DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.68288#0074
48 MEMORIES OF A SCULPTOR’S WIFE
canine group just finished, that it did Took considerable
like a dog, you know.’
But the greatest assistance of any neighboring friend
came to Mr. Potter — Mr. Edward C. Potter — who at
his studio in Enfield was working upon the horse for the
equestrian statue which he and Mr. French afterwards set
up in Paris. One of his neighbors came in to see it and was
greatly interested. He came a number of times, studied it
from different angles, and finally, one day, he made a
speech.
‘That’s a fine horse,’ he meditated, ‘a fine horse. And it
looks a good deal like a horse. There’s only one thing
about it, that — well, could be improved. It needs some-
thing and I really believe I could help you. You see, it’s
this way. I used to be a taxidermist, and I got a whole box
of glass eyes left over down to my place, and, if you’d let
me, I’d bring up a couple and just slip ’em in, and you
don’t know how it would improve that horse. Why, it
would make him look as if he was alive! ’
The first story that I remember of Dan French’s coming
to the surface was when he was perhaps seventeen years of
age. It has been told many times in print, sometimes
rather to his distaste, but it is certainly a part of his youth
and has its place. He and a group of young people — my
sister, my cousins, and others of the neighborhood — were
seated before the fire telling stories and diverting them-
selves by eating raw turnips. Dan amused himself by
carving his turnip into a statuette of a frog, ‘ the frog that
would awooing go,’ in frock coat, etc. The young people
were amused and interested, and finally his mother ex-
claimed, ‘Why, Dan, you’re a genius! There’s a real like-
ness in that.’
canine group just finished, that it did Took considerable
like a dog, you know.’
But the greatest assistance of any neighboring friend
came to Mr. Potter — Mr. Edward C. Potter — who at
his studio in Enfield was working upon the horse for the
equestrian statue which he and Mr. French afterwards set
up in Paris. One of his neighbors came in to see it and was
greatly interested. He came a number of times, studied it
from different angles, and finally, one day, he made a
speech.
‘That’s a fine horse,’ he meditated, ‘a fine horse. And it
looks a good deal like a horse. There’s only one thing
about it, that — well, could be improved. It needs some-
thing and I really believe I could help you. You see, it’s
this way. I used to be a taxidermist, and I got a whole box
of glass eyes left over down to my place, and, if you’d let
me, I’d bring up a couple and just slip ’em in, and you
don’t know how it would improve that horse. Why, it
would make him look as if he was alive! ’
The first story that I remember of Dan French’s coming
to the surface was when he was perhaps seventeen years of
age. It has been told many times in print, sometimes
rather to his distaste, but it is certainly a part of his youth
and has its place. He and a group of young people — my
sister, my cousins, and others of the neighborhood — were
seated before the fire telling stories and diverting them-
selves by eating raw turnips. Dan amused himself by
carving his turnip into a statuette of a frog, ‘ the frog that
would awooing go,’ in frock coat, etc. The young people
were amused and interested, and finally his mother ex-
claimed, ‘Why, Dan, you’re a genius! There’s a real like-
ness in that.’