Iris Murdoch - The Sandcastle

The murmur from the School increased in the sudden darkness and then died down. Audaciously Mor thrust out his hand and found Rain’s hand near by. He squeezed it violently. She returned the pressure and then gently disengaged hers. Mor tried to catch it again. It eluded him, and alighted like a bird upon his wrist, to give an admonitory pat and then vanish, to be locked away, chaperoned by her other hand, on the far side of her knee.

The juniors were already giggling in anticipation. Bledyard said, ‘Quict please, boys.’ A sort of silence fell at last.

The epidiascope came into action, casting a white square of light on to the screen. By this illumination Mor turned to look at Rain’s profile. She was looking sternly forward. He realized that, if he was not careful, she would very shortly burst out laughing. He hurriedly transferred his attention elsewhere, concentrated on remaining reasonably solemn himself.

Bledyard had started talking. He began, The human face has been described as the most interesting surface in the world.‘ An explosion of laughter, quickly muffled, came from the younger boys. ’By a mathematician a mathematician,‘ said Bledyard. He did not find the word easy. A silent shudder of mirth went backward through the room. ’Now shall we ask ourselves ourselves the question,‘ Bledyard went on, ’why we are always interested in faces, and why when we meet our friends we look we look at their faces and not at their knees or elbows? The answer is simple. Thoughts and emotions are more often expressed by movements of the face than by movements of the knee or elbow.‘

A guffaw, which the School had been holding in with difficulty until the end of this period, broke out explosively. Mor glanced sideways again and saw that Rain was hiding her face in her handkerchief. Her chair trembled slightly. Beyond her Mor caught a glimpse of Evvy, wide-eyed and serious above his dog-collar. He began to feel that he could not hold out much longer. He started to search for his own handkerchief.

‘Let us now go on to ask go on to ask another question,’ said Bledyard. ‘Why do painters represent in pictures the faces of their fellow fellow men? To this it may be answered that painters represent things that are to be found in the world, and human faces are things that are to be found in the world.’ Another ripple of mirth, quiet but deep, shook the room. The School was still holding back, with the delighted expectation of someone waiting for the conclusion of a long but undoubtedly very funny story.

‘This answer is hardly sufficient sufficient,’ said Bledyard. He spoke throughout with total solemnity and with the slow deliberation of one announcing a declaration of war or the death of royalty. ‘There have been at different times in history different reasons why painters have painted people and why people have wanted to be painted by painters painters painters.’

When Bledyard repeated a word three times the glee of his audience knew no bounds. A joyful roar went up, which drowned the noise of Bledyard rapping for the first slide. A long silence followed. Hensman had not heard the rap, and Bledyard was waiting patiently for the first picture. Mor, who immediately guessed what had happened, leaned across Rain to whisper to Evvy to nudge Hensman. At that moment, however, Evvy turned away, looking back over his shoulder disapprovingly at some scuffling that was going on at the back. Mor swayed back into his seat. As he did so, his cheek lightly touched Rain’s. He cast another sideways glance and saw that she now had herself sufficiently under control to turn towards him, her bright eyes slightly tearful with mirth, looking out from above her handkerchief, which she still held pressed tightly to her mouth. The silence continued.

‘Sound track’s broken down,’ said a clear voice from the back of the hall. The School let itself go and rocked hysterically in a great surge of laughter. Rain threw her head forward with a wail, her shoulders shaking. Mor began to laugh silently. He felt an extreme crazy happiness.

‘Could we have the first slide, please, Mis-ter Hensman?’ said Bledyard.

The first slide appeared at last. It represented the Laughing Cavalier of Frans Hals. The School gurgled into silence.

‘Now this gentleman,’ said Bledyard, ‘is of course well known to all of you. And if we ask what is the bond here that holds the sitter the sitter and the painter together the answer is - charm. The sitter wishes to be depicted as charming, and the painter obliges him without difficulty.’ Bledyard rapped the floor.

The School had subsided for the moment, and were listening to Bledyard. A soft murmur arose from them, however, as from a hive of bees about to swarm.

The next slide represented the head of the Emperor Theodoric, taken from a mosaic at Ravenna. ‘Now, what have we here?’ said Bledyard. ‘Not a portrait of an individual by an individual, but an abstract abstract conception of power and magnificence created in the form of a man.’ He rapped the floor again. The School was restive, baulked of its prey.

‘Now this noble portrait — ’ A shout of laughter went up. The next slide represented the digestive tract of the frog. Bledyard could be seen moving hastily back from the screen in order to see what had happened and falling over some small boys.

Someone’s been tampering with the slides!‘ Mor said into Rain’s ear. This had happened once before. Now anything might be expected. He moved his chair a fraction closer to hers and looked at her. She turned her head slowly and gave him a look of joyful tenderness. Mor turned back towards the screen, bringing his foot cautiously into contact with hers. The frog was still there. Bledyard’s voice was saying, ’I think that one must be a mis-take.‘ Mor felt that he was in paradise.

Hensman blotted out the frog by putting his hand over the front of the projector, but then found that he was unable to insert the next slide. It was a minute before things were reorganized and the next picture appeared. It was one of the later self-portraits of Rembrandt.

‘Now here,’ said Bledyard, ‘if we ask what relates relates the painter to the sitter, if we ask what the painter is after, it is difficult to avoid answering - the truth.’ The audience was now totally silent. Bledyard paused, looking up at the picture. The enormous Socratic head of the aged Rembrandt, swathed in a rather dirty-looking cloth, emerged in light and shade from the screen. At the edge of the lighted area Bledyard could be seen regarding it. He seemed for a moment to have forgotten where he was.

‘Mmmm, yes,’ said Bledyard, and stepped back into the shadow. He rapped the floor with his rod.

The next slide was a coloured photograph of the Queen, dressed in a blue coat and skirt, standing on the steps at Balmoral. A well-organized group at the side of the room immediately began to intone the national anthem. The audience rose automatically to its feet. A bedlam of laughter followed immediately. A few people still tried to sing, but soon gave it up. Mor tumbled weakly back into his chair. Evvy was saying to Hensman, ‘I hardly think Mr Bledyard could have intended — ’ Hensman, with greater presence of mind, blotted the offending slide by superimposing another one. Rain said, ‘I don’t know how much longer I can bear it!’ Mor discovered that he was clasping her hand. They both leaned forward, moaning and holding their sides. ‘I love you madly!’ said Mor under of the undiminishing din. ‘Sssh! said Rain.

Hensman managed to remove the Queen and reveal the next slide, which was a Tintoretto portrait of Vincenzo Morosini. The School groaned and wailed itself into silence at last.

Bledyard seemed unperturbed. ‘Now this picture,’ he was saying, ‘which is also in London -’