Philip de Laszlo: Arrested

"Philip Alexius de László, His Wife Lucy 
and Their Son Henry"

"For a month after the escaped Hungarian soldier's arrest, Philip de Laszlo heard nothing more from the police and continued to work. He had promised to make a sketch of Lady Yarborough's son, who was on the point of going to the front, and arranged to do it in a single sitting of four hours on the afternoon of August 15. 'I have a very heavy day in front of me,' he said to Mrs. de Laszlo as he left the house. How heavy a day it proved may be gathered from the pages of his journal:

"As I stepped out of the carriage at Waterloo, I was accosted by two men, one of whom asked me if I were Philip de Laszlo. Much surprised, I asked him who he was and what he wanted. 'I am Detective-Inspector Parker of Scotland Yard,' he replied, 'I must ask you to come with me. I will show you my warrant in the taxi.' In the taxi I read that I must give these men every facility to examine all my correspondence and search my premises.

Leaving the detectives opening the drawers and searching all over my house and studio, Inspector Parker took me to Scotland Yard. I was not left alone for an instant, and was treated like the most dangerous criminal.'

After an interrogation de Laszlo was permitted to return home. He continues:

' For the next three weeks I lived in constant anxiety as to what would happen next, and both my wife and I were conscious of being followed by detectives. But since nothing further happened I was beginning to think that Scotland Yard had realized that their suspicions were unfounded, when, on 21 September, the blow fell.

It was a beautiful sunny morning and I had gotten up early as I had a sitting in London. In the afternoon I had arranged to paint the little niece of Miss Wilson Wood. As I left the bathroom, the parlour maid told me that two gentlemen had called to see me. I went downstairs, where I found Inspector Everest and another police officer. He then told me he had a warrant to arrest me and take me to Brixton Prison. I considered that such injustice could not be other than a passing event and that I should be freed in a short time. I packed enough for a week, not dreaming that it would be nearly two years before I saw my home again. 

Here opened for me a new world of which I had never dreamed. We drew up at the huge iron gate of the prison. When I had signed the warrant the Inspector left me. I was escorted to a room by three warders, who took from me everything I had in my pockets, andeven my umbrella. From my dressing case they removed my razors and scissors, as a precaution against suide. I was then photographed in profile and full face, with a black slate on my chest with my number, and I had to write my signature on it in white chalk. 

Having had my measurements taken, I was escorted to a small cell. The heavy iron door was locked and I was left alone. There was a small window with a heavy iron grating. The door had an observation glass in it, through which the warders could look. The cell was furnished with an iron bedstead, screwed to the wall, a small table, a chair, and in one corner, a small basin. Half an hour later I was let out for exercise in the yard. Immediately a crowd of about thirty men gathered round me, and I saw at a glance into what sort of company I had been thrown. I felt in utter despair.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)