HIS TREASURE GONE

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 704, 2 July 1929, Page 9

HIS TREASURE GONE

SADDEST MAN IN ENGLAND TELLS HIS STORY MISSING PORTLAND VASE The saddest man in England sat on a polished hardwood chair in a small room off one of the main corridors in the British Museum, says the “Sunday Express.” He is Mr. Patrick Cooney. For more than six years he has had charge of the Portland Vase. Now the ebony stand on which it had pride of place is empty, and Mr. Cooney is almost broken-hearted. “You r e, sir,” he said. “It’s like this. I became attached to the vase. Every morning I’d had a pleasure in asking it the time of day, not out loud, mind you, for there are those without souls who'd not understand. If I was off-colour during the Sunday, I’d say to myself, ‘Never mind, tomorrow you’ll be seeing the vase,’ and I’d cheer up. And now it’s gone. The museum isn’t the same without it, sir —not to ire. I believe that an artist puts his personality into his work, that’s why the vase always seemed human to me.

“When I’ve had crowds in to see it —and during the summer months especially there’d he hundreds a day—that vase has positively glowed, just as though it knew it was the centre of attraction. “I’m sure the man who carved it made it for his lady; perhaps because she loved it, too, it took on some of her personality. Anyway, it always seemed feminine to me.

“1 shan’t forget the day they took it to Christie’s. Mark you, sir, I’d never believed it would go. I thought it was a joke when one of the other keepers first told me. ’Twas no joke for me. 1 couldnt have felt worse if I’d been going into action again. Supposing they dropped it? I went hot and cold all over at the thought. . . . I’ll tell you a secret. I’d wanted to hold the vase in my hands, just one. It had become such a longing that it hurt me sometimes to know the wish couldn’t be gratified. And then—when they came to take it away, I was told to remove it from the glass case! My! That was an experience if you like. “ ‘Don’t drop it, Cooney,’ says the chief keeper. ‘Drop it!’ says I, 'and would I be droppin’ something that’s like me own child!’ “ ’Twas as light as thistledown, sir. Oh, the dainty thing! Just for a matter of seconds, ’twould be, I held it —and then I d to give it over to be taken away. “There were many visitors that day to see where it had stood, many. I was tired with the questions they’d asked, and I sat down in my chair for a minute.

“ . . . Two men with masks crept up behind me. They tied me up and gagged me. I tried to shout and struggle; it was no good. Then, before my eyes, and me helpless, I saw them lift the vase. . .

“1 woke up with a start. There was the empty stand! ’Twas on the tip of me tongue to shout—when I remembered! I d dozed off, I suppose, and the sorrow I’d felt at parting with the vase had done the rest.”