
distasteful to him; but, passing a carver's shop window one day, his eye was
attracted by the glittering articles it contained, and, charmed with the idea
of being a
carver, he begged to be released from the grocery business with that object. His
friends consented, and he was bound apprentice to the carver and gilder for
seven years.
His new master, besides being a
carver in wood, was also a dealer in prints and plaster models; and Chantrey at
once set about imitating both, studying with great industry and energy. All his
spare hours were devoted to drawing, modelling, and self-improvement, and he
often carried his labours far into the night. Before his apprenticeship was out
- at the ace of twenty-one - he paid over to his master the whole wealth which
he was able to muster - a sum of 50L. – to cancel his indentures, determined to
devote himself to
the career of an artist. He then made the best of his way to London, and with characteristic good sense,
sought employment as an assistant carver, studying painting and modelling at
his bye-hours. Among the jobs on which he was first employed as a journeyman
carver, was the decoration of the dining-room of Mr. Rogers, the poet - a room in
which he was in after years a welcome visitor; and he usually took pleasure in
pointing out his early handywork to the guests whom he met at his friend's
table.
Returning to Sheffield on a
professional visit, he advertised himself in
the local papers as a painter of portraits in crayons and miniatures, and also
in oil. For his first crayon portrait he was paid a guinea by a cutler; and for
a portrait in oil, a confectioner paid him as much as 5L. and a pair of top
boots! Chantrey was soon in London again to
study at the Royal Academy; and next time he returned to Sheffield he advertised himself as ready to model plaster busts of his townsmen, as well as paint portraits of
them. He was even selected to design a monument to a deceased vicar of the
town, and executed it to the general satisfaction.
When in London
he used a room over a stable as a studio, and there he modelled his first
original work for exhibition. It was a gigantic head of Satan.
Towards the close of Chantrey's life, a friend passing through his
studio was struck by this model lying in a corner. "That head," said the sculptor,
"was the first thing that I did after I came to London. I worked at it in a garret with a
paper cap on my head; and as I could then afford only one candle, I stuck that
one in my cap that it might move along with me, and give me light whichever way
I turned." Flaxman saw and
admired this head at the Academy Exhibition, and recommended Chantrey for the
execution of the busts of four admirals, required for the Naval Asylum at Greenwich. This commission
led to others, and painting was given up. But for eight years before, he had
not earned 5L. by his modelling. His famous head of Horne Tooke was such a
success that, according to his own account, it brought him commissions
amounting to 12,000L. Chantrey had now succeeded, but he had worked hard, and
fairly earned his good fortune. He was selected from amongst sixteen competitors
to execute the statue of George III. for the city of London. A few
years later, he produced the exquisite monument of the Sleeping Children, now
in Lichfield Cathedral, - a work of great
tenderness and beauty; and thenceforward his career was one of increasing
honour, fame, and prosperity. His patience, industry, and steady perseverance were the means by which he achieved his
greatness. Nature endowed him with genius, and his sound sense enabled him to
employ the precious gift as a blessing.
He was prudent and shrewd, like the men amongst whom he was
born; the pocket-book which accompanied him on his Italian tour containing
mingled notes on art, records of daily expenses, and the current prices of
marble. His tastes were simple, and he made his finest subjects great by the mere force of simplicity. His statue of Watt, in
Handsworth church, seems to us the very consummation of art; yet it is
perfectly artless and simple. His generosity to
brother artists in need was splendid, but quiet and
unostentatious.
He left the principal part of his fortune to the Royal Academy
for the promotion of British art.
The same honest and persistent industry was throughout distinctive of
the career of David Wilkie. The son of a Scotch minister, he gave early indications
of an artistic turn; and though he was a negligent and inapt scholar, he was a
sedulous drawer of faces and figures. A silent boy, he already displayed that quiet concentrated
energy of character which
distinguished him through life. He was always on the look-out for an
opportunity to draw, - and the walls of the manse, or the smooth sand by the
river side, were alike convenient for his purpose. Any sort of tool would serve him; like
Giotto, he found a pencil in a burnt stick, a prepared canvas in any smooth
stone, and the subject for a picture in every ragged mendicant he met. When he
visited a house, he generally left his mark on the walls as an indication of
his presence, sometimes to the disgust of cleanly housewives. In short,
notwithstanding the aversion of his father, the minister, to the
"sinful" profession of painting, Wilkie's strong propensity was not
to be thwarted, and he became an artist, working his way manfully up the steep
of difficulty. Though rejected on his first application as a candidate for
admission to the Scottish Academy, at Edinburgh,
on account of the rudeness and inaccuracy of his introductory specimens, he
persevered in producing better, until he was admitted. But his progress was
slow. He applied himself diligently to the drawing of the human figure, and held on with the determination
to succeed, as if with a resolute confidence in the result. He displayed none
of the eccentric humour and fitful application of many youths who
conceive themselves geniuses,
but kept up the routine of steady application to such an extent that he himself was
afterwards accustomed to attribute his success to his dogged perseverance
rather than to any higher innate power. "The single element," he
said, "in all the progressive movements of my pencil was persevering industry." At Edinburgh he gained a few premiums, thought of
turning his attention to portrait painting, with a view to its higher and more
certain remuneration, but eventually went boldly into the line in which he
earned his fame, - and painted his Pitlessie Fair. What was bolder still, he determined to proceed
to London, on
account of its presenting so much wider a field for study and work; and the
poor Scotch lad arrived in town, and painted his Village Politicians while
living in a humble lodging on eighteen shillings a week.
Notwithstanding the success of this picture, and the commissions which
followed it, Wilkie long continued poor. The prices which his works realized were
not great, for he bestowed upon them so much time and labour, that his earnings
continued comparatively small for many years. Every picture was carefully studied and elaborated
beforehand; nothing was struck off at a heat; many occupied him for years
- touching,
retouching, and improving them until they finally passed out of his hands. As
with Reynolds, his motto was "Work! work! work!" and, like him, he
expressed great dislike for talking artists. Talkers may sow, but the silent
reap.
"Let us be DOING something," was his oblique mode of rebuking
the loquacious and admonishing the idle. He once related to
his friend Constable that when he studied at the Scottish Academy, Graham, the master
of it, was accustomed to say to the students, in the words of Reynolds,
"If you have genius, industry will improve it; if you have none, industry
will supply its place." "So," said Wilkie, "I was
determined to be very industrious, for I knew I
had no genius."
He also told Constable that when Linnell and Burnett, his fellow- students
in London, were talking about art, he always contrived to get as close to them
as he could to hear all they said, "for," said he,
"they know a
great deal, and I know very little." This was said with perfect sincerity, for Wilkie was habitually modest. One of the first
things that he did with the sum of thirty pounds which he obtained from Lord
Mansfield for his Village Politicians, was to buy a present - of bonnets,
shawls, and dresses - for his mother and sister at home, though but little able
to afford it at the time. Wilkie's early poverty had trained him in habits of
strict economy, which were, however, consistent with a noble liberality,
as appears from sundry passages in the Autobiography of Abraham Raimbach the engraver.
William Etty was another notable instance of unflagging industry and
indomitable perseverance in art. His father was a ginger-bread and spicemaker
at York, and his mother - a woman of considerable force and originality
of character -
was the daughter of a ropemaker. The boy early displayed a love of drawing,
covering walls, floors, and tables with specimens of his skill; his first crayon being a
farthing's worth of chalk, and this giving place to a piece of coal or a bit of
charred stick. His mother, knowing nothing of art, put the boy apprentice to a trade -
that of a printer. But in his leisure hours he went on with the practice of drawing;
and when his time was out he determined to follow his bent - he would be a
painter and nothing else. Fortunately his uncle and elder brother were able and
willing to help him
on in his new career, and they provided him with the means of entering as pupil
at the Royal Academy. We observe, from Leslie's
Autobiography, that Etty was looked upon by his fellow students as a worthy but
dull, plodding person, who would never distinguish himself. But
he had in him the divine faculty of work, and diligently plodded his way upward
to eminence in the highest walks of art.
Many artists have had to encounter privations which have tried their
courage and endurance to the utmost before they succeeded.
What number may have sunk under them we can never know. Martin encountered
difficulties in the course of his career such as perhaps fall to the lot of
few. More than once he found himself on
the verge of starvation while engaged on his first great picture.
It is related of him that on one occasion he found himself reduced
to his last shilling - a BRIGHT shilling - which he had kept because of its
very brightness, but at length he found it necessary to exchange it for bread.
He went to a baker's shop, bought a loaf, and was taking it away, when the
baker snatched it from him, and tossed back the shilling to the starving
painter. The bright shilling had failed him in his hour of need - it was a bad
one!
Returning to his lodgings, he rummaged his trunk for some remaining crust
to satisfy his
hunger. Upheld throughout by the victorious power of enthusiasm, he pursued his
design with unsubdued energy.
He had the courage to work on and to wait; and when, a few days after,
he found an opportunity to exhibit his picture, he was from that time famous.
Like many other great artists, his life proves that, in despite of outward
circumstances, genius, aided by industry, will be its own protector, and that fame, though she comes late, will
never ultimately refuse her favours to real merit
The most careful discipline and training after academic methods will
fail in making an artist, unless he himself take
an active part in the work. Like every highly cultivated man, he must be mainly self-educated.
When Pugin, who was brought up in his father's office, had learnt all that he
could learn of architecture according to the usual formulas, he still found
that he had learned but little; and that he must begin at the beginning, and
pass through the discipline of labour. Young Pugin accordingly hired himself out
as a common carpenter at Covent Garden Theatre – first working under the stage,
then behind the flys, then upon the stage itself. He thus acquired a
familiarity with work, and cultivated an architectural taste, to
which the diversity of the mechanical employment about a large operatic
establishment is peculiarly favourable. When the theatre closed for the season,
he worked a sailing-ship between London
and some of the French ports, carrying on at the same time a profitable trade.
At every opportunity he would land and make drawings of any old building, and
especially of any ecclesiastical structure which fell in his way. Afterwards he
would make special journeys to the Continent for the same purpose, and returned home laden with drawings. Thus he plodded and laboured on, making
sure of the excellence and distinction which he eventually achieved.
A similar illustration of plodding industry in the same walk is presented
in the career of George Kemp, the architect of the beautiful Scott Monument
at Edinburgh.
He was the son of a poor shepherd, who pursued his calling on the southern
slope of the Pentland Hills. Amidst that pastoral solitude the boy had no opportunity
of enjoying the
contemplation of works of art. It happened, however, that in his tenth year he
was sent on a message to Roslin, by the farmer for whom his father herded
sheep, and the sight of
the beautiful castle and chapel there seems to have made a vivid and enduring
impression on his mind. Probably to enable him to indulge his love of
architectural construction, the boy besought his father to let him be a joiner;
and he was accordingly put apprentice to a neighbouring village carpenter.
Having served his time, he went to Galashiels to seek work. As he was plodding
along the valley of the Tweed with his tools upon his back, a carriage overtook
him near Elibank Tower; and the coachman, doubtless at the suggestion of his master,
who was seated inside, having asked the youth how far he had to walk, and
learning that he was on his way to Galashiels, invited him to mount the box
beside him, and thus to ride thither. It turned out that the kindly gentleman
inside was no other than Sir Walter Scott, then travelling on his official duty as Sheriff
of Selkirkshire. Whilst working at Galashiels, Kemp had frequent opportunities
of visiting Melrose,
Dryburgh, and Jedburgh Abbeys, which he studied carefully. Inspired by his love
of architecture, he worked his way as a carpenter over the greater part of the
north of England,
never omitting an opportunity of inspecting and making sketches of any fine
Gothic building. On one occasion, when working in Lancashire, he walked fifty
miles to York, spent a
week in carefully examining the Minster, and returned in like manner on foot.
We next find him in Glasgow,
where he remained four years, studying the fine cathedral there during his spare
time. He returned to England
again, this time working his way further south; studying Canterbury,
Winchester,
Tintern, and other well-known structures. In 1824 he formed the design of travelling
over Europe with the same object,
supporting himself by
his trade. Reaching Boulogne, he proceeded by
Abbeville and Beauvais to Paris, spending a few weeks making drawings
and studies at each place. His skill as a mechanic, and especially his knowledge of
mill-work, readily secured him employment wherever he went; and he usually
chose the site of his employment in the neighbourhood of some fine old Gothic structure, in studying which he occupied
his leisure. After a year's working, travel, and study abroad, he returned to Scotland.
He continued his studies, and became a proficient in drawing and perspective: Melrose was his favourite
ruin; and he produced several elaborate drawings of the building, one of which,
exhibiting it in a "restored" state, was afterwards
engraved. He also obtained employment as a modeller of architectural designs;
and made drawings for a work begun by an Edinburgh
engraver, after the plan of Britton's 'Cathedral Antiquities.' This
was a task congenial to his tastes, and
he laboured at it with an enthusiasm which ensured its rapid advance; walking
on foot for the purpose over half Scotland, and living as an ordinary mechanic,
whilst executing drawings which would have done credit to the best masters in
the art. The projector of the work having died suddenly, the publication was
however stopped, and Kemp sought other employment. Few knew of
the genius of this man - for he was exceedingly taciturn and habitually modest
- when the Committee of the Scott
Monument offered a prize
for the best design. The competitors were numerous - including some of the greatest
names in classical architecture; but the design unanimously selected was that
of George Kemp, who was working at Kilwinning Abbey in Ayrshire, many miles
off, when the letter reached him intimating the decision of the committee. Poor
Kemp!
Shortly after this event he met an untimely death, and did not live to see the
first result of his indefatigable industry and self- culture embodied in stone,
- one of the most beautiful and appropriate memorials ever erected to literary
genius.
John Gibson was another artist full of a genuine enthusiasm and love
for his art, which placed him high above those sordid temptations which urge
meaner natures to make time the measure of profit. He was born at Gyffn, near Conway, in North Wales –
the son of a gardener. He early showed indications of his talent by the
carvings in wood which he made by means of a common pocket knife; and his
father, noting the direction of his talent, sent him to Liverpool and bound him
apprentice to a cabinet-maker and wood- carver. He rapidly improved at his trade, and some of his carvings were much
admired. He was thus naturally led to sculpture, and when eighteen years old he
modelled a small figure of Time in wax, which attracted considerable notice.
The Messrs. Franceys, sculptors, of Liverpool,
having purchased the boy's indentures, took him as their apprentice for six
years, during which his genius displayed itself in many original works. From
thence he proceeded to London, and afterwards to
Rome; and his
fame became European. Robert Thorburn, the Royal Academician, like John Gibson,
was born of poor parents. His father was a shoe-maker at Dumfries.
Besides Robert there were two other sons; one of whom is a skilful carver in
wood. One day a lady called at the shoemaker's and found Robert, then a mere
boy, engaged in drawing upon a stool which served him for a table. She examined
his work, and observing his abilities, interested herself in
obtaining for him some employment in drawing, and enlisted in his behalf the
services of others who could assist him in prosecuting the study of art. The
boy was diligent, pains-taking, staid, and silent, mixing little with his companions,
and forming but
few intimacies. About the year 1830, some gentlemen of the town provided him
with the means of proceeding to Edinburgh, where
he was admitted a student at the Scottish
Academy. There he had the
advantage of studying under competent masters, and the progress which he made
was rapid. From Edinburgh he removed to London, where, we understand,
he had the advantage of being introduced to notice under the patronage of the Duke
of Buccleuch. We need scarcely say, however, that of whatever use patronage may
have been to Thorburn in giving him an introduction to the best circles,
patronage of no kind could have made him the great artist that he
unquestionably is, without native
genius and diligent application.
Noel Paton, the well-known painter, began his artistic career at Dunfermline
and Paisley, as a drawer of patterns for table-cloths and muslin embroidered by
hand; meanwhile working diligently at higher subjects, including the drawing of
the human figure. He was, like Turner, ready to turn his hand to any kind of
work, and in 1840, when a mere youth, we find him engaged, among his other labours,
in illustrating the 'Renfrewshire Annual.' He worked his way step by
step, slowly yet surely; but he remained unknown until the exhibition of the
prize cartoons painted for the houses of Parliament, when his picture of
the Spirit of
Religion (for which he obtained one of the first prizes) revealed him to the
world as a genuine artist; and the works which he has since exhibited – such as
the 'Reconciliation of Oberon and Titania,' 'Home,' and 'The bluidy Tryste' - have shown a steady advance in artistic power and culture.
Another striking exemplification of perseverance and industry in the
cultivation of art in humble life is presented in the career of James Sharples,
a working blacksmith at Blackburn. He was born
at Wakefield in Yorkshire,
in 1825, one of a family of thirteen children. His father was a working ironfounder, and removed to Bury to follow
his business. The boys received no school education, but were all sent to work
as soon as they were able; and at about ten James was placed in a foundry,
where he was employed for about two years as smithy-boy. After that he was sent into the engine-shop
where his father worked as engine-smith. The boy's employment was to heat and
carry rivets for the boiler-makers.
Though his hours of labour were very long - often from six in the morning
until eight at night - his father contrived to give him some little teaching
after working hours; and it was thus that he partially learned his letters. An
incident occurred in the course of his employment among the boiler-makers,
which first awakened in him the desire to
learn drawing. He had occasionally been employed by the foreman to hold the
chalked line with which he made the designs of boilers upon the floor of the
workshop; and on such occasions the foreman was accustomed to hold the line, and direct the boy to
make the necessary dimensions. James soon became so expert at this as to be of
considerable service to the foreman; and at his leisure hours at home his great
delight was to practise drawing designs of boilers upon his mother's floor. On one occasion, when a
female relative was
expected from Manchester to pay the family a visit, and the house had been made
as decent as possible for her reception, the boy, on coming in from the foundry
in the evening, began his usual operations upon the floor. He had proceeded
some way with his design of a large boiler in chalk, when his mother arrived
with the visitor, and to her dismay found the boy unwashed and the floor
chalked all over. The relative, however, professed to be pleased with
the boy's industry, praised his design, and recommended his mother to provide
"the little sweep," as she called him, with paper and pencils.
Encouraged by his elder brother, he began to practise figure and landscape
drawing, making copies of lithographs, but as yet without any knowledge of
the rules of perspective and the principles of light and shade. He worked on,
however, and gradually acquired expertness in copying. At sixteen, he entered
the Bury Mechanic's Institution in order to attend the drawing class, taught by
an amateur who followed the trade of a barber. There he had a lesson a week
during three months. The teacher recommended him to obtain from the library
Burnet's 'Practical Treatise on Painting;' but as he could not yet read with
ease, he was under the necessity of getting his mother, and sometimes his elder
brother, to read passages from the book for him while he sat by and listened.
Feeling hampered
by his ignorance of the art of reading, and eager to master the contents of
Burnet's book, he ceased attending the drawing class at the Institute
after the first quarter, and devoted himself to
learning reading and writing at home. In this he soon succeeded; and when he
again entered the Institute and took out 'Burnet' a second time, he was not
only able to read it, but to make written extracts for further use. So ardently
did he study the volume, that he used to rise at four o'clock in the morning to read it and copy out passages; after which he went to the foundry at six,
worked until six and sometimes eight in the evening; and returned home to enter
with fresh zest upon the study of Burnet, which he continued often until a late
hour. Parts of his nights were also occupied in drawing and making copies of
drawings. On one of these - a copy of Leonardo
da Vinci's "Last Supper" – he spent an entire night. He went to bed
indeed, but his mind was so engrossed with the subject that he could
not sleep, and rose again to resume his pencil.
He next proceeded to try his hand at painting in oil, for which purpose
he procured some canvas from a draper, stretched it on a frame, coated it over
with white lead, and began painting on it with colours bought from a
house-painter. But his work proved a total failure; for the canvas was rough
and knotty, and the paint would not dry. In his extremity he applied to his old
teacher, the barber, from whom he first learnt that prepared canvas was to be had,
and that there were colours and varnishes made for the special purpose of
oil-painting. As soon therefore, as his means would allow, he bought a small
stock of the necessary articles and began afresh, - his amateur master showing
him how to paint; and the pupil succeeded so well that he excelled the master's
copy. His first picture was a copy from an engraving called "Sheep-shearing," and
was afterwards sold by him for half-a-crown. Aided by a shilling Guide to
Oil-painting, he went on working at his leisure hours, and gradually acquired a
better knowledge of
his materials.
He made his own easel and palette, palette-knife, and paint-chest; he bought
his paint, brushes, and canvas, as he could raise the money by working
over-time. This was the slender fund which his parents consented to allow him
for the purpose; the burden of supporting a very large family precluding them
from doing more. Often he would walk to Manchester and back in the evenings to
buy two or three shillings' worth of paint and canvas, returning almost at
midnight, after his eighteen miles' walk, sometimes wet through and completely
exhausted, but borne up throughout by his inexhaustible hope and invincible
determination. The further progress of the self-taught artist
is best narrated in his own words, as communicated by him in a letter to the
author:- "The next pictures I painted," he says, "were a
Landscape by Moonlight, a Fruitpiece, and one or two others; after which I conceived
the idea of painting 'The Forge.' I had for some time thought about
it, but had not attempted to embody the conception in a drawing. I now,
however, made a sketch of the subject upon paper, and then proceeded to paint
it on canvas. The picture simply represents the interior of a large workshop
such as I have been accustomed to work in, although not of any particular shop.
It is, therefore, to this extent, an original conception. Having made an
outline of the subject, I found that, before I could proceed with it
successfully, a knowledge of anatomy was indispensable to enable me
accurately to delineate the muscles of the figures. My brother Peter came to my
assistance at this juncture, and kindly purchased for me Flaxman's 'Anatomical studies,'
- a work altogether beyond my means at the time, for it cost twenty-four shillings. This book I looked upon as a great treasure, and I
studied it laboriously, rising at three o'clock in the morning to draw after
it, and occasionally getting my brother Peter to stand for me as a model at
that untimely hour. Although I gradually improved myself by this practice, it was some time before I felt sufficient
confidence to go on with my picture. I also felt hampered
by my want of knowledge of perspective, which I endeavoured to remedy
by carefully studying Brook Taylor's 'Principles;' and shortly after I resumed
my painting. While engaged in the study of perspective at home, I used to apply
for and obtain leave to work at the heavier kinds of smith work at the foundry,
and for this reason - the time required for heating the heaviest iron work is so much longer than that required for heating the
lighter, that it enabled me to secure a number of spare minutes in the course
of the day, which I carefully employed in making diagrams in perspective upon
the sheet iron casing in front of the hearth at which I worked."
Thus assiduously working and studying, James Sharples steadily advanced
in his knowledge of
the principles of art, and acquired greater facility in its practice. Some
eighteen months after the expiry of his apprenticeship he painted a portrait of
his father, which attracted considerable notice in the town; as also did the picture of
"The Forge," which he finished soon after. His success in
portrait-painting obtained for him a commission from the foreman of the shop to
paint a family group, and Sharples executed it so well that the foreman not
only paid him the agreed price of eighteen pounds, but thirty shillings to
boot. While engaged on this group he ceased to
work at the foundry, and he had thoughts of
giving up his trade altogether and devoting himself exclusively
to painting. He proceeded to paint several pictures, amongst others a head of
Christ, an original conception, life-size, and a view of Bury; but not obtaining
sufficient employment at portraits to occupy his time, or give him the prospect
of a steady income, he had the good sense
to resume his leather apron, and go on working at his honest trade of a
blacksmith; employing his leisure hours in engraving his picture of "The
Forge," since published. He was induced to commence the engraving by the
following circumstance. A Manchester
picture-dealer, to whom he showed the painting, let drop the observation, that
in the hands of a skilful engraver it would make a very good print.
Sharples immediately conceived the idea of engraving it himself,
though altogether ignorant of the art. The difficulties which he encountered
and successfully overcame in carrying out his project are thus described
by himself:-
"I had seen an advertisement of a Sheffield steel-plate
maker, giving a list of the prices at which he supplied plates of various sizes,
and, fixing upon one of suitable dimensions, I remitted the amount, together
with a small additional sum for which I requested him to send me a few
engraving tools. I could not specify the articles wanted, for I did not
then know anything
about the process of engraving. However, there duly arrived with the plate
three or four gravers and an etching needle; the latter I spoiled before I knew its
use. While working at the plate, the Amalgamated Society of Engineers offered a
premium for the best design for an emblematical picture, for which I determined
to compete, and I was so fortunate as to win the prize. Shortly after this I removed to Blackburn, where I obtained employment at Messrs. Yates',
engineers, as an engine-smith; and continued to employ my leisure time in
drawing, painting, and engraving, as before. With the engraving I made but very
slow progress, owing to the difficulties I experienced from
not possessing proper tools. I then determined to try to make some that would
suit my purpose, and after several failures I succeeded in making many that I
have used in the course of my engraving. I was also greatly at a loss for want
of a proper magnifying glass, and part of the plate was executed with no other assistance
of this sort than what my father's spectacles afforded, though I afterwards
succeeded in obtaining a proper magnifier, which was of the utmost use to me.
An incident occurred while I was engraving the plate, which had almost caused
me to abandon it altogether. It sometimes happened that I was obliged to lay it
aside for a considerable time, when other work pressed; and in order to guard
it against rust, I was accustomed to rub over the
graven parts with oil. But on examining the plate after one of such intervals,
I found that the oil had become a dark sticky substance extremely difficult to
get out. I tried to pick it out with a needle, but found that it would almost
take as much time as to engrave the parts afresh. I was in great despair at
this, but at length hit upon the expedient of boiling it in water containing soda,
and afterwards rubbing the engraved parts with a tooth-brush; and to my delight
found the plan succeeded perfectly. My greatest difficulties now over, patience and
perseverance were all that were needed to bring my labours to a successful
issue. I had neither advice nor assistance from any one in finishing the plate.
If, therefore, the work possess any merit, I can claim it as my own; and if in
its accomplishment I have contributed to show what can be done by persevering
industry and determination, it is all the honour I wish to lay claim to."
It would be beside our purpose to enter upon any criticism of "The
Forge" as an engraving; its merits having been already fully recognised by
the art journals. The execution of the work occupied Sharples's leisure evening
hours during a period of five years; and it was only when he took the plate to
the printer that he for the first time saw an
engraved plate produced by any other man. To this unvarnished picture of
industry and genius, we add one other trait, and it is a domestic one. "I
have been married seven years," says he, "and during that time my
greatest pleasure,
after I have finished my daily labour at the foundry, has been to resume my
pencil or graver, frequently until a late hour of the evening, my wife
meanwhile sitting by my side and reading to me from some interesting
book," - a simple but beautiful testimony to the thorough common sense as
well as the genuine right-heartedness of this most interesting and deserving
workman. The same industry and application which we have found to be necessary in order to acquire excellence in painting and sculpture, are equally
required in the sister art of music - the one being the
poetry of form and
colour, the other of the sounds of nature. Handel was an indefatigable and
constant worker; he was never cast down by defeat, but his energy seemed to increase the more that adversity
struck him. When a prey to his mortifications as an insolvent debtor, he did
not give way for a moment, but in one year produced his 'Saul,' 'Israel,' the
music for Dryden's 'Ode,' his 'Twelve Grand Concertos,' and the opera of 'Jupiter in Argos,' among the finest
of his works. As his biographer says of him, "He braved everything, and,
by his unaided self, accomplished the work of twelve men."
Haydn, speaking of his art, said, "It consists in taking up a subject
and pursuing it." "Work," said Mozart, "is my chief
pleasure." Beethoven's
favourite maxim was, "The barriers are not erected which can say to
aspiring talents and industry, 'Thus far and no farther.'" When Moscheles submitted his score of
'Fidelio' for the pianoforte to Beethoven, the latter found written at the bottom
of the last page, "Finis, with God's help." Beethoven
immediately wrote underneath, "O man! help thyself!" This
was the motto of his artistic life. John Sebastian Bach said of himself, "I
was industrious; whoever is equally sedulous, will be equally successful." But
there is no doubt that Bach was born with a passion for music,
which formed the mainspring of his industry, and was the true secret
of his success. When a mere youth, his elder brother, wishing to turn his
abilities in another direction, destroyed a collection of studies which the
young Sebastian, being denied candles, had copied by moonlight; proving the
strong natural bent of the boy's genius. Of Meyerbeer, Bayle thus wrote from Milan in 1820:- "He is a man of some
talent, but no genius; he lives solitary, working fifteen hours a day at
music." Years passed, and Meyerbeer's hard work fully brought
out his genius, as displayed in his 'Roberto,' 'Huguenots,' 'Prophete,' and other works,
confessedly amongst the greatest operas which have been produced in modern
times.
Although musical composition is not an art in which Englishmen have as
yet greatly distinguished themselves, their energies having for the most part taken
other and more practical directions, we are not without native illustrations of
the power of perseverance in this special pursuit. Arne was an upholsterer's
son, intended by his father for the legal profession; but his love of music was
so great, that he could not be withheld from pursuing it. While engaged in an
attorney's office, his means were very limited, but,
to gratify his tastes, he was accustomed to borrow a livery and go into
the gallery of the Opera, then appropriated to domestics.
Unknown to his father he made great progress with the violin, and the
first knowledge his
father had of the circumstance was when accidentally calling at the house of a
neighbouring gentleman, to his surprise and consternation he found his son
playing the leading instrument with a party of musicians. This incident decided
the fate of Arne. His father offered no further opposition to his wishes; and
the world thereby lost a lawyer, but gained a musician of much taste and
delicacy of feeling, who added many valuable
works to our stores of English music.
The career of the late William Jackson, author of 'The Deliverance of
Israel,' an oratorio which has been successfully performed in the principal
towns of his native county of York, furnishes an interesting illustration of
the triumph of perseverance over difficulties in the pursuit of musical
science. He was the son of a miller at Masham, a little town situated in the
valley of the Yore, in the north-west corner of Yorkshire.
Musical taste seems to have been hereditary in the family, for
his father played the fife in the band of the Masham Volunteers, and was a singer in the parish
choir. His grandfather also was leading singer and ringer at Masham Church;
and one of the boy's earliest musical treats was to be present at the bell
pealing on Sunday mornings. During the service, his wonder was still more
excited by the organist's performance on the barrel-organ, the doors of which
were thrown open behind to let the sound fully into the church, by which the stops,
pipes, barrels, staples, keyboard, and jacks, were fully exposed, to the
wonderment of the little boys sitting in the gallery behind, and to none more
than our young musician. At eight years of age he began to play upon his
father's old fife, which, however, would not sound D; but his mother remedied
the difficulty by buying for him a one-keyed flute; and shortly after, a
gentleman of the neighbourhood presented him with a flute with four silver keys.
As the boy made no progress with his "book learning," being fonder
of cricket, fives, and boxing, than of his school lessons - the village
schoolmaster giving him up as "a bad job" - his parents sent him off
to a school at Pateley Bridge. While there he found congenial society in a club
of village choral singers at Brighouse Gate, and with them he learnt the
sol-fa-ing gamut on the old English plan. He was thus well drilled in the
reading of music, in which he soon became a proficient. His progress astonished
the club, and he returned home full of musical ambition. He now learnt to play
upon his father's old piano, but with little melodious result; and he became
eager to possess a finger-organ, but had no means of procuring one. About this
time, a neighbouring parish clerk had purchased, for an insignificant sum, a
small disabled barrel-organ, which had gone the circuit of the northern
counties with a show. The clerk tried to revive the tones of the instrument,
but failed; at last he bethought him that he would try the skill of young
Jackson, who had succeeded in making some alterations and improvements in the
hand-organ of the parish church. He accordingly brought it to the lad's house
in a donkey cart, and in a short time the instrument was repaired, and played over
its old tunes again, greatly to the owner's satisfaction.
The thought now haunted the youth that he could make a
barrel-organ, and he determined to do so. His father and he set to work, and
though without practice in carpentering, yet, by dint of hard labour and after
many failures, they at last succeeded; and an organ was constructed which
played ten tunes very decently, and the instrument was generally regarded as a
marvel in the neighbourhood.
Young Jackson
was now frequently sent for to repair old church organs, and to put new music
upon the barrels which he added to them. All this he accomplished to the satisfaction of
his employers, after which he proceeded with the construction of a four-stop finger-organ, adapting to it the keys of an old harpsichord. This he
learnt to play upon, - studying 'Callcott's Thorough Bass' in the evening, and
working at his trade of a miller during the day; occasionally also tramping
about the country as a "cadger," with an ass and a cart. During
summer he worked in the fields, at turnip-time, hay-time, and harvest, but was
never without the solace of music in his leisure evening hours. He next tried
his hand at musical composition, and twelve of his anthems were shown to the
late Mr. Camidge, of York,
as "the production of a miller's lad of fourteen." Mr. Camidge
was pleased with
them, marked the objectionable passages, and returned them with the encouraging
remark, that they did the youth great credit, and that
he must "go on writing."
A village band having been set on foot at Masham, young Jackson joined
it, and was ultimately appointed leader. He played all the instruments by
turns, and thus acquired a considerable practical knowledge of
his art: he also composed numerous tunes for the band. A new finger-organ having
been presented to the parish church, he was appointed the organist. He now gave
up his employment as a journeyman miller, and commenced tallow-chandling, still
employing his spare hours in the study of music. In 1839 he published his first
anthem - 'For joy let fertile valleys sing;' and in the following
year he gained the first prize from the Huddersfield Glee Club, for his
'Sisters of the Lea.' His other anthem 'God be merciful to
us,' and the 103rd Psalm, written for a double chorus and orchestra, are
well known.
In the midst of these minor works, Jackson
proceeded with the composition of his oratorio, - 'The Deliverance of Israel from Babylon.' His practice was, to jot
down a ketch of the ideas as they presented themselves to
his mind,
and to write them out in score in the evenings, after he had left his work in
the candle-shop. His oratorio was published in parts, in the course of 1844-5,
and he published the last chorus on his twenty-ninth birthday. The work was
exceedingly well received, and has been frequently performed with much success in
the northern towns. Mr. Jackson eventually settled as a professor of music at
Bradford, where he contributed in no small degree to the cultivation of the musical taste of
that town and its neighbourhood. Some years since he had the honour of leading
his fine company of Bradford choral singers before Her Majesty at Buckingham Palace;
on which occasion, as well as at the Crystal
Palace, some choral
pieces of his composition, were performed with great effect. (22)
Such is a brief outline of the career of a self-taught musician,
whose life affords but another illustration of the power of self- help, and the
force of courage and industry in enabling a man to surmount and overcome early
difficulties and obstructions of no ordinary kind.
