“This is very clever,” observed Hume. “It really deserves praise for a first attempt; but, remember, it is much easier to model in wax than to chisel a bust from marble.”
The persevering girl was resolved to compel the satirist to the admission that a woman could do more than he had supposed. Without any announcement of her design, she supplied herself with marble and all the necessary implements of labor. It was not long before she had copied out in marble, roughly perhaps, but faithfully, the head she had modeled in wax. She placed it before the historian, who was actually surprised into admiration, though he found something still to criticise in the want of fine workmanship and delicate finish. His fault-finding probably went far to stimulate her to new exertions. From this time the impulse of genius was strong within her, and she was firmly resolved even to seclude herself from the brilliant society by which she was surrounded for the purpose of devoting her life to the pursuit she found so congenial to her taste.
It could not long be concealed from the world of fashion that the admired Miss Conway had forsaken the mask and the dance, and was working, like any day-laborer, in wet clay; that she moved amid subdued lights; that her glossy hair was covered with a mob cap to keep out the white dust of the marble, while an unsightly apron preserved her silk gown and embroidered slippers; that her white and delicate fingers were often soiled with clay, or grasped the hammer and the chisel. The strange story ran like wild-fire among the circles of her acquaintance. Several titled ladies had wielded the pencil and the brush, but scarcely one could be remembered who had taken to sculpture. It may well be imagined that the spirited girl found pleasure in showing her independence, and that she was animated by a noble ambition to carve out for herself with the chisel a place among the honored among artists, worthy of a descendant of the Seymours and the Campbells. Works of genius seemed more than coronets to her; and noble actions, than Norman blood!
She now took lessons in modeling and the elemental part of sculpture, from Cerrachi—the same conspirator who was brought to the guillotine for plotting against Napoleon—while she perfected herself in the practical part of working in marble in the studio of the elder Bacon, and studied anatomy with Cruikshanks. She produced a number of ideal heads and busts, and some figures of animals, executed with skill; but her progress was slow, and she produced no work of note till seven years after her marriage.
At the age of nineteen she bestowed her hand upon the Hon. John Damer, the eldest son of Lord Milton, and the nephew of the Earl of Dorchester. This marriage proved a sad drawback to the improvement of our young artist. Damer—“heir in expectancy to thirty thousand a year—was at once eccentric and extravagant. Those were the days of silk, and lace, and embroidery, and he adorned his person with all that was costly, and loved to surprise his friends and vex his wife by appearing thrice a day in a new suit.” He furnished for Miss Burney, remarks Mrs. Lee, “in her celebrated novel of Cecilia, a character in real life—Harrington, the guardian of her heroine.” He became the prey of tailors and money-lenders in London; his extravagance daily increased, and he scattered a princely fortune in a few years. In nine years this unhappy union was terminated by the suicide of the husband, who shot himself with a pistol, in the Bedford Arms, Covent Garden, in August, 1776. His wardrobe, which was sold at auction, is said to have brought fifteen thousand pounds—perhaps half its cost.
The widow, left childless, availed herself of her recovered freedom to take journeys with the object of gaining new ideas in the art she loved. She traveled through France, Spain, and Italy, renewing her studies in sculpture. At this time it was the fashion for ladies to take a warm interest in politics. Mrs. Damer became an ardent partisan of the Whig cause, and active in helping to carry elections.
Mrs. Lee observes: “Gentlemen have no objection to ladies being politicians if they take the right side: to wit, that to which they themselves belong; and Mrs. Damer conscientiously adopted the opinions of the Whig party. At that time Great Britain was waging war with her American colonies. She took the part of the rebellious subjects, warmly espoused our cause, and bravely advanced her opinions.” She was a warm friend of Fox.
Walpole thus speaks of his cousin’s works, which soon acquired her fame as a sculptor: “Mrs. Damer’s busts from the life are not inferior to the antique. Her shock dog, large as life, and only not alive, has a looseness and softness in the curls that seemed impossible to terra-cotta; it rivals the marble one of Bernini in the royal collection. As the ancients have left us but five animals of equal merit with their human figures—viz., the Barberini goat, the Tuscan boar, the Mattei eagle, the eagle at Strawberry Hill, and Mr. Jenning’s dog—the talent of Mrs. Damer must appear in the most distinguished light.” Cerrachi gave a whole figure of Anne as the Mùse of Sculpture, preserving the graceful lightness of her form and air.
The poet Darwin says:
“Long with soft touch shall Damer’s chisel charm;
With grace delight us, and with beauty warm.”