ONCE UPON A GOOD DEED

The saga of Alfred Shands and his ten original illustrations to HansChristian Andersen's Fairy Tales, itself borders on the fairy-tale. Happily inthis case, the story ends not with a stern moral admonition but with the happynews that, sometimes, good deeds can be very rewarding indeed.

Mr Shands inherited the illustrations, watercolours by Irish artist HarryClarke (1889-1931), from his father, an eminent orthopaedic surgeon, who diedin 1981. At the time Mr Shands and his wife Mary, who collect contemporarysculpture in Kentucky,knew little about Clarke. They liked four of the watercolours well enough tohang them in their occasionally visited NewYork apartment. The remainder were stashed away.Then, last year, Mr Shands visited the WolfsonianMuseum in Miami Beach, filled with some of the vastcollection of furniture, objects and artwork amassed by his old friend MickyWolfson. (He will be the subject of another column later this summer.) Touringthe museum, Mr Shands saw an arresting, vividly blue, eight-panelled,stained-glass window. Its decorative scheme was based on earlytwentieth-century Irish literature, including writings by George Bernard Shawand SeÃ¡n O'Casey. This was the work of Clarke. Mr Shands reacted to hisdiscovery with generosity. Observing that his Andersen illustrations wouldnicely complement the museum's holdings, he offered them to the Wolfsonian. MrWolfson was delighted. But, he explained, a valuation would be needed first.Peyton Skipwith was recommended for the task.

Mr Skipwith, an award-winning expert on 19th- and early 20th-century Britishdecorative arts, is a former director of London'sFine Art Society (FAS). Indeed, it was from the FAS's 1988 exhibition ofClarke's stained glass that Mr Wolfson bought the stained-glass panels. (Theprice was in the low six figures.) When approached, Mr Skipwith told Mr Shandsthat the Clarke illustrations might be worth perhaps $1,000-2,000 each. Thiswas in line with what their owner had imagined when he'd offered to donate themto the Wolfsonian. But when Mr Skipwith actually saw Clarke's watercolours, hisvaluation rocketed. Exactly how high is not known. But given what followed, itis reasonable to suppose it was in the region of $250,000.

Mr Skipwith considers Clarke to be "at the top of the tree intwentieth-century stained glass." The jewel-like colours used in the Andersenillustrations are certainly influenced by those works. "The Swineherd," seenagainst a background of intense amethyst, wears stockings of emerald green. Thechap holding his sled near "The Snow Queen" (pictured above) wears pom-pommedshoes, shawl and a plumed shako of ruby red. To the contemporary eye theseimages are sometimes lurid, sometimes camp. Although influenced by AubreyBeardsley and his contemporary Edmund Dulac, Clarke nevertheless had a uniquestyle. Occasionally he goes in for pastel prettiness, far more often formelodrama shot through with lightning bolts of black humour.

Rarity has also influenced the price of Clarke's watercolours. He died youngof tuberculosis and many of his intricately detailed, time-consuming originalswere destroyed-first in the Easter Uprising of 1916 and then eventually in theBlitz. But after George G. Harrap, a London firmClarke approached looking for work, published a deluxe limited edition of hisAndersen's tales, he sent the originals to Brentano's in New York. They were exhibited there in 1925.It was from that show that the Andersen originals found their way to theShands.

When he learned how much his Clarke illustrations were worth, Mr Shandstelephoned his friend Mr Wolfson explaining that he was going to sell them. Hepromised to make a handsome donation, thought to be in the region of hisinitial estimate of the watercolours' worth. With Mr Skipwith brokering thedeal, the FAS made Mr Shands an offer for the ten illustrations. He accepted.Their exhibition was scheduled to open on June 4th. The gallery, hoping thatthe National Gallery of Ireland would be interested, sent it a copy of theircatalogue as soon as it was printed. The Irish have created a strong market forreclaiming what they perceive to be their patrimony. Moreover the NationalGallery had strongly objected when the stained-glass panels went to Miami Beach. They mightsee this as their chance to make up for that loss.

In one of those twists, not uncommon in such tales, the catalogue addressedto the museum was lost in the mail. June 4th arrived. Preparations for theopening party were being made and the FAS had heard nothing from Dublin. Then, at 3o'clock in the afternoon, the telephone rang. A curator at the National Galleryof Ireland had just seen a newspaper story about the Andersen watercoloursexhibition. Images flew on the internet. Trustees were summoned. Just beforethe doors in Londonopened to invited guests (among them collectors), an offer was made andaccepted. The exact sum is undisclosed. But to judge by adding up theindividual prices the FAS had been asking for the illustrations, the totalcomes to within a cloverleaf of £300,000 ($590,000). A happy ending all round.

(*Art.view is published every week on Economist.com. Paula Weideger writes regularly about art and art collectors. Her most recent book is "Venetian Dreaming", published by Simon & Schuster in America and PocketBooks in Britain.)