CHAPTER XIV
ON SCULPTORS AND MODELLING
FEW experiences are more interesting than sitting for a bust. There is something enthralling in seeing great lumps of clay flung about in a promiscuous manner, and then gently modelled with finger and thumb into nose, eyes, and ears.
I had the privilege of sitting, in 1910, to Herbert Hampton, verily a privilege, for not only is he a sculptor of note, but also a charming personality.
Strangely enough, the first time we met, Hampton, without knowing anything about previous performances, said he would like to model my head.
“Oh no,” came in answer, “never again. I have done with studios and sitting on what you call a ‘throne,’ but what I look on as a chair of torture.” And so we laughed the matter off, but, after a second meeting, he wrote such a perfectly charming letter on the subject that my resolve gave way, and, let it be acknowledged at once, I have never regretted the weakness.
Hampton has the finest sculptor’s studio in London.
Here are casts of Lord Kelvin, Sir Henry Irving, Sir Luke Fildes, Miss Geneviève Ward, General Booth, and dozens more, besides plaster models of the colossal statue of the late Lord Salisbury, now erected on the stairs at the Foreign Office, and that of the late King Edward, to say nothing of five of Queen Victoria.
We talked for about a quarter of an hour after my arrival, as he said, “just to renew my first impressions,” and then, asking me to sit in a revolving chair on that terrible dais, he went to work. In front, on a moving table, stood the armature, or inside skeleton-support for my future head. At the bottom was a block of wood, from which three narrow lead pipes, tied together at the top, were designed to make a support for my neck and face. It was a simple, amateurish-looking thing, but, as Mr. Hampton explained, “the lead pipe is pliable, so I can alter the pose of the head as I go on, as you will see.” I did see.
On the modelling stand were great lumps of dark grey mud, or shall we call them bricks?—for they were about that size. This was the modelling clay, known as la terre, because it is French. It is more tenacious for working than our English clay. That is to say, it is firmer, and is darker to look at. One great block was laid on top of the pipes and squeezed till it might have been a melon; that was the beginning of my head.
Half another brick went on in front, and this gradually assumed the shape of a fat banana, out of which a nose was shortly evolved, and a chin. Another block was quickly divided and dumped on each side. Out of this two ears and some neck were manipulated.