Part 12

At one time a perfect mania prevailed for fighting duels, and this was by no means confined to the well-to-do classes. In 1780 two negro servants fought a duel in Hyde Park, neither of the combatants, however, being seriously hurt; but an encounter which occurred some three years later between two footmen in the same place was of a much more serious character, both being severely wounded. Towards the beginning of the nineteenth century, however, duels began to be much fewer in number.

At my old home in Norfolk—Wolterton Hall—my nephew, the present Lord Orford, recently came upon a number of curious old documents, amongst them a copy of the codicil to the will of the eccentric Lord Camelford, drawn up by him two days before his fatal duel with Mr. Best. The reasons for this codicil being at Wolterton was no doubt that Lord Camelford’s mother had been a Miss Wilkinson, a family connected with Burnham, a property which for generations has belonged to the Walpoles.

Lord Camelford, it will be remembered, was called out by Mr. Best under great provocation, of which an officious person was the cause. This individual had represented to Lord Camelford that Mr. Best had spoken slightingly of him to a Mrs. Simmons, a lady with whom Lord Camelford was on terms of considerable intimacy, whilst Mr. Best had formerly been her lover. The latter, who was noted as a deadly shot, did everything he could to avoid a conflict, and others also attempted to use their influence, but their efforts were all in vain, Lord Camelford declaring that the thing must go on. Accordingly a duel was fought in the fields behind Holland House, with the result that Lord Camelford was mortally wounded, expiring some four days after the fatal meeting.

The codicil, drawn up in the very face of impending death and containing, as it does, a manly reference to Lord Camelford’s adversary, is a dignified and interesting document, the full contents of which, I believe, have never before been made public. For this reason I now venture to give a copy of it here:—

I Thomas Lord Camelford of the Parish of Boconnoc in the County of Cornwall deliver this paper as an explanatory note and Codicil to my Will; There are certain Sums of money of mine in the Hands of Mr. Colin de la Brunerie, who lives at No. 396, Rue de L’Université at Paris, with this money he has purchased two Estates the one in Picardy, the other near Lausanne, the whole of these Lands, with whatever Money of mine may be in his Hands I bequeath to the Grenvilles in the same manner as the rest of my property described in my Will, after a settlement shall have been upon him and his Wife (that is upon their joint lives) of a salary equal to what he at present enjoys from me which I believe is somewhere about 240£ a Year I likewise bequeath him 500£ as a proof of my esteem and respect for his talents and integrity I have likewise certain Sums of money in the Hands of Mr. Nicholson School Master of Soho Sq^{r}. greatest part of which is vested in two Ships destined for the South Sea fishing, these I likewise bequeath to the Grenvilles in the same way as the other that is in the manner described in my Will, _fifteen Hundred_ Pounds of this Money _is a loan_ to Mr. Nicholson made on former occasion for the extending his establishment, this Money (namely 1500£) I bequeath to him as a reward for his private confidential Labours in my affairs, but the file patent Machine will go to the Grenvilles. I likewise bequeath to my good Friend and old Shipmate Capt^{n}. Burrie a full discharge of all his debts to be paid by my Heirs as soon as may be together with the redemption of his half pay, which I have reason to fear he has sold, and I furthermore bequeath to him a yearly Annuity of 200£ whenever he is not employed in Service, on Condition that he does not reside in town or within one hundred miles of it. To my friend Devereux I bequeath my little Brown Hunter together with my Guns, Dogs and other sporting apparatus which I think will amuse him, and tend to drive away the recollection of the tedious Hours I have made him spend. He will understand what that means, and I beg that the whole of that business in every way may be forgot with me that is not mentioned by him. Having now mentioned all those to whom I am bound by sentiment of regard and esteem I will say a Word of perhaps one of the worst men that ever disgraced humanity—I mean my former Steward Berlingdon, he has got the command of a Ship of mine called the Weldon, the particulars of which are in the Hands of Mr. Nicholson part of her is his own as I allowed him to vest somewhere about 500£ in her, the precise Sum is mentioned in the paper at Mr. Nicholson’s, as there will be no doubt, but that he will use every artifice in his power to defraud my heirs. I hereby declare that except that share in the vessel I do not owe him to my knowledge a single farthing and I advise them to take the earliest opportunity of recovering their own. There are many other matters at any other Time I might be inclined to mention but I will say nothing more at present than that in the present contest I am fully and entirely the Aggressor as well in the spirit as in the letter of the Word, should I therefore lose my life in a contest of my own seeking I most solemnly forbid any of my friends or relations let them be of whatsoever description they may be from instituting any vexatious proceedings against my Antagonist, and should notwithstanding the above declaration on my part the Law of the Land be put in force against him I desire that this part of my Will be made known to the King in order that his Royal breast may be moved to extend his mercy towards him. With respect to myself I have ever entertained an anxious desire that my remains may be deposited in some _region of the Earth_ distant from the place of my Nativity and where the surrounding scenery will smile upon me, others adorn their abode while living and it is my fancy to adorn mine when dead for this purpose I beseech most earnestly that whenever the times will permit my body may be removed in the cheapest manner to the Island of St. Pierre in the Lake of Berne in Switzerland there to be deposited in the Centre between the 3 trees that stand on the right of the Tavillon a bush or some such thing may be planted over me but without any Stone or Masonry in any shape or form whatever and for the permission to have this my last wish carried into execution I bequeath one thousand pounds to be paid to the Hospital at Berne to whom the Island belongs I appoint Devereux my Executor for all these things relating to my burial on which I attach more importance than a sensible man perhaps ought to do With respect to all my other friends and relations I beg that they will not wear mourning on my account or shew any outward mark of regret for my loss (signed) CAMELFORD [L.S. w/i circle] Richard Wilson for _Lord Camelford_ by his express direction and authority. Signed by Richard Wilson in the presence of and by the express directions of the within named Thomas Lord Camelford and sealed published and declared this eight day of March one thousand Eight hundred and four as an explanatory Note and Codicil to his Will referred to by him herein (he having written and signed the Contents hereof on the sixth of this instant March on two Sheets and a half of paper and being unable to resign the same of this present Date) in the presence of us whose names are hereunder written who in his presence and in the presence of each other have subscribed our Names as Witnesses attesting the same—P. E. OTTEY—H. U. THOMSON—S. NICHOLSON.

After Lord Camelford’s death an inquest was duly held and a verdict of wilful murder returned against some person or persons unknown. A bill of indictment was then prepared against Mr. Best and his friend, which was ignored by the Grand Jury, who thus carried out the desire expressed in the codicil. Lord Camelford’s other wish was also respected, and his body was duly removed to Switzerland, where in a secluded spot near the Lake of St. Lampierre this eccentric but dignified nobleman of another age sleeps his last sleep. According to his instructions, no monument or stone marks his resting-place.

This Lord Camelford was the second and last of the name, his father, Thomas Pitt, a nephew of the great Lord Chatham, having received the Barony. The first Lord Camelford was a cultivated man and something of a poet, for when Lord Hervey stayed with him at Boconnoc in 1775 he wrote the following pretty lines (which are not, I think, generally known) in memory of his visitor’s mother, Lady Hervey, who had been the beautiful Molly Lepell:—

Of manners gentle with strong sense combin’d, All grace her form, all elegance her mind; Thro’ every stage acquiring powers to please, Wit without malice, dignity with ease; Learn’d, tho’ no pedant, by reflection sage, Smiling thro’ pain and beautiful in age. Such Hervey was, but is, alas! no more— All we once loved and all we now deplore.

X

Family pictures—Nelson and the Walpoles—A group by Devis—A fine old French picture saved by Mr. Cobden—Eccentricity of Lord Hertford—Dr. Schlieman’s bequest—Some beautiful books in Lord Carnarvon’s collection—Fashion in art—Sir Patrick Grant and the red cloak—Mr. Graves—Lord Leighton—Mr. Aidé—A genial artist—Sir David Wilkie—Scene-painting and art—Stewart relics —Silhouettes—Anecdotes of William IV.—Lady Georgiana Curzon and “Ugly Mugs”—Watch-papers—The origin of Christmas cards.

Possessing a certain number of family pictures, the majority of which are portraits of Walpoles, I have for many years past seized every opportunity of adding to their number.

Many years ago I was fortunate enough to secure at a sale a fine miniature of Horace Walpole as a child, dressed in a fanciful costume—the work of Nathaniel Hone. Owing to people being out of town and to its being a wet day, the bidding was very feeble, and this little gem, which I have several times lent for exhibitions, became my property for the insignificant sum of two pounds. Besides this I have also a small portrait of Horace Walpole which had become the property of Lady Blessington, at whose sale I bought it.

Amongst other family pictures I have also four pastels by Rosalba, representing different members of the Walpole family. One of them is an excellent portrait of the owner of Strawberry Hill, whilst another represents Sir Robert’s brother, the Admiral Galfridus, whose sword was one of Nelson’s most valued possessions. Galfridus Walpole himself had a not undistinguished naval career, losing his right arm in a sea fight in the Mediterranean, on which occasion he was in command of the _Lion_, a ship of eighty guns which, single-handed, fought four French ships mounting sixty guns apiece. When the Rev. Maurice Suckling married the grand-daughter of Sir Robert Walpole’s sister, Captain Suckling presented him with this sword, the recipient in course of time bequeathing it to his grandson, Horatio Nelson, who always wore it, and was grasping it in his hand when so severely wounded at the battle of Teneriffe.

Always particularly interested in memorials of Nelson, I have managed to collect a few things connected with the great admiral, amongst others some curious pieces of a dessert service owned by him.

It is, I believe, a well-authenticated fact that Wellington and Nelson only met once. On this occasion Wellington was going upstairs at Downing Street and met a man coming down. He afterwards found, on making inquiries, that this man was Nelson, who, on his side, told some one that he had met a most remarkable-looking young man on the stairs at Downing Street. There exists, I have been told, a print depicting what is nothing but a purely imaginary interview between these two great men, for there is no record that any regular meeting ever took place between them.

Another interesting picture which I possess is one representing the Vanneck family grouped on the lawn of their house at Fulham, with old Putney Bridge (destroyed only a few years ago) standing out in the background. This picture was the work of Arthur Devis, an eighteenth-century painter of portraits and also of what are known as “conversation pieces.” The work of Devis is not very much known to-day, but during his lifetime the painter in question attracted a good deal of attention owing to his very remarkable likeness to the Pretender; indeed, during a period of political excitement he was actually obliged to leave Preston in disguise. Appropriately enough he painted a picture of the “Pretender and his Friends.”

Two prominent figures in my picture are two ladies, daughters of Sir Joshua Vanneck, who both married Walpoles. One became the grandmother of my husband (I have also a miniature of her by Smart), and the other the great grandmother of my cousin, the late Sir Spencer Walpole. Her husband was the Hon. Thomas Walpole, Horace Walpole’s cousin, who lost his fortune owing to the capture of the West Indian Islands by the French, having had the bad luck to accept bills drawn by the Scotch firm of Alexander upon his real property in that quarter of the world. The French Government after this capture at once declared all debts due to English creditors to be annulled; but Mr. Walpole, betaking himself to Paris, after a protracted struggle in the French Courts, eventually obtained a judgment in his favour, and then very honourably handed over his recovered estates to the Bank of England in discharge of his obligations.

After the death of his first wife Mr. Walpole married in Paris Madame de Villegagnon, the widow of the Comte de Villegagnon, and Sir Spencer Walpole possessed the permission signed by the French King—the unfortunate Louis XVI.—which, under such circumstances, it was in those days necessary to obtain.

In addition to pictures I have also a certain number of Walpole relics, amongst them a fine _marqueterie_ clock which formerly belonged to Horace Walpole at Strawberry Hill.

In former years, before the rage for collecting had reached its present pitch, and the extravagant prices of to-day were as yet undreamt of, French art occupied a very different position in the estimation of collectors from that which it does to-day, and occasionally fine old French pictures were to be found in very queer places.

In one of my scrap-books I have a photograph of an old French picture with some notes written at the side which recall to my mind a very kindly action which was performed by Mr. Cobden, and by which he greatly assisted a poor labourer and his family.

Mr. Cobden chanced to be one day walking in a Sussex village with his friend Mr. Robinson (afterwards Sir Charles), of the South Kensington Museum, and came across a child trailing what appeared to be a piece of old board by a string run through two roughly made holes. For some reason or other this board attracted his attention, and examining it, he discovered it to be an old picture evidently of considerable artistic merit.

Conducted by the child to its home, Mr. Cobden interviewed the father—a poor labourer with a large family—to whom he suggested that as the picture might possibly be of some value he should allow it to be restored, and afterwards privately raffled amongst some friends; in this way a nice little sum would be brought in to the poor household. The labourer willingly gave his consent, and after careful restoration, the picture turned out to be a graceful and elegant portrait of Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, a Princess of the House of Savoy and the mother of Louis XV. From the style and brilliant colouring of the painting it was declared to be the work of Largillière, and in all probability had once hung at Cowdray, the ancient home of the Brownes, the ruins of which stood not very far away.

The raffle was duly organised by Mr. Cobden, twenty-five tickets at a guinea apiece being disposed of amongst friends. Of course I took one, but, alas, I did not win the picture.

Since those days works of art of all kinds have largely increased in value, and realise sums which would have fairly staggered the collectors of the past.

It is said that the Bernal Collection, which in 1855 realised £69,000, would to-day fetch close on half a million. Many things, indeed, which were then sold have since changed hands at a profit of a thousand per cent, and even more. A Dutch picture, for instance, which was sold at the Bernal sale for eighty guineas, was bought by Mr. Wertheimer, when Mr. Adrian Hope’s pictures were sold, for no less a sum than £3200.

It is not, I think, generally known that before Mr. Bernal began his great collection he had already formed a small collection of pictures. These he sold on the death of his first wife, who met with such a tragic end, being burnt to death while dressing for a party. She was Mr. Bernal Osborne’s mother.

Many collectors are very careless of their treasures, and, once a coveted _objet d’art_ is obtained, forget all about it. The Marquis of Hertford, who did so much to make the Wallace Collection what it now is, had a good deal of this tendency, and would keep some of his finest and most valuable pictures piled up in heaps against the wall, not troubling to have them hung, or indeed paying any attention to them at all.

Lord Hertford was in the habit of employing certain agents to buy for him, and on one occasion, it is said, sending for one of the most able of these men, bade him spare no expense or trouble in the effort to secure a certain picture, the details of which he minutely described. The collector accordingly set out, telling his lordship that his wishes should certainly be fulfilled; but in spite of the most strenuous exertions the much-sought-for picture could not be discovered, and Lord Hertford eventually received a letter from the man saying that, much to his regret, he was abandoning the search, feeling convinced that it was useless.

A year or two later, however, this very collector, whilst travelling on the Continent, chanced to come across a shrewd dealer whom he had not yet questioned about this picture. He accordingly asked the man whether he knew anything about it, to which the latter replied: “Know anything about it? Of course I do; but you need not trouble any further about it, for it has gone into a collection from which no money will cause it to emerge. Lord Hertford bought it of me three or four years ago, and, as you know, he never parts with anything.” The collector at once informed Lord Hertford of what he had been told, and on a search being made the picture was duly discovered, propped up behind several others with its face to the wall.

The splendid Wallace Collection, as is well known, was lost to France by the scant consideration which the French Government showed to Lady Wallace; but it is said that England, on the other hand, failed to secure another very interesting and valuable bequest entirely through a misunderstanding.

Dr. Schlieman, the famous excavator of Troy, had, it is said, quite made up his mind to leave his collection, which included many objects of great antiquarian value, to this country, but oddly enough his election as an honorary member of a very learned club caused him to alter his decision. On receiving the notification of this election the distinguished antiquarian (who did not understand that honorary members paid no subscription) sent £10 to the secretary of the club, thinking that he would at once acquit himself of his obligations as a new member.

The secretary, however, on receipt of this sum, interpreted it as being either an insult or a bribe, and a great fuss was made, which so disgusted Dr. Schlieman that he determined to reconsider his bequest, and did so, with the consequence that the whole of his collection went elsewhere at his death.

Lord Hertford, though a great connoisseur of French art, did not, I believe, make any great collection of French eighteenth-century books, such as the little almanacks, illustrated by good artists, which were produced in such abundance during the reign of Louis XV.

Lord Carnarvon has a fine collection of these, amongst them being an _Almanach des Muses_ bearing the arms of Marie Antoinette. Another of his treasures is _Les bienfaits du sommeil_, an exceptionally scarce and practically unknown almanack, embellished with four plates engraved by Delaunay after Moreau. He also possesses a perfect copy of the very rare _Suite d’estampes pour servir à la mode_—a reduction of the _Monument de costume_ of Moreau le jeune. This, by great good fortune, he found whilst looking through a vast assortment of rubbish at a shop in Constantinople, one Turkish pound only being asked for two perfect copies. Other rarities in this most careful collection of scarce and beautiful books are the tallest known copy of that rarest of Elzevirs, _Le pastissier François_, and a first edition of the _Art of Cookery_, with H. Glasse, the autograph of Mrs. Glasse, written upon the title-page. The well-known remark, “First catch your hare,” does not occur in the first edition.

Lord Carnarvon also has many splendid bindings, as well as an ancient morocco box, covered with gold tooling and made to hold prayer-books, which once belonged to Gabrielle d’Estrées.

A collection of books of this kind, many of them containing sketches by great artists such as Fragonard and Moreau, is exceedingly difficult to get together—taste and knowledge being indispensable requisites as well as the possession of a well-filled purse.

At one time massive folio volumes were the delight of the bibliophile, but that day has long since passed: small and beautifully bound and illustrated volumes are now the collectors especial delight. Fashion, indeed, exercises her sway here as in other forms of art. I remember, for instance, a regular craze which was originated by Sir Francis Grant, a fashionable painter of other days, who was a great favourite in society. A portrait painted by him of his daughter (a singularly good-looking girl), wearing a red cloak, created a great sensation, and in consequence of the happy effect produced by the brilliant colouring of this picture, every one, old or young, ugly or beautiful, rushed to have their portrait painted in a similar costume. The result in most cases, however, was far from being as successful as in the case of Miss Grant. She afterwards became Lady Annesley.

Sir Francis painted a picture of my sister and myself which now hangs at Methley. This, in my opinion, was a great failure, for my sister looks like a murderess, whilst I am represented as apparently suffering from the effects of a narcotic which she has just administered. Nevertheless, many people said it was not at all a bad picture, but I never liked it. Sir Francis was an agreeable man, and we often used to go to his house in Regent’s Park to sit to him in the evenings. He was the only painter I ever heard of who painted by gas-light, a feat which has always lingered in my memory as a somewhat remarkable thing.