Queen Victoria’s copperplates--Another Royal Persian
visit--“Perished by fire”--“Viscount Hinton” and his organ--The
Coquette’s jewels lost and found.
In the early part of 1898 we purchased from an enterprising journalist
four interesting copperplates--three of them etched by Queen Victoria and
one by the Prince Consort. Of the four plates, three were done by the
Queen within a year of her marriage.
Although not altogether faultless from an artistic point of view, the
work is most conscientiously executed, showing how painstaking was the
Queen even in comparatively trivial matters.
After her marriage Her Majesty found in the Prince Consort a fellow
craftsman, and forthwith a room in Buckingham Palace was fitted up as a
sort of combination studio and workshop. Here, under the guidance and
advice of Sir Edwin Landseer, assisted by Mr. Henry Graves, the fine art
publisher, the young couple worked for two or three hours in the morning.
Nor would the Queen allow any portion of the process to be performed
by an assistant. Even the printing was done either by herself or her
husband, a small press being set up for that especial purpose.
It is understood that portraits of the royal children thus reproduced
are preserved in the print-room at Windsor Castle.
* * * * *
I have already described how the Shah of Persia (Nasr-ed-Din) paid a
private visit to the Exhibition in the year 1873.
I must now relate the circumstances that attended the visit of his son,
Muzafir-ed-Din, who came to this country for the coronation of King
Edward in 1902, thirty years later.
The “Brother of the Sun” came on the 19th of August. He was attended by
the Earl of Kintore and Sir Arthur Hardinge, and I received His Majesty,
while the orchestra played the Persian National Anthem.
The first model he asked to see was that of his late father, but
unfortunately his picturesque parent had disappeared to make room for
more up-to-date people.
The horrible fact of the remelting to cast a possibly much less
distinguished personage could not, of course, be divulged to the
royal visitor. A hint to the entourage was sufficient. “_Perished by
fire--great accidental fire_,” explained Sir Arthur Hardinge with the
aplomb of a true diplomat. “_Big fire_,” echoed the sombre Persians sadly
in their own tongue.
The Shah listened to a description of the models in French and made his
comments in Persian, a course of procedure which was not helpful to those
who would have liked to glean His Majesty’s impressions.
By this time the news that the Shah was in the building had spread, and
the people began to throng around him. It was difficult to say whether
he appreciated the curiosity of the crowd or not. A merry little party
of Japs beamed upon the dusky potentate from the Far East, and the two
extremities of Asia thus metaphorically rubbed shoulders.
The tableau of “Queen Victoria at Home” pleased the Eastern sovereign
most. He looked at it longest.
The scene depicting the Gordon Highlanders storming the Heights of Dargai
also captivated him. The place where the battle was fought was not very
remote from the borders of His Majesty’s dominions, and he was, no
doubt, familiar with the history of the wild tribesmen of the north-west
frontier of India. He was an eager auditor while the Gay Gordons’ feat
was narrated in French and Persian.
Face to face with his own portrait model, the Shah addressed some
presumably humorous remark to it, for sovereign and suite relaxed their
facial muscles simultaneously, and a Persian outburst of mirth succeeded.
_The stolid monarch actually laughed outright._ It was the only recorded
laugh of His Majesty during his visit to this country.
But what did he say to that waxen presentment? The features of the model
were certainly rather darker than those of the Shah, but the observation
in Persian of the monarch was darker still--at any rate to me. Turning
aside, he remarked, in French, that though the features were excellent,
the complexion was not quite fair enough--a disclosure of an undoubted
Eastern vanity.
He closely scrutinised the figures of reigning sovereigns, and on coming
to that of the young Queen of Holland he exclaimed, in French, “Ah, I
have seen Her Majesty.” The Shah quickly noticed Mr. Balfour among the
group of politicians, and gazed eagerly at the representation of the
meeting between Lord Roberts and Cronje at Paardeberg.
[Illustration: THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL CRONJE TO LORD ROBERTS
A Boer War tableau modeled by John T. Tussaud.]
Whether the Shah was made nervous through the proximity of the crowd,
I cannot say, but he neglected to visit the Chamber of Horrors and the
Napoleonic relics (which latter he had expressed a desire to see), and
made a straight line for the exit before those who were chaperoning him
realised the meaning of the movement.
The Chamber of Horrors would have been an attraction to at least one
member of the suite. This gentleman was fascinated by the group in the
Hall of Tableaux representing the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. He
stood gazing with dilated eyes upon the scene, and had to be called on by
a touch on the arm before he could be made to realise the unreality of
the drama.
* * * * *
[Illustration: VISCOUNT HINTON
The wax figure on exhibition at Madame Tussaud’s dressed in subject’s own
clothes and shown with the organ used by this eccentric gentleman on his
organ-grinding career.]
At an Exhibition supper at which “Viscount Hinton” was present, we having
modelled his figure and purchased his organ on the death of the old Earl,
to which title he now laid claim, a speaker, in proposing my health,
began “Mr. Chairman, my Lord, Ladies and Gentlemen.” That was enough for
“Earl Poulett.” He rose and bowed in recognition of the compliment paid
to his degree, and when the speaker finished he made a speech in which
he referred to a few incidents in his organ-grinding career.
He sat to me for his model, and we bought the suit of clothes he was
wearing, although a friend of his told his “lordship” that he would not
have picked them up from the gutter.
It appears that “Hinton” went to the Bank of England with the £50 note
we gave him, and, as is customary, he was asked to sign his name. With a
flourish he wrote down “Poulett,” whereupon the cashier said, “Christian
name as well, please.” Hinton drew himself up and said, “We earls always
sign our names like that,” a remark which, doubtless, duly impressed and
abashed the cashier.
In June, 1901, as the Exhibition was closing for the day, several pieces
of jewellery, valued at between 50 and 60 guineas, were discovered to
be missing from the figure of the Old Coquette, facing the model of the
sardonic but courtier-like Voltaire, who is seen raising his hat to her.
The gems had served to adorn the representation of this curious-looking
old dame for a period of more than a century.
As soon as the discovery was made the usual notification was given to the
police. Strange to say, while the detective-officer was in consultation
with us discussing the most likely means of recovering the articles, a
bulky envelope, bearing the mark of the Earl’s Court postal district, was
handed in containing the missing property, with the following short note
enclosed: “Found at Madame Tussaud’s--thrown down.”