British painter Lucien Freud’s 2001 portrait of Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth II is a dud. One London critic said the artist made the Queen look like one of her pet corgis that had suffered a stroke. That is just one person’s opinion. However, I feel the artist has made the Queen look like she is in need of a shave.
I decided that I’d try to make amends. I had never done a portrait of the Queen, but I had done one of her husband, Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. I would send it to him. Perhaps I had some notion of the two portraits exhibited side by side, and the royal couple hand-in-hand viewing them.
“I like yours, Betty,” the Duke says.
“Oh no, Phil, dearest,” the Queen says. “Yours is much nicer.”
My portrait of the duke was the size of a book cover. The letter was succinct.
Prince Philip
Duke of Edinburgh
Buckingham Palace
London, England
Sir:
Lucien Freud’s portrait of Her Royal Highness does not amuse me. Perhaps his painting ability has faltered under the heavy burden of too much praise. Please accept the gift of my portrait of you. I believe it captures some of the critical resolve that you have displayed these many years.
Respectfully,
Richard Toth
***
There was a substantial lineup at the post office on December 31, 2001. Everyone seemed to have a parcel. The clerk, an older man, raised an eyebrow when he saw the name on my package.
“Famous fellow.”
“Yes.” The lineup behind me craned to see.
“Regular surface?”
“Cheapest way.”
He started punching numbers on his computer, then opened a drawer, found a book and consulted a chart. He opened another drawer and took out tags — SURFACE MAIL and SMALL PACKAGE. My eyebrows went up a tad. He searched a third drawer and found a green form.
“There has to be a declaration for customs.”
“Okay.”
“Contents?”
“Artwork.”
“A gift?” His eyebrows went up higher than before.
“Yes.”
“Value?”
I thought of the string of zeroes on the price of a recent Freud painting. “Eleven thousand,” I said. “Dollars.” His eyebrows danced.
“Do you wish to insure?”
“Oh no,” I said as if it were a standing principle.
“Umm . . .” He punched in more numbers. “It’s $9.10 then.”
“I’ll need a receipt,” I said needlessly. The crowd behind grew more restive. There was a comment or two.
On January 17, 2002, a small monogrammed letter arrived, postmarked Buckingham Palace. I opened it and went to find a dictionary.
Buckingham Palace
Dear Mr. Toth,
The Duke of Edinburgh has asked me to thank you very much for your letter and for the kind thought in sending your portrait of His Royal Highness. Prince Philip sends you his best wishes.
The letter was signed by Captain George Cordel of the Grenadier Guards, who was “temporary equerry” to Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. (My dictionary told me an equerry is an officer of the British royal household who attends members of the royal family.) I might have wished that Captain Cordel was someone other than a household “temp,” but then I hadn’t even expected a reply.
I have always felt, however, that the prince was kind of chummy in sending me his best wishes.
Comments are closed.