Death and Mr. Pickwick (91 page)

‘Oh is that so?'

‘I understand there was a little party gathered in the parlour at Seymour's house and they read out Boz's work, and laughed until very late. Weren't Mr Hunt and some magazine writers considered before Boz?'

‘Mr Hunt, yes. And Mr Clarke, if you know him.'

‘I don't.'

‘And Charles Whitehead, whom you do know.'

‘Yes, I have done the picture he asked for. Curiously enough, for a story by Boz. I shall go and fetch it in a moment, and you can pass it to Mr Whitehead. Do you know, my friend told me that after Boz's work was read out, everyone agreed that he was the person to carry out Seymour's plan. What a shame it cannot proceed. Now have you seen this? It is the most ambitious picture I have ever attempted.' He took Hall to the end of the studio, where a large painting lay across two easels – unfinished, but showing Christmas in the time of Queen Elizabeth, with all the indoor activities of the season, including a yule log ablaze and drinkers around the wassail bowl. ‘It must be completed soon for exhibition.'

‘Very good. It was actually about Boz that I came to see you.'

‘I'll fetch the drawing for you now.'

‘My main concern is not actually
that
drawing. Mr Buss, let me come straight to the point. I need to find a replacement for Seymour. Someone who will draw and etch pictures for the publication you have mentioned. You see, we
do
wish to proceed with it, but with a new artist. Mr Jackson came in the other day with some woodcuts, and I asked for his opinion on whom I might approach to be Seymour's replacement. Without a moment's hesitation, he suggested that I should approach you.'

Buss laughed. ‘Mr Hall, I have never held an etching needle in my life. If John Jackson suggested me, it is a joke! I know
nothing
about etching.'

‘My understanding is that etching is a very simple technical process. It may well be, Mr Buss, that precisely because you have not used an etching needle before, you have not experienced its great simplicity.'

‘You cannot put a novice into Seymour's shoes.'

‘My partner and I will make due allowance for any lack of experience.'

‘Mr Hall, even if it were possible, I would have to stop work on my Christmas painting. If I interrupt the work, I will miss the date for submission to the exhibition.'

‘Mr Buss, I am appealing to you to help us in our hour of need. I know in my marrow you are the man.'

‘I know I am not.'

‘Think of what you
could
do, not what you
have
done.'

‘Really and truly – I am not the person you want.'

‘My powers of judgement have always been envied. When I met Boz, I judged he was the right man to be Seymour's partner. My judgement will be right about you. One look at these paintings convinces me. Let me be frank – the work has not
yet
caught fire among the public. I am afraid that may be the fault of my partner, who is a charming man, but sometimes his judgement goes awry. You see, he agreed the proportion of pictures to letterpress, and that proportion was in error. And – it is my belief we had the wrong artist at the start, as well. This is a new beginning.'

‘New beginning or not—'

‘My judgement now is that we should double our current print run for this third number. That is a measure of the confidence I have in your abilities, Mr Buss. It is how much I am prepared to risk – because I know it is
not
a risk. I put my faith in you. All I ask is that you say yes.'

*   *   *

Robert Buss had long been a customer of the Gallery of the Fine Arts, otherwise known as the Temple of Fancy of Rathbone Place, and he often emerged from its door with a shopping-chit-load of artistic supplies: a small cake of ultramarine – five black lead pencils – a red sable brush – a moulded picture frame – and all manner of sundries to bulge a canvas bag. When he entered the gallery at the end of April, the habitual friendliness of the owners came out for a valued client. These owners were two brothers, with identical white, puffy heads of hair, and identical grey suits. They shook the artist's hand in a flourish of keenness, pink skin and perfectly manicured fingernails.

‘How exceedingly good to see you again, Mr Buss,' said one brother. ‘I was struck by a woodcut of yours recently, showing a scene on a beach. Did you see it, Joseph?'

‘How remiss of me,' said the other brother. ‘I did not.'

‘It showed a painter, so obsessed with capturing the sea on his canvas that he did not notice the tide was lapping at his boots. That's right, isn't it, Mr Buss?'

‘It is. I am always impressed by your knowledge.'

‘I
did
see another picture of yours recently, Mr Buss, on a musical theme,' said the other brother. ‘Did you see it, Samuel?'

‘I don't believe I did, Joseph. Do tell.'

‘It showed a man practising on the trombone in the early hours of the morning, to the great annoyance of his landlady.
Most
amusing.'

‘You always astonish me,' said Buss. ‘I am amazed you see so much.'

‘If one of us doesn't see it,' said Joseph.

‘The other will,' said Samuel. ‘But how may we help you today, Mr Buss?'

‘I was hoping that you could tell me something about etching.'

‘What would you like to know?' said Joseph, coming to the fore as his brother retreated to another customer in the rear of the shop, who by a raised finger had indicated a willingness to purchase. ‘I am, if I may say so, the etching expert. My brother knows engraving. He feels that the few extra years he has upon me give him the wisdom to advise on the use of the graver, while I am the man for the acid.'

‘I would like to know some basic principles,' said Buss. ‘For instance – how long does the acid take to act upon the metal?'

‘There is no simple answer. Some lines are bitten deeper than others. It might take a minute, it might take two hours. It depends on the drawing. It is a question of the effect you want to achieve.'

‘Yes, yes, it was silly of me even to ask. I should have known. I should have thought about it. If I
had
thought about it, I would have known. But you see – I
haven't
thought about it before.'

‘We have some excellent books on the art of etching. There are introductory works we can supply which, if you study hard, should in due course—'

‘I need to be fully proficient in three weeks.'

The shopkeeper emitted a squeak-snort which disturbed the professional conviviality of his brother, who was then giving change for a hog's hair varnish brush.

‘Mr Buss,' said Joseph, ‘I would be defrauding you if I were to sell you a book on that basis.'

‘I must learn. I am replacing Seymour.'

‘Replacing
Seymour
? And in
three weeks
? Mr Buss, is this some sort of prank? You haven't been put up to this by Ackermann, have you? Does he think he can show me up to be a shyster?'

‘You must help me. Please. I need to buy everything required to etch in steel. The plates, the needles, the acid, the wax – everything.'

The other proprietor now came over. A jerkiness came to their two faces, manifested especially in twitches of the mouth.

‘Mr Buss,' said Samuel, ‘when you make studies preparatory to your paintings, you buy chalk from us. You also buy pencils of various degrees of hardness, blackness and breadth of point. That is so?'

‘I am a loyal customer.'

‘The drawings you are used to making are nothing like the thin pen-and-ink lines for an etching. All your previous experience is the utter opposite of what is required.'

‘And scratching through wax,' said Joseph, ‘is completely different from taking a pencil and drawing on paper. To go from your current state to producing designs equal to those of a master etcher like Seymour, why, you would … you would…'

‘Need a miracle to succeed,' said Samuel.

‘I have given my word,' said Buss. ‘I will not let people down. There is a principle involved.'

The two brothers looked at each other with great concern, until Samuel nodded to Joseph, who proceeded to walk around the gallery collecting all the various items involved in the process of etching, talking as he did so – perhaps to provide Buss with insights into technique, more likely in a final attempt to dissuade him from folly.

‘An etcher,' said Joseph, ‘has to take into account the strength of the acid – the metal surface – the temperature of the day – and the quality of the illustration required.' He picked up a small bottle of fluid. ‘
This
liquid is crucial. It is stopping-out varnish.'

‘And what is that?' asked Buss.

Samuel's manifestation of incredulity was covered by a handkerchief.

‘It is impervious to acid,' said Joseph. ‘For perspective, lines in the foreground must be etched deeper than those in the background. So after you have submerged the plate
just
long enough for the most delicate lines to be bitten, you take it out, wash it, dry it, and then brush this varnish on those lines. It dries straight away. Then you repeat the process for the next most delicate lines, and so on, until only the strongest lines remain.'

‘And then I would be done?'

‘Yes, Mr Buss, then you would be done. As long as the wax has stood up – because if it gives way, and the acid seeps uncontrollably on to the metal, it's a disaster. Mr Buss, buy these items if you like, but set aside six months, at the very least, to learn and gain experience.'

‘I keep my word.'

*   *   *

White and black: the paper and the ink, the day and the night that Robert Buss devoted to practice.

Trial drawings flowed from his studio: men from the sixteenth century in ruffs; muscular horses' limbs; a proud military officer; a fetching country lass in a bonnet; as well as heads, hands and draperies from numerous angles. He realised, from the book bought at the gallery, that if he drew lines too closely together, the thin intervening threads of metal would collapse under the action of the acid. The aim was to suggest much, by few lines – with the unfortunate consequence that he drew in a timid style, and often he scowled at his own pictures.

Among the trials were a number of the Pickwickians, with Buss's interpretations of scenes from the two already-published parts, and also from the notes Boz provided of the content of the forthcoming number. So when Boz penned a scene based upon his old friend Potter's attribution of a bad head to a meal of salmon, rather than to the alcohol that was its true cause, Buss drew
Mr Pickwick and his Friends under the Influence of the Salmon
, with Mr Pickwick dancing in the centre, his waistcoat maladroitly buttoned, throwing his hat in the air, holding his glass in his hand. While when Boz wrote of the sleepy fat boy, using his memories of James Budden of Chatham, and described him peering into an arbour, where Seymour's Lothario attempted to woo a spinster, Buss drew
The Fat Boy Awake on this Occasion Only
. He also drew a sketch of a cricket match witnessed by the Pickwickians, showing a player hit on the nose by a ball.

But now he had to attempt his first etching. He decided upon a simple scene of a bonneted country girl carrying a basket, scrutinised by a top-hatted, cane-carrying admirer of the female form.

He built a wax wall around the plate's perimeter, and carefully poured on the yellow aqua fortis. He cursed as he discovered that the wax seal was not true, and the acid leaked from one corner on to the table.

When he had remoulded the wax, he poured again. There was no leak this time, but he could not relax his weary eyes, for he knew he had to stand over the plate, whisking away bubbles with a feather. As all seemed to be progressing well, he went away to prepare a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He returned to see that the acid had bitten completely through one corner and seeped out on to the table again, with a most disagreeable odour. Upon investigation, he realised that the floor was not even, and too much acid was biting in one spot.

Putting a wedge of paper under the table leg, he started afresh. Once more, all seemed to be going well. He watched a few bubbles rise, which he brushed away, but he fell into a daydream, which then turned into a nodding of his head. He was awakened by a stinging of his hand. The acid had sat for so long it had gone straight through the plate, and leaked out. He rinsed his skin, and tried again. This fourth attempt appeared to work without mishap. When he judged the biting to be done, he poured away the acid.

He dared only to give the plate one dose of aqua fortis, and avoided stopping-out varnish, and the merits of a second dip – he was happy merely to have bitten an unsophisticated, uncomplicated line.

A printer down the road allowed him to run off a proof. He stood beside the press in a state of great expectation; but when the image appeared, he felt deflated – the country girl and the gentleman were there, but in lines of soulless insipidity; for, without the varnish, all parts of the picture, whether the country girl's bonnet or the tip of the gentleman's cane, were of exactly the same strength. But – he consoled himself – it was much better than might be expected from a man who had never etched in his life. He merely needed more practice.

He had not long returned to the studio when his wife admitted an old friend, a Mr Harrison, a pleasant, easy-going, well-dressed fellow, with impish curls, who had risen to the position of chief clerk in a copperplate printer's in Castle Street.

‘Happened to be passing,' he said, as the two shook hands. ‘On my way to dispute an invoice for India paper, and thought I would see how you are.'

‘In truth, Harrison,' said Buss, ‘I am rather pushed for time. Let us sit and have a quick glass, and I shall explain what I am up to.'