Dr. Thorndyke Omnibus Vol 7

by R. Austin Freeman

  "Yes," Lotta agreed, "it is a perfect representation; almost as perfect as a photograph."

  "I beg your pardon, ma’am," Polton objected, "but it is a good deal more perfect. You can’t do this sort of thing by photography."

  "Not the colour, of course, but I meant the representation of form."

  "But, ma’am," Polton persisted, "there is something more than form in this portrait; something that photography can’t do. I tried one or two photographs of Mr. Vanderpuye when I was teaching him the technique, but they were quite a failure. The form was perfectly correct and they would have been excellent for identification; but there was something lacking, and that something was what we might call the personality. But that is just what the portrait has got. It is Mr. Vanderpuye himself, whereas the photographs were mere representations of his shape."

  Tom nodded approvingly. "Mr. Polton is right," said he. "Photography can give a perfect representation of an object, such as a statue or a building, which is always the same. But a living person changes from moment to moment. A photograph can only show the appearance at a given instant, but the portrait painter must disregard the accidents of the moment and seek out the essential and permanent character."

  This seemed to be quite a new idea to Lotta, for she exclaimed:

  "Really! Now I never thought of that; and I am rather sorry, too, because I had meant to ask Mr. Polton to take a photograph of Bill just as he is posed for the painting. But if it would not be a true likeness, I shouldn’t care to have it. Still, it’s very disappointing."

  "There’s no need for you to be disappointed, ma’am," Polton interposed. "If Mr. Pedley would allow me to take a photograph of the painting, you would have a portrait with all the qualities of the original except the colour. It would be a true copy."

  Lotta was delighted, and most profuse in her thanks. She even informed Mr. Polton, much to his surprise, that he was a duck.

  "What size, ma’am," he asked when the permission had been obtained, "would you wish the photograph to be?"

  "Oh, quite small," she replied, "so that I could have it mounted in a little case that I could carry about with me, or perhaps in a brooch or pendant that I could wear. Would that be possible, Mr. Polton?"

  "Oh, certainly, ma’am; but, if you will excuse my mentioning it, a brooch or a pendant would not be so very suitable for your purpose because, when you were wearing it, the portrait would be visible to everybody but yourself."

  Lotta laughed. "Of course," said she. "How silly of me; and exhibiting the sacred portrait to strangers is just what I don’t want to do. But what would you suggest?"

  "I think," he replied, "that the old-fashioned locket would answer the purpose best."

  "A locket," interposed Vanderpuye. "What is a locket? You will pardon me, but I am only a poor ignorant African."

  "A locket, sir," Polton explained, "is a sort of pendant, usually of gold, forming a little flat case which opens by a hinge, and displays two little frames. Sometimes there used to be two portraits, one in each frame, but more commonly one frame contained a portrait and the other a lock of the—er—the selected person’s hair either plaited and made up into a tiny coil or arranged in a flat spiral."

  Vanderpuye chuckled gleefully. "I like the idea of the locket," said he, "but I am afraid you would get into difficulties with my hair."

  "Not at all, sir," replied Polton. "Each of your hairs forms a natural spiral like a little watch-spring. That is one of the African racial characteristics. Shall I show you?"

  He produced from his pocket a pair of watchmaker’s tweezers and a pair of folding scissors, and, having picked up a single hair from Vanderpuye’s wool, cut it off neatly, laid it on a white card, and passed it round for inspection.

  "How perfectly lovely!" Lotta exclaimed. "It is, as you say, exactly like a tiny watch-spring. Yes, I will certainly have a locket."

  "If you wished to extend the spiral," Polton suggested, "so as to fill the frame, it could easily be done by using two or three hairs."

  "Oh, but that would spoil it," she protested, "and it is so beautiful. No, just one perfect little watch-spring in the middle of the space. Don’t you agree with me, Bill?"

  "Certainly, my dear," he replied with a broad smile, "especially as it would exhibit a racial characteristic. But how are we going to get the locket? Are they still to be obtained in the shops?"

  "I expect they are. But I don’t want a shop locket. It would be a soulless, machine-made thing, unworthy of my beloved Bill and his charming little watch-spring. What do you suggest, Mr. Polton? I suppose you couldn’t make a locket for me, yourself?"

  "So far as the mere construction is concerned, of course, I could make a locket. But I am not a goldsmith. The design would have to be made by an artist. If Mr. Pedley would make the design, I would carry it out for you with great pleasure."

  "Oh, but how kind of you, Mr. Polton! You are really too sweet. I think I have already remarked that you are a duck."

  "I think you have, ma’am," he replied with a somewhat wry crinkle, "and I beg to thank you for the—er—for the compliment."

  "Not at all, Mr. Polton. And now, Tom, about this locket. Can you design it?"

  "Yes," he replied. "I have done some designing for goldsmith’s work and a simple locket would present no difficulty, especially as I should be collaborating with Mr. Polton. If you like, I will make one or two sketches for you to see, and we can then discuss the question of ornament."

  "Yes, that would be very nice of you, Tom; and you must let me know what it will cost."

  "That is not your concern, Lotta," said Vanderpuye. "It is to be a gift from me."

  "How very noble of you, Bill. Of course that will make it much more precious, and I accept gratefully on one condition; which is that you have a locket, too, and that you let me give it to you."

  "But men don’t wear lockets, do they?" he asked.

  "They used to," said Tom, "before the arrival of the wrist-watch. The locket was usually suspended from the watch-chain."

  "Well," said Vanderpuye, "as you see, I carry a pocket watch on a chain, as a wrist-watch is not very suitable for the Tropics, so I am eligible for a locket, and I should very much like to have one with a portrait of Lotta and a lock of her beautiful golden hair. Would you two gentleman accept the commission?"

  The two gentlemen agreed that they would, where upon Lotta objected:

  "But you have no business to offer the commission. That is my affair, seeing that the locket is to be a gift from me."

  Vanderpuye smiled blandly. "The commission," said he, "was offered and accepted without prejudice as we say in the law. The other question is for separate consideration. Now we have to arrange details. The locket is to contain a portrait and a lock of golden hair. The hair presents no difficulty, as it is obviously available. But what about the portrait? Should we ask Mr. Polton to do us a little photograph?"

  "No you don’t," exclaimed Lotta; "and I am surprised at you, Bill, when you’ve just heard what these two experts said about portrait photographs. No, it shall be a real painted portrait. I will paint it myself; and then I shall ask dear Mr. Polton to make a little photograph of the painting, and I am sure he won’t refuse."

  "Certainly not, ma’am," said Polton. "It will give me great pleasure, and I think it a most excellent idea. It will be a memento in a double sense; a portrait of the giver and a specimen of her handiwork."

  Vanderpuye, however, was less enthusiastic. (He had seen "the giver’s handiwork" and Polton hadn’t.) "Why not let me commission Mr. Pedley to paint a portrait?" he suggested.

  "You’ll do nothing of the kind," she replied. "The locket is to be my gift and I want the portrait to be my very own work."

  There was nothing more to be said. Vanderpuye looked a little glum, and Tom, too good-natured to be simply amused, was regretful. A vivid recollection of "The Madonna" suggested breakers ahead and a disappointment for Mr. Vanderpuye. But he made no comment. Perhaps the future might de
velop some way out of the dilemma.

  A few days later at the last of the sittings a few final touches were added; and the portrait being now entirely finished, Tom escorted the sitter to the frame maker’s to advise him as to a suitable frame. When this business had been disposed of, Tom produced one or two sketches which he had roughed out in the interval showing alternative designs for the two lockets. The one for the standing figure was a rather long ellipse, while the other, to hang on the watch-guard, was considerably smaller and circular in shape. Both forms were shown with alternative designs of decoration, in simple embossed metal, in coloured enamel, and with set stones.

  "If you will be seeing Mrs. Schiller you might show her the sketches," said Tom, "and talk them over with her; and if you both approve of the circular shape for the smaller one, you might remind her to design her portrait to fill the circular space so that the head is not too small."

  "I shall be seeing her in about half an hour’s time," said Vanderpuye. "We are lunching at a place which she has discovered in Soho, so we shall have an opportunity to discuss the designs. But I think we should both like take your advice on the matter."

  "Yes," Tom agreed, "a little discussion and explanation might be useful as the sketches are rather slight. Perhaps, when Mrs. Schiller has finished her portrait, we might all four meet at the studio and make the final arrangements."

  "I will suggest that to her," said Vanderpuye, "and I will let you and Mr. Polton know when the portrait is ready. I wish," he added, confidentially, "that she had agreed to your painting it. Her style of work doesn’t seem to me very suitable for a portrait; but, of course, I am no judge. What do you think?"

  Tom’s opinions on the subject were perfectly definite; but his reply was discreetly evasive.

  "I have never seen a portrait by her, so I can hardly judge; but we will hope for the best."

  With this, by way of avoiding a dangerous topic, he shook Vanderpuye’s hand cordially and the two men went their respective ways.

  The meeting took place about a week later, the day and hour having been decided by Polton, and, somewhat before the appointed time that cunning artificer made his appearance and forthwith set to work. From one of his numerous and capacious pockets he produced a small folding camera which, when it was opened, was seen to be fitted with a level and a sighting frame.

  "I haven’t brought a stand," said he, "as I thought that an easel would be more convenient and more rigid. Can you lend me one?"

  "Yes," replied Tom. "I have one unoccupied; a heavy one with a lifting screw, which will answer your purpose perfectly. It is as steady as a rock."

  He drew it out from its corner and trundled it across to a place opposite the portrait, when Polton took charge of it, placing his camera on the tray, and, with the aid of the sighting frame, adjusting the relative positions of the camera and the portrait until the latter exactly filled the space of the frame. Then he made the exposure, and was in the act of winding on the exposed film when the sound of the studio bell announced the arrival of the other two parties to the symposium. As they entered and Polton made his bow, it seemed to him that Vanderpuye’s expression lacked its usual geniality; in fact, the African gentleman looked undeniably sulky. On the other hand, the fair and volatile Lotta was in the best of spirits, and apparently quite pleased with herself.

  "Why," she exclaimed as she bounced into the studio, "here is my dear Mr. Polton, improving the shining hour like a pre-punctual duck and all ready to begin work." She shook his hand warmly and continued, "And what a darling little camera. But isn’t it rather small for that big portrait?"

  "It is going to be quite a small photograph, you will remember, ma’am; not more than an inch and a half high."

  "Yes, of course. How silly of me. Are you going to take the photograph now?"

  "I have taken it already, ma’am, and I shall have great pleasure in taking your own when it is available."

  "It is available now," said Lotta, opening her handbag and taking out an envelope about eight inches by six. "I made it quite a small painting as you see, but I dare say it will be big enough."

  "The size is amply sufficient," Polton replied, "as it has to be reduced so much."

  He took the envelope which she handed to him, and, opening the flap, tenderly drew out a small mounted water-colour, which he regarded with a reverential smile. It emerged with the back uppermost, but, as he quickly turned it over, the smile faded from his countenance and gave place to an expression of astonishment and dismay. For some moments he stood speechless and rigid, staring incredulously at the thing which he held in his hand. Then he cast a furtive glance at the artist and was reassured to find her watching him with a sly smile. Obviously it was a joke, he decided, but he was too discreet to say so. He would lie low and let the situation develop.

  "Well, Mr. Polton," said Lotta, "how do you like it?"

  "Since you ask me, ma’am," he replied with a cautious crinkle, "I really don’t think you have done yourself justice."

  "You wouldn’t have me flatter myself, would you?" she demanded.

  "Oh, no, ma’am," he replied. "But there was no need to. You had only to represent yourself exactly as you are to produce a very charming portrait."

  Lotta laughed gaily. "Thank you, Mr. Polton, for a very neatly turned compliment."

  "It’s no compliment at all," Vanderpuye burst in. "Mr. Polton is perfectly right. What I wanted was a likeness; but this portrait isn’t like you a bit. I should never have recognized it. What do you say, Mr. Pedley?" But Tom, who was looking at the portrait over Polton’s shoulder, emulated the latter gentleman’s caution.

  "Of course," said he, "it is not a literal representation. But then it isn’t meant to be."

  "Exactly," Lotta agreed. "The mere physical resemblance is not what I was aiming at. This portrait is not a work of imitative art. It is a work of self-expression."

  The argument between Lotta and Vanderpuye was pursued for some time with some heat, not to say bitterness. But it led nowhere. Lotta was immovable, and Vanderpuye had at length to retire defeated. Meanwhile Polton, having realized to his amazement that this preposterous thing had to be taken seriously, took it seriously, and, without further comment, stuck it up on the easel beside the other portrait and gravely proceeded with the photograph. When he had finished and handed the portrait back to its creator, the sketches for the lockets were produced and discussed at some length; the conclusion reached being that both should be decorated with a simple design in champlevé enamel and that the details should be left to the designer and the executant.

  "And that appears to be all," said Lotta, bestowing the "self-portrait" in her handbag.

  "Excepting the hair, ma’am," Polton reminded her. "If I may be permitted to take a sample for each locket I shall be able to get on with the work without troubling you further."

  From his inexhaustible pockets he brought forth a couple of seed envelopes, a pair of tweezers, and a pair of folding scissors, all of which he laid on the table. Then, beginning with Vanderpuye, he separated one of the little crisp curls and cut it off flush with the skin, putting it at once into one of the envelopes, on which, having sealed it, he wrote, "W. Vanderpuye, Esq."

  Lotta watched him with a smile and commended his caution.

  "It would be a bit awkward if you had two unlabelled envelopes and didn’t know which was which. Now, how much of mine do you want? Be thrifty, if you please. I can’t have you leaving a bald patch."

  "Certainly not, ma’am," Polton assured her. "A dozen hairs will be enough, and they will never be missed."

  By way of confirmation, he counted them out one by one, and then, gathering up the little strand, cut it through close to the roots. Having twisted the strand into a loose yarn, he coiled it neatly and slipped it into the envelope, which he sealed and inscribed with the name of "Mrs. Lotta Schiller."

  This brought the proceedings to an end, and, when Polton had put the two precious envelopes into a stout leather wallet and
stowed the latter in a capacious inner pocket, Lotta and Mr. Vanderpuye rose together to take their departure, and, having shaken hands with Polton, went out escorted by their host.

  When the latter returned to the studio, he discovered his collaborator seated opposite the clock, apparently regarding it with intense concentration. He looked round as Tom entered, and, gazing at him with wrinkled brows, exclaimed solemnly:

  "This is a most extraordinary thing, sir."

  "What is?" asked Tom, looking at the clock and not perceiving anything unusual about it.

  "I am referring, sir, to this portrait of Mrs. Schiller’s. I am utterly bewildered. At first, I took for granted that it was a joke."

  "Vanderpuye didn’t," Tom remarked with a grin.

  "No, indeed. But do you understand it, sir? To me, it looked exactly like the sort of portraits that I used to draw when I was a boy of ten, and that other little boys used to draw. But I suppose I must have been mistaken. Was I, sir?"

  "No," replied Tom. "You were perfectly right."

  "But," Polton protested, "Mrs. Schiller is a professional artist, as I understand. Can she really paint or draw?"

  "Since you ask me, Polton, I should say that she can’t. She draws in that way because she can’t draw in any other."

  "But what an amazing thing, sir. If she can’t draw or paint, how does she manage to practise as an artist?"

  "I don’t know," replied Tom, "that it is quite correct to describe her as practising as an artist. She has never sold any of her work and never exhibited any. By the term ‘practising artist’ one usually means an artist who gets a living by his work. Still, there are painters whose work is no better than hers who exhibit and even sell. You can see their stuff in the various freak exhibitions that appear from time to time in London. That is how Mrs. Schiller got her ideas. She went to one of these freak shows which was being boosted by the art journalists, and she thought that the stuff looked so easy to do that she decided to try whether she couldn’t do something like it. So she tried, and found that she could. Naturally. Anyone could; even a child; and some children can do a good deal better."