Chandos Portrait

Upon a recent stay in my home city of London, I felt the time had come to begin correcting a common wrong, that being, that the local inhabitants of a place are frequently ignorant of its treasures. True, I understand the current, the ebb and flow and the map of life in London better than the tourist with his guide book and check list of famous places to see, yet I see no excuse for never having been to the National Portrait Gallery before.

I grew up in East Dulwich, which is served by the 176 bus. It goes past Charing Cross, Trafalgar Square and the galleries themselves. How many thousands of times have I sailed past without even so much as offering them a glance? 

Upon a loose end this time, I went. It was a sudden decision, and a good one. The moment that I shan't forget, was of seeing Shakespeare.* I made a sketch of the scene as I found it, very roughly and possibly not accurately, but there it is above. One comes to the top of the stairs, and turns left, immediately to be confronted with this prospect. It quite took my breath away, for the signs had not prepared me that I was about to meet with my hero.

I stood awhile before, and took a moment to guage its relative size: not large, but respectable for a private portrait, I think. Beside him was Jonson, a little smaller as befits his place next to Shakespeare. I gently strode up, and looked closely into the Poet's eyes. He seemed almost wearied in his countenace, as though he would shrug his shoulders and say to me 'of course I'm the best, what of it?'. The dark aura that surrounds him seems the perfect shroud to this shrouded, mysterious man whom we chase, yet who eludes us.

I am content not to chase him. One can only access a poet's heart through the poet's words: rather than chasing facts to know him, we would do better to reflect on how he makes us feel. There we will have the answer; and if each man come up with a different answer, I say to them that that's how it ought to be, for if they strove to find a living man who is one thing to all men in all variety of circumstances, they would inevitably fail, for men are more interesting than that.

Jonson beside him had a pensivity in his countenance. Such pensivity beside cool self-assurance inevitably made me think he was shrinking from the other man. Of course, that was never the case - in his own day he was revered, and looked down his nose upon Shakespeare - but that's certainly how it felt when I saw them. It's amazing how the judgements if posterity can influence how one looks at a picture, even as one tries to resist.

I have replaced Jonson's image with mine, on the left. This is as close as I can ever come to the Poet. Please forgive my self indulgent folly.

*I know the identity of the sitter of the Chandos Portrait, portrait No.1, will never be proven, but sometimes in life, sheer belief is enough to overcome all doubt.