The little Chinese statue was the next
item to come under the auctioneer’s
hammer. Lot 103 caused those quiet
murmurings that always precede the sale
of a masterpiece. The auctioneer’s
assistant held up the delicate
...
The little Chinese statue was the next
item to come under the auctioneer’s
hammer. Lot 103 caused those quiet
murmurings that always precede the sale
of a masterpiece. The auctioneer’s
assistant held up the delicate piece of
ivory for the packed audience to admire
while the auctioneer glanced around the
room to be sure he knew where the
serious bidders were seated. I studied
my catalogue and read the detailed
description of the piece, and what was
known of its history.
The statue had been purchased in
Ha Li Chuan in 1871 and was referred to
as what Sotheby’s quaintly described as
“the property of a gentleman”, usually
meaning that some member of the
aristocracy did not wish to admit that he
was having to sell off one of the family
heirlooms. I wondered if that was the
case on this occasion and decided to do
some research to discover what had
caused the little Chinese statue to find its
way into the auction rooms on that
Thursday morning over one hundred
years later.
“Lot No. 103,” declared the
auctioneer. “What am I bid for this
magnificent example of...?”
Sir Alexander Heathcote, as well
as being a gentleman, was an exact man.
He was exactly six-foot-three and a
quarter inches tall, rose at seven o’clock
every morning, joined his wife at
breakfast to eat one boiled egg cooked
for precisely four minutes, two pieces of
toast with one spoonful of Cooper’s
marmalade, and drink one cup of China
tea. He would then take a hackney
carriage from his home in 11 Cadogan
Gardens at exactly eight-twenty and
arrive at the Foreign Office at promptly
eight-fifty-nine, returning home again on
the stroke of six o’clock.
Sir Alexander had been exact
from an early age, as became the only
son of a general. But unlike his father, he
chose to serve his Queen in the
diplomatic service, another exacting
calling. He progressed from a shared
desk at the Foreign Office in Whitehall
to third secretary in Calcutta, to second
secretary in Vienna, to first secretary in
Rome, to Deputy Ambassador in
Washington, and finally to minister in
Peking. He was delighted when Mr.
Gladstone invited him to represent the
government in China as he had for some
considerable time taken more than an
amateur interest in the art of the Ming
dynasty. This crowning appointment in
his distinguished career would afford
him what until then he would have
considered impossible, an opportunity to
observe in their natural habitat some of
the great statues, paintings and drawings
which he had previously been able to
admire only in books.
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