Self Help

S >> Samuel Smiles >> Self Help

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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.

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