From a forgotten age in a forgotten land, in a dark corner, murky and
cobwebbed, sat the Mirus Modicus, that extraordinary ordinary thing. It
was ugly, aging, far from light, no longer remembered. It was a water
colour in an age when black and white photographs were all the rage, when
pastels were just an indulgence by aristocracy, the idle rich. It was
likely part of a lesson, to instruct a regal student, not meant for a
patron. There were no castles, windmills, cottages, no man-built
structures; no travelways to be found; no bridges, waterways,
transportation carriages, boats, nor any horses; no gentlemen or ladies,
no children playing, no creatures of the earth, no imprints of humanity or
fauna. The sole living things were a few spare trees, downhill, obscure,
faraway, exaggerating a lofty vantage. The skies bore a few indistinct
V's, avians of unknown species and irrelevant concerns. They did not hunt
or betray secret intentions, but idled on air currents, gliding aimlessly,
as insignificant as dust sent aloft by a breeze.
The only hint of human history was a seeming trail that ran beside the
rocky outcrops. It could just as easily have been a gap in the geology of
the land. The skies betrayed no turbulence, no imminent storm, nor measure
of distance. The clouds were neither dark nor sparkling nor fluffy nor
optimistic. They held no charm or delight, nor promise of better things
to come. They did not care for brooding thoughts or tell of any future.
Someone who had raised an eager hand at the auction block, had been
sufficiently charitable to dress the new adoptee in a modest golden
frame, edged by gilt scrollwork.
Perhaps it had once tutored that royal lady who had engaged the artist for
two decades to be her household master water colourist. His name was
William Leighton Leach. He had been introduced to the Queen before the
loss of her precious consort. While the monarch had still bloomed,
Mr.Leitch had given his royal student the first of many lessons. Some
time later, after the loss of the Prince, as the great lady mourned, she
became enfolded in a brooding sadness. It was William Leighton Leitch who
had encouraged her to come back to the outdoors and experience Nature's
elegance. It had brought Victoria such comfort that she had rewarded
dear old Mr. Leitch, her kind old drawing master, as she had called him,
with a pension and an honoured position. He stayed on to teach her
children and the Princess of Wales, who would eventually become a queen
herself, the wife of Edward VII. William continued his occasional visits
to Balmoral to conduct his lessons, to teach composition, the choice of
pastels, and bring a much needed relief from the responsibilities of
governing an empire. All too soon, the gentle painting tutor, passed
away, leaving hundreds of unclaimed works, many of them choice treasures
that demanded enthusiastic bids. Among them, undistinguished, was the
Mirus Modicus, that ugly forgotten thing. It eventually found a
charitable owner, but soon after disappeared to some unknown destination.
Its tutelage of that great Queen of the Empire and her myriad offspring
had long since been forgotten.