The following story, however improbable it may seem to you, is true.
Once upon a time there was an artist with historical leanings not
unassociated with the desire for pelf--pelf being, even to idealists,
what petrol is to a car. The blend brought him one day to Portsmouth,
where the _Victory_ lies, with the honourable purpose of painting a
picture of that famous ship with NELSON on board. What the ADMIRAL was
doing I cannot say--most probably dying--but the artist's intention was
to make the work as attractive as might be and thus draw a little profit
from the wave of naval enthusiasm which was then passing over the
country; for not only was the picture itself to be saleable, but
reproductions were to be made of it.
Permission having been obtained from the authorities, the artist boarded
the _Victory_, set up his easel on her deck and settled down to his
task, the monotony of which was pleasantly alleviated by the chatter of
the old salts who guard the ship and act as guides to the tourists who
visit her. All of these estimable men not only possessing views on art,
but having come by now to the firm belief that they had fought with
NELSON, their criticisms were not too easily combated and the artist
hadn't a tedious moment. Thus, painting, conversing and learning (as one
can learn only from a trained imparter of information), three or four
days passed quickly away and the picture was done.
So far there has been nothing--has there?--to strain credulity. No. But
a time will come--is, in fact, upon us.
On the evening of the last day, as the artist was sitting at early
dinner with a friend before catching the London train, his remarks
turned (as an artist's sometimes will) upon the work upon which he had
just been engaged. He expressed satisfaction with it in the main, but
could not, he said, help feeling that its chances of becoming a real
success would be sensibly increased if he could find as a model for the
central figure some one whose resemblance to NELSON was noticeable.
"There are, of course," he went on, "at the same time--that is to say,
among contemporaries--no two faces exactly alike. That is an axiom.
Strange as it may sound, among all the millions of countenances with two
eyes, a nose in the middle and a mouth below it, some difference exists
in each. That is, as I say, among contemporaries: in the world at this
moment in which I am speaking. But," he continued, warming to his
subject, for, as you will have already gathered, he was not one of the
taciturn brush-brotherhood, "after the lapse of years I see no reason
why nature should not begin precisely to reproduce physiognomies and so
save herself the trouble of for ever diversifying them. That being
so--and surely the hypothesis is not too far-fetched"--here his friend
said, "No, not at all--oh no!"--"why," the artist continued, "should
there not be at this moment, more than a century later, some one whose
resemblance to NELSON is exact? He would not be necessarily a naval
man--probably, indeed, not, for NELSON's face was not characteristic of
the sea--but whoever he was, even if he were an archbishop, I," said the
painter firmly, "should not hesitate to go up to him and ask him to sit
to me."
The friend agreed that this was a very proper attitude and that it
betokened true sincerity of purpose.
"NELSON's face," the painter continued, "was an uncommon one. So large
and so mobile a mouth is rare. But I have no doubt that a duplicate
exists, and no matter who is the owner of it, even were he an
archbishop, I should not hesitate to go up and ask him to sit to me."
(For the benefit of any feminine reader of this veracious history I
should say that the repetition which she has just noticed is not an
accident, but has been carefully set down. It is an attempt to give
verisimilitude to the conversation--because men always say things like
that twice.)
The friend again remarked that the painter's resolve did him infinite
credit, and the two started for the station, still conversing on the
same theme.
On entering their carriage the first thing to take their attention was a
quiet little man in black, who was the absolute double of the hero of
Trafalgar.
"Good gracious!" whispered the painter excitedly, "do you see that?
There's the very man. The likeness to NELSON is astonishing. I never saw
anything like it. I don't care who he is, I must tackle him. It's the
most extraordinary chance that ever occurred."
Assuming his most silky and deferential manner--for, though clearly not
an archbishop, unless in mufti, this might yet be a person of
importance--the painter approached the stranger and tendered a card.
"I trust, Sir, that you will excuse me," he began, "for the liberty I am
taking, but I am an artist and I happen to be engaged on a picture of
NELSON on the _Victory_. I have all the accessories and so forth, but
what I very seriously need is a brief sitting from some gentleman with a
likeness to the great little Admiral. Such, Sir, as yourself. It may be
news to you--it probably is--but you, Sir, if I may say so, are so like
the famous and immortal warrior as almost to take one's breath away. It
is astonishing, wonderful! Might I--would it be--could you--would you,
Sir, be so very kind as to allow me to paint you? I would, of course,
make every effort not to inconvenience you--I would arrange so that your
time should be mine."
"Of course I will, guvnor," said the man. "I'm a professional model and
I've been sitting for NELSON for years. Why, I've been doing it for an
artist this very afternoon."
[Illustration: OUR RESTRICTED COAST AMUSEMENTS.
_Vendor_. "ALL THE OFFICIAL 'OLIDAY FUN. FLY THE PATRIOTIC KITES AND
ANNOY THE GOTHAS!"]
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[Illustration: _Physical Drill Instructor (to weak-kneed recruit)_. "NAH
THEN! IF YOU'RE A-GOING TER JUMP--_JUMP!_"]
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