The artistic genius of England, however potent and exuberant it may be, has never been so freely or prominently displayed in sculpture as in poetry or painting; nor has it had equal encouragement. The creations of the sculptor’s fancy and the emanations of his skill, unquestionable as may be their merits and real their beauties, have never ranked very high in the favor of the multitude. Many, whose sympathy might otherwise be followed by more substantial tokens, understand full well that a portrait costs less, and is more readily appreciated by their neighbors, than a marble bust; and even with those few who pride themselves in rivaling the Medici in their patronage of art, and lay the flattering unction to their souls that they know something about it, the popularity of sculpture is by no means excessive. But the name of Chantrey is one which his countrymen have reason to regard with patriotic pride and satisfaction. He formed his style on the beauty and manliness of his native land; he was thoroughly her own. His taste in this respect was created when the inhabitant—while a boy—of a quiet and secluded village; and it was adhered to with splendid results when he was depicting statesmen, warriors, orators, and poets—our Pitts, Wellingtons, Grattans, and Scotts. Instead of struggling in vain to recall cold shapes and uncongenial visions from remote antiquity and distant realms, he embodied in simple but fascinating works, for the instruction and gratification of native talent and taste, the life, manners, and costume which came around him in his daily existence. Thus his works are not only more popular than those of the sculptors who had preceded him, but they are fitted to excite no small portion of that sympathy which one feels when gazing on the canvas, whereon the features of some distinguished man or beautiful woman have been gloriously portrayed by the pencil of Reynolds or Raeburn. His success in this line first secured him general notice; and they are not inferior to any that ever were produced; while his statues executed for public places, with those singularly plain and unadorned pedestals, wisely calculated not to detract from the effect of the more important part of the composition, exhibit surpassing grace and vigor of outline. The story of a great sculptor’s life can, with rare exceptions, be soon told; his existence being unmarked except by the works which he sends into the busy world from his solitary, secluded, and laborious studio.

Francis Chantrey was born on the 7th of April, 1782, at Norton, a little village in the county of Derby. His father, a stout and sagacious yeoman, cultivated with frugal industry the small estate he was fortunate enough to possess; and the future sculptor doubtless delighted, when a sportive child, to lend a helping hand in the operations of the season. The worthy farmer died when his son was in boyhood, little anticipating that the latter was destined to touch the hearts of men by a process and after a fashion which were hardly dreamt of in the philosophy of the tillers of Derbyshire soil. Indeed, hardly any thing could have been more improbable; for unless it were the statues in the quaint, curious, and terraced old garden of some “large-acred” aristocrat, he had no opportunity of gazing on any specimens of art likely to excite his imagination or guide his aspirations. Nevertheless, at an almost infantine period of existence he gave indications of his natural bent; and ere long, in communion with nature and all its beauties, he was inspired by the fine feelings and ambitious desires which afterward animated his spirit to splendid efforts, and nerved his hand to resolute toil in completing the conceptions of his ardent brain. The contemplation of natural objects in all their simplicity filled his young heart and memory with lovely and charming images, which in other days contributed to his success, established his reputation, and laid the foundation of his lasting fame.

Chantrey was about eight years old when he lost his father, and was thus early deprived of the paternal influence and direction. His mother soon after yielded herself, and such charms as she could boast of, for a second time, into matrimonial bonds; and though she reared her fanciful boy with great care and tenderness, and survived to witness his artistic achievements, perhaps his exhibitions of talent and inclination were less attended to than they might otherwise have been. However, he was educated with the ordinary solicitude, though to what precise extent does not appear.

On leaving school, he was occupied with agricultural operations. Like the Scottish poet, Burns, he could hold the plow to some purpose, as in after life he used to relate. Besides, he accomplished feats in mowing; in the barn wielded his flail with signal prowess, and, doubtless, found favor in the eyes of those laughing rustic beauties, who look so enchanting and leap joyously at hay-makings and harvest-homes. But whether his friends and acquaintances regarded him as one gaudentem patrios findere sarculo agros, or the reverse, he had long since began to develop a turn for art, by making various models in clay for amusement, though without any idea that it would ever create for him a splendid reputation, and conduct him to a position of dignity and honor. At this period, no doubt, he caught among those steep Derby Hills, celebrated in verse, that love of field-sports which ever actuated him. He liked the exercise and delighted in the recreation. He became a keen fisher, an excellent shot, and had a fancy for dogs. In after life, and on fitting occasions, he was almost as indefatigable in rural sports as in his professional exertions; and in the indulgence of his humor in this respect he was not daunted or deterred by unpropitious weather.

When Chantrey had arrived in his seventeenth year, his relations deemed it proper to take his prospects into their serious consideration; and they came to the conclusion of placing him in an attorney’s office at Sheffield. Thither, therefore, he was conducted with that object; and had it been realized, his artistic predilections might speedily have altogether vanished; but

The intention of Chantrey’s guardians and his apparent destination were changed by an accident, which, though seemingly trifling in itself, was of the utmost importance in his career. He was passing along the street, and staring about with all the wonder of a youthful peasant, when suddenly some figures in the window of a shop arrested his eye, and filled his heart with an irrepressible longing to be a carver of wood. This wish he repeated with so much ardor and earnestness, that his friends saw reason to accede to a desire, which was evidently the result of no mere ephemeral sentiment. They had, of course, as little idea of sculpture as they had of the moon, or the north pole, or the Chinese empire. A picture, indeed, they could have admired. A lady shining on the painter’s canvas, in all the pride of gems and rich attire, would have raised their wonder: but the severity of marble catches not the popular fancy; and had the boy’s tendency been explained, they would still have been in the dark as to what he would be at. Luckily, common sense taught them that it would be downright stupidity to place at the dreary desk a lad whose heart was set upon a very different occupation from that of copying deeds. They, therefore, consented to his being apprenticed to a wood-carver in the town; and he entered on that course which led him on, from small beginnings, to affluence and celebrity. It happened that at his new master’s house he had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of a distinguished draughtsman in crayon, and immediately exhibited a lively interest in that individual’s occupations. He took infinite pleasure in seeing him paint, and was careful to make himself as useful and agreeable as was in his power. In this way he soon felt ambitious of following art as a profession, in some higher field than that to which his labors were then confined. He had already made all the progress in carving which, under the circumstances, could be achieved by skill, perseverance, and enthusiasm. During the intervals of business he did not waste or dissipate an hour of his precious time, but was constantly at study; and even at the midnight hour he might have been found in his lodgings, with a light burning, engaged with groups and figures, and working with the utmost spirit and the rarest diligence.

This system did not exactly quadrate with the views of his employer, who, naturally enough, wished his pupil to be a workman and not an artist. Moreover, Chantrey, finding his tastes in this respect perpetually thwarted, and his desire becoming uncontrollable, grew much too enthusiastic in his aspirations to be longer limited or restrained by ordinary circumstances. Therefore, though only six months of his term of servitude remained unexpired, with the impatience of genius he gave his master all the wealth he possessed to cancel the indentures, gained a little money by taking portraits, repaired to London, and, thus thrown into the mighty vortex, determined to triumph. But with the hereditary caution and common sense, which were finely exhibited by him throughout life, he made “the hardest circumstance a helper and a slave,” and at first sought employment as assistant to a wood-carver, that he might live by the craft he had resolved to leave, while pursuing those studies that were so nobly rewarded, rather than make any premature attempt to win that fame which he instinctively felt must one day be his in no small measure.

He reached the metropolis in his twenty-second year, and shortly after his arrival was induced to pay a visit to Ireland, with the intention of making a tour through that country; but while in Dublin he suffered so severely from a fever, that his life was for some time despaired of. Fortunately, he was restored to health, and returned to London, having during the illness lost his hair, which he never recovered. His appearance was fine and prepossessing; his mouth was beautifully formed; and he was complimented on bearing a remarkable resemblance to the greatest of English dramatists. In disposition he was frank, fearless, and communicative; and his affability and familiarity in company were acknowledged: but, at the same time, he was a man of the world, and would never, for a momentary triumph, commit himself by a conversational indiscretion.

On returning from the “Green Isle,” and having about the same period made an excursion to the Continent, he devoted himself with zeal, anxiety, and earnestness, to his professional studies and pursuits. He still continued the occupation of a certain portion of his time as a carver, and executed several figures in wood, which are still in existence as interesting memorials of the great sculptor’s earlier career. Doubtless he had his struggles, and did not forget them when better times came. On the contrary, he was ever prompt to encourage rising artists; he excused their shortcomings, and recommended their works; and when unable otherwise to serve them, though not in any respect negligent of his pecuniary concerns, he was not slow to use his purse for that purpose. Neglecting no means which might aid him in ascending the steep and slippery pathways of fame, he turned his attention to portrait-painting, and obtained some notice on account of the success of his efforts. But, like Pope, he found an insuperable barrier to excellence in the defectiveness of his sight.

Meantime he had continued his exertions and improved his powers in that department of art with which his name is now associated, by modeling the human form in clay, and arraying it with pieces of drapery, studying attentively the best and most picturesque attitudes in which it could be represented. One of his first works was a bust of Mr. Raphael Smith the artist, whose paintings had exercised so much influence on his early career; but it was that of the celebrated Horne Took which gained him fame in the metropolis. Then appeared his colossal head of Satan, which, by its gaze of dark and malignant despair, attracted notice; and the artist had reason to look to the future with hope.

When Flaxman ventured on marrying a very accomplished woman, Sir Joshua Reynolds shook his head at the perpetration of such a piece of eccentricity, and frankly told the struggling sculptor that he had thereby ruined himself for life. The spirit of prophecy did not, however, rest on Leicester Square, for to the inspiration of his wife Flaxman attributed his subsequent successes. Example is more powerful than precept; and Chantrey profiting, perhaps, by that so spiritedly set by his more classical contemporary, resolved on taking a similar step.

In 1811 he married his cousin, who brought him so considerable a fortune, that he was enabled to pursue the success he had achieved with a feeling of greater security; and he was soon intrusted by the city of London to execute the statue of George the Third, to be placed in the council-chamber at Guildhall, as well as with many private commissions, which added to his reputation.

He now undertook a professional tour in Scotland, and executed, besides other works, statues of the famous Lord Melville and Lord President Blair, as also an admirable bust of Professor Playfair, for Edinburgh; and on returning, he was commissioned by Government to execute some monuments for St. Paul’s Cathedral.

About this date, Chantrey had the penetration to perceive and the fortune to secure in Allan Cunningham, the popular biographer of British artists, an assistant who united literary capacity and a fertile pen to the shrewdness and indefatigability usually supposed to appertain to the natives of North Britain. That Scottish adventurer, the son of a gardener to the person from whom Burns rented his farm, after having been apprenticed to a builder, composed a volume of songs, and came to push his fortune in London. He was now engaged by Chantrey, who had a sharp eye to his own interest, as clerk in his studio, and superintendent of his works.

At the conclusion of the war, Chantrey made a journey to Paris, which he had previously visited at the peace of Amiens, and inspected the various artistic works in the Louvre with much interest. From this point his progress in public esteem was steady and gratifying. On returning from the Continent he commenced the monument of the Two Sisters for Lichfield Cathedral; and when this exquisite specimen of his skillful fancy was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1817, it was regarded as marvelous for its grace, pathos, and beauty. The press to see it was unprecedented; mothers wept over the representation; children lovingly kissed the figures; and the effect it produced on the minds of beholders was deep, impressive, and enduring. Soon after he produced the statue of Lady Louisa Russell, daughter of the Duke of Bedford, fondling a dove in her bosom. She stands on tiptoe; and the attitude of the figure is said to be so singularly natural, that a little child of three years old coming into the sculptor’s studio held up its little hands to the figure, and addressed it under the impression that the form was a living one.

In 1818, Chantrey was worthily elected a member of the Royal Academy, and as his presentation work executed a bust of West, its venerable president. Becoming about the same time a member of the Royal Society, he presented a bust of the celebrated Sir Joseph Banks, then president. Next year he went to Italy, and while at Rome he had much friendly and familiar intercourse with Canova and Thorwaldsen. With the former he enacted the amicable ceremony of exchanging cloaks on parting.

In 1820, Chantrey’s admiration of Sir Walter Scott induced him to request the northern poet to sit for his bust. This being agreed to, it was finished in 1822, and presented to the illustrious bard six years later, on condition of his sitting for another, which was accordingly executed. It ultimately passed into the possession of Sir Robert Peel. These are by many considered not only the most felicitous of Chantrey’s busts, but the most striking portraits of the great Borderer’s variable countenance. The original has been viewed by multitudes at Abbotsford, always with the highest admiration by those most qualified to judge of its merits. The ample forehead, so full of thought and sagacity; the penetrating eye, which had looked with rapture on many a frowning fortress and fair landscape, and the mouth, grave but humorous, are portrayed with rare and fascinating skill. The whole face is represented with fine effect, and has altogether the expression likely to be produced when Chantrey was chiseling, and laughing merrily at some happy remark which had just escaped from the “Great Unknown.”

The few years following that on which this memorable sitting occurred, were the busiest of the eminent sculptor’s life. Between 1823 and 1826 he is stated to have received the largest number of commissions, and to have labored in their execution with intense devotion and exemplary industry. Nor was he without another kind of encouragement, which, whatever may be said to the contrary by the very persons who would most loudly rejoice in having it, has always proved strangely fascinating to the imaginations of men of talent. Royal and patrician favor was freely bestowed upon him throughout his career; and he knew how to use without abusing it. He enjoyed the countenance of successive sovereigns, was distinguished by the honor of knighthood, and had the comfort of believing that George the Fourth, who, with all his faults, understood something of such matters, appreciated his artistic genius. When this statue was erected on the grand staircase of Windsor Castle, his Majesty, patting Chantrey familiarly on the back, said, “I have reason to be obliged to you; for you have immortalized me.”

Among the numerous and admirable statues which attest Chantrey’s power and success in this branch of his art, a few may be mentioned: as that of William Pitt, in Hanover Square; George the Fourth, in Trafalgar Square; James Watt, in Westminster Abbey; and the Duke of Wellington, in front of the Royal Exchange. Watt’s statue at Glasgow, Roscoe’s at Liverpool, and that of Canning in the hall of the latter town, have, as draped figures, rarely been surpassed. Dalton’s statue at Manchester, exhibited in 1837, is likewise thought to be of great merit; and one of his early, though great, monumental efforts was that of Perceval, in All Saints’ Church, Northampton. But there are seen, elsewhere than in his own country, monuments from his hand to commemorate the deeds, the virtues, and achievements of the departed great. He furnished an equestrian statue of Sir Thomas Munro to adorn Madras; and for the State-house of Boston he executed a statue of Washington, which is ever mentioned with praise and honor. The hero of the War of Independence stands erect, and wrapped up in thought. The costume, which the sculptor knew well how to deal with, is a military cloak, which displays the historical figure to advantage; and the effect is altogether good and imposing.

Chantrey’s genius was most prolific and successful in busts. It is stated, that such was his art, that he could generally seize on the likeness of a head in an hour; but, both in his conceptions and in working them out, he was particularly fastidious. He was singularly quick and skillful in seizing the very best expressions which the countenances of his sitters were capable of presenting.

In 1839 a perceptible and melancholy change came over the famous sculptor; and at length, on the 25th of November, 1841, he expired. He left a large fortune, the result of his industry; and munificently destined it to the service and promotion of the fine arts in his native land. With a view to its responsible application to the intended purpose, he constituted the President and Council of the Royal Academy his trustees forever.

In his works, Chantrey trusted entirely to form and effect; and his dislike to ornament appears to have been almost excessive. His successful efforts were the result of deep reflection, a fine taste, and a noble imagination. He strove to exhibit the perfections of nature, and to impart an air of grandeur to all his productions. He commenced art where Art itself began. Nature was, from first to last, his chief study, the safe school in which he learned his art, and the exhaustless fountain from which he drew the inspiration that carried him onward to lasting fame as a truly English and really great sculptor. He thought that an artist should daily ponder what to avoid, as well as what to imitate; and unlike his predecessors, who were perpetually striving to rival the productions of by-gone ages, he wisely aspired rather to guide the future than follow the past. He had imbibed in youth a fondness for landscape scenery, which he could represent with success; and he made many interesting drawings when traveling to view the marbles and pictures in Italy.

He was plain and unpretending in manner; and, as became so great a man, above all little affectations in society, which, however, he liked and relished. Under his own roof he was distinguished by hospitality and kindliness of spirit; and his house was frequently the resort of men who had won renown in art, science, or literature.