The Berlin Congress--Lord Beaconsfield and the “Turnerelli
wreath”--“The People’s Tribute” finds a home at Tussaud’s--The
sculptor’s despair--He constructs his tombstone and dies.
The year 1876--in which we find the Prince of Wales arriving at Calcutta,
the commercial metropolis of India; “Empress of India” added to the royal
titles of Queen Victoria; and Disraeli’s elevation to the Upper House as
Earl of Beaconsfield--gave us subjects that kept our studios extremely
busy, and also brought a constant stream of visitors to the Exhibition.
The portrait of the Queen had now to be remodelled; that of the Prince of
Wales appeared in the garb of a big-game hunter; and Disraeli’s doffed
its ordinary attire for the robes of a peer.
Following these “moving” events, we now come to a period when the country
became apprehensively aware of ominous happenings in the Balkan States.
Russia declared war on Turkey in 1877, and forced a clear road to
Constantinople. This threat to our Eastern Empire aroused the spirit of
war, particularly in London, and “gentlemen of the pavement,” as Bismarck
styled the men in the street, gloried in the ultra-patriotic sentiment
which obtained the name of “Jingo”; while music-halls and taverns rang
with the rousing chorus embodying that distinctive epithet:
We don’t want to fight,
But, by jingo, if we do,
We’ve got the ships, we’ve got the men,
And we’ve got the money too.
Lord Beaconsfield’s prompt demand that a halt should be called to
hostilities, for the adjustment of differences between the belligerents,
led to the Berlin Congress, and gave us an excellent opportunity of
adding an imposing group of the European statesmen who framed the Berlin
Treaty.
Yet, so mercurial is the public taste, and so pronounced is the love of
the British race for anything that is amusingly abnormal, that I doubt
whether ten people did not come to see the “Turnerelli wreath” for one
who came to scan the features of these great peace-makers.
“What was the ‘Turnerelli wreath’?” the present generation may ask. It
was the pivot of a political comedy that set the whole nation laughing.
[Illustration: EDWARD TRACY TURNERELLI
Promoter of “The People’s Tribute” refused by Lord Beaconsfield.]
Edward Tracy Turnerelli, a sculptor’s son, and himself a sculptor,
instituted a penny subscription to present Lord Beaconsfield with a gold
laurel wreath, which he called “The People’s Tribute,” in appreciation of
his many services to the State and in commemoration of his great part in
the deliberations of the Berlin Congress.
Fifty-two thousand workmen subscribed their pennies in vain, for Lord
Beaconsfield courteously, but firmly, declined the gift, and it was left
on Turnerelli’s hands; while he, of course, could hardly be expected to
refund the copper contributions.
I am indebted to Mr. J. H. Bottomley, Conservative agent for Clapham,
for a copy of the following interesting autograph letter from Lord
Beaconsfield, expressing his satisfaction that the course he had adopted
in declining to accept the wreath had met with the approval of many who
had been induced to sanction the proposed gift:
_10 Downing Street,
Whitehall,
August 11th, 1879._
DEAR SIR,
I have the honour to acknowledge your letter of the 9th inst.
It gives me much satisfaction to learn that the course I felt
it my duty to take with respect to a certain pseudo-testimonial
has met with the approval of many of those who, originally,
by misleading representations, were induced to sanction a
surreptitious gift.
I am gratified by the suggestion, which, on behalf of various
Conservative associations, you put before me, that I should
receive a National Address of confidence as a substitution for
the rejected offering, but when I call to mind that the present
policy of Her Majesty’s Government, unchanged and unshaken, is
precisely the same as that which, scarcely a year ago, received
an unanimous and most honourable expression of approval from
the Conservative Association of this country, I hope I am not
presumptuous if, without now troubling them for its renewed
avowal, I still venture to count on the continued confidence,
which, then, was so welcome and so cheering.
Faithfully yours,
BEACONSFIELD.
The postman who delivered this letter to Mr. Bottomley offered him all
his savings (£19 5s.) for the letter.
Mr. Bottomley received in five days, in 1879, more than 3,000 pennies
from the working men of Oldham, together with the personal signature of
each contributor, and he holds Mr. Turnerelli’s receipt for the £13 5s.
he sent him for the tribute.
The wreath was offered to us, and purchased at its gold valuation.
I looked at it to-day, and renewed my admiration of its artistic design
and remarkable beauty. Every leaf is of gold, and under each one is
inscribed the name of a town where a committee collected the pennies. The
“tie” bears the inscription “Tracy Turnerelli, chairman.”
[Illustration: THE TURNERELLI WREATH
“The People’s Tribute” offered to and declined by Lord Beaconsfield in
1879.]
While London roared and cynics wrote satirical quips, the promoter of
“The People’s Tribute” took its rejection very much to heart. I have seen
a cabinet-size photograph of the disappointed sculptor, taken immediately
afterwards, showing him with head thrown back, resting on his left hand,
in a theatrical posture of profound despair.
Before the Beaconsfield wreath made the name of Turnerelli a byword, the
public-spirited sculptor, who had spent a long time in Russia, vehemently
opposed the Crimean War, as did also Mr. John Bright. Turnerelli was
received by Lord Aberdeen on the subject, and the Prime Minister was said
to have been impressed by the sculptor’s sincerity and the cogency of
his arguments. He also saw Lord John Russell, then Foreign Secretary,
Lord Clarendon, and Lord Palmerston. In one particular he was vindicated.
He declared that Cronstadt was impregnable, and as the war went on this
proved to be the case.
Turnerelli, unluckily for himself, thereafter entertained the chimerical
idea of presenting the golden laurel chaplet to Lord Beaconsfield,
estimating that the cost of each leaf would be about £5. He succeeded, at
any rate, in convincing sceptical people that there were at least 52,000
Conservative working men in the country. The wreath was made by Messrs.
Hunt and Roskell, who put it on exhibition at their rooms. It was also
shown to the Prince of Wales and other members of the Royal Family before
being exhibited at the Crystal Palace.
Turnerelli’s own explanation of Lord Beaconsfield’s refusal to accept
the wreath was a curious one. He stated that a “high legal functionary”
warned Lord Beaconsfield that the wreath was a typical “Imperial diadem”
which could only be loyally offered to a sovereign, and that it would be
an insult to the Crown if a subject were to accept such a gift.
This same legal authority, Turnerelli said, reminded him that the
promoter of such a presentation would have been consigned, in previous
reigns, to the Tower of London.
These warnings came too late for Turnerelli, who, had he known about
them sooner, might have substituted an inoffensive golden inkstand or
a pair of golden candlesticks. But the wreath was allowed to go on to
completion, to be put on exhibition, and to be written about in a light
and fleering spirit; while the statesman to whom it was to be presented
offered no remonstrance until the pennies of the 52,000 working men had
been spent on it.
Flippant people suggested that the whole affair was a “plant” on
Turnerelli’s part to win from Lord Beaconsfield some honour or emolument;
but those who knew Turnerelli well scouted this insinuation, and
attributed the whole proceeding to the guileless sincerity of the man.
Had he never embarked upon the wreath project, he might have preserved
some reputation as a writer of topical political verse and pamphlets. The
wreath, however, may serve to preserve his memory longer, as an episode
in the life of the great Conservative statesman whom he artlessly, rather
than artfully, desired to honour.
In a curious last will and testament Turnerelli said: “I leave the
gold laurel wreath to the nation, provided my generous friends the
Conservatives will help me to cover the hundred and fifty pounds or
thereabouts I have personally expended upon it.”
To a Birmingham gentleman, with whom he had almost completed negotiations
for the sale of the wreath for £245, he wrote: “By the advice of
influential friends I have determined to let Madame Tussaud & Sons have
the privilege of exhibiting the wreath.” Turnerelli compensated the
Birmingham would-be purchaser for alleged breach of contract.
_Punch_, of the 22nd of November, 1879, contained the following: “What
the Wreath has come to.--The brows of Lord Beaconsfield at Madame
Tussaud’s. _Punch_ said it would, and it has.”
_Funny Folks_ said: “The Beaconsfield Wreath is at Madame Tussaud’s,
probably worn by his lordship’s effigy. Curious that this emblem of
popularity should be on the wax, while the popularity itself is on the
wane.”
It may be stated that the gold wreath never rested on the waxen brows of
Lord Beaconsfield, despite what _Punch_ said to the contrary.
I am reminded that, in his latter days, Turnerelli sought consolation for
worldly disdain in designing and constructing his own tombstone. This was
erected in Leamington Cemetery about four years before his death, and
serves as a monument not only for himself, but also for his father, who
was a famous sculptor in the early part of the century, and is buried in
London.
After the erection of the tombstone the younger Turnerelli regularly went
to gaze at it for an hour or two. The block is surmounted by an imitation
in stone of the famous rejected wreath.
Turnerelli died at Leamington on the 24th of January, 1896, aged
eighty-four years.