Part 13

“Only think of my being at the Champs-Elysées every morning at nine o’clock. Hard work for an old fellow who has very different habits. I am obliged to get up every morning between six and seven o’clock to be at the exhibition in proper time to preside over a group composed of four classes. I remain there almost all day doing my work, and as I am not accustomed to this sudden activity, I am very tired, and, in consequence, neglect my own affairs.”

It was, of course, his intimacy with Louis Napoléon which caused him to accept such a violent break in his habits, but he owed the Emperor some gratitude, for it was by his friendly help that he was enabled to add to the grounds of Bagatelle, and again to employ Dasson to copy the famous bureau in the Louvre. Apropos to Bagatelle, Mr. MacColl, in his introduction to the catalogue of pictures at Hertford House, to which I owe great obligation, has a good story. It is said “that two acquaintances asked leave to fight a duel in the grounds. The Marquess politely replied that he had not the slightest objection to their shooting one another, but could not trust their skill so far as to risk his statues.” Perhaps most people would have endorsed his view of the comparative value of masterpieces by Pigalle, Lemoyne and Houdon, and the lives or limbs of the would-be Bobadils. Hardly could they be worth Houdon’s famous “Baigneuse.”

Lord Hertford’s letters to Mawson, which were sold to the trustees by Mr. Mawson’s daughter, show how keenly he watched the great sales both in London and Paris. The English sales he, of course, very rarely attended, and when he did so, it was Mawson who did the bidding, guided by a code of signals given by motions of Lord Hertford’s hat. Nor was he personally more active if he was present at a French sale; he seems to have carried his dislike of all publicity into every phase of life, and to have conducted all his business by agents.

The correspondence with Mawson, of which many extracts are given by Mr. MacColl in his catalogue of the pictures, is interesting, not only as showing Lord Hertford’s great personal interest in art and the extraordinary difference in prices between now and then, but also as revealing at least one charming side in a character which, owing to its eccentricity, was, I honestly believe, cruelly maligned. No mere selfish voluptuary, such as Lord Hertford was described by the evil tongues of those who did not know him, could have inspired the affection which was felt for him by those who did. Sir Richard Wallace more than once spoke to me of him in terms of the strongest respect and affection, and, on the other hand, his gratitude to Sir Richard is expressed with pathetic feeling in the codicil to his will of June 7th, 1850: “To reward as much as I can Richard Wallace for all his care and attention to my dear mother, and likewise for his devotedness to me during a long and painful illness I had in Paris in 1840, and on all other occasions, I give such residue to the said Richard Wallace now living at the Hôtel des Bains, Boulogne-sur-Mer, in France, and whose domicile previous to the Revolution of 1848 was in my mother’s house, Rue Taitbout No. 3, formerly No. 1, absolutely.”

The man who wrote those words had a heart. The letters to Mawson are often worded as if he—Mawson—were conferring the most signal favours upon his employer. The most formal commissions of the earlier days of their connection soon grew to be letters of absolute affectionate gratitude. Lord Hertford had the most complete confidence in the judgment, taste and good faith of his agent. Well might he trust him, for Aladdin was not more faithfully served by the slaves of the ring and the lamp. But it is only a kindly nature and sweet disposition which is capable of dealing with a subordinate without the slightest tinge of patronizing condescension. Two or three examples will suffice to show the nature of the intimacy between the employer and the employed.

The Duke of Buckingham’s sale at Stowe, in 1848, created an immense sensation. I remember it well, for although I was only eleven years old, I used to hear much art talk even in those days between my father and his friends. It is the subject of a characteristic letter from Lord Hertford to Mawson, quoted by Mr. MacColl, dated September 10th, 1848; it was written from Boulogne:

“I intended being at Stowe on the fifteenth, but I find that it is not certain whether I shall be able to attend the sale on that day. I think we must have the ‘Unmerciful Servant,’ by Rembrandt, and hope the price will not be as unmerciful as the subject; but you know that I place all confidence in you, and depend upon your kindness on this occasion.

“The Rembrandt and the Domenichino are my favourites, and I depend upon you for doing the best. Pray have the kindness not to mention to anybody that you buy on my account. I am very anxious my name should not appear. In the event of my being in time for the sale, you would see me there, and my hat would play the same part it has already acted in similar circumstances.”

On September 24th, Lord Hertford wrote to thank Mr. Mawson for the transaction, adding: “I hope and trust we have not paid our pictures much too dear. I am very glad you like them, as I have a very high opinion of your judgment.”

The great Rembrandt was bought for two thousand three hundred pounds. What would it fetch to-day?

In July, 1855, the contents of St. Dunstan’s, in the Regent’s Park, were sold, and were the subject of the enclosed letters:

“Rue Lafitte, Paris. “July 5th, 1855.

“There are a few things I should like to have at the sale of my father’s villa in the Regent’s Park on the 9th inst.”

* * * * *

“Paris, July 6th, 1855.

“In anticipation that you will have the kindness to attend the sale at the Regent’s Park for me, and having no time to spare, I send you the list of things I wish to have, and that I hope you will have the kindness to buy for me:

“PICTURES.

“118. P. Veronese—Not more than £40 or £50.

“120. Ruysdael—What you think it is worth and a little more.

“122. Northcote—‘Portrait of George IV. when Prince of Wales.’

I am anxious to have it.”

* * * * *

“Paris, July 20th, 1855.

“I am extremely obliged to you for having had the kindness to buy my ‘caprices’ at the Regent’s Park sale. You did it all beautifully and just what I wished. I depend on your usual kindness for having the ‘Prince of Wales’’ portrait repaired for me. I rather regret the landscape (_i.e._, the Ruysdael), though an indifferent picture, because it was in my room when I was a boy a few years ago. What prices people give now for all these old affairs! It is ridiculous!”

Only once does Lord Hertford sound a note of disquiet at the price paid by his commissioner, and that was for the famous portrait by Velasquez of “Don Baltasar Carlos in Infancy,” which fetched £1,680 at the Louis Philippe sale at Christie’s in May, 1853. He writes:

“As for the Velasquez, I do not remember it at all, _ainsi je ne puis rien dire_. What frightens me is that it appears never to have struck me at the Louvre, as I do not remember it at all. You gave a _prodigious_ price for it, but as I have great confidence in your taste and judgment, as well as in everything else, I dare say I shall like it, and I long to have a look at it, which I hope soon to be able to do.”

It was certainly not a bad investment at the _prodigious_ price.

Other letters are full of the most flattering expressions:

“April 11th, 1856.

“I have only a moment to thank you a thousand times for your great kindness in giving me some details of the Sibthorpe sale.”

* * * * *

“April 23rd, 1856.

“A thousand thanks for your kindness.”

But these expressions are too numerous to quote; still, I will give one more because it really testifies to something like friendship.

Writing from Paris, December 11th, 1863, Lord Hertford says:

“I was in hopes that I should have had the pleasure of seeing you in Brussels something like a couple of months ago. There was a goodish portrait by Rubens that I bought. I shall be delighted to show it you some day, and I hope you will like it.”

Certainly Lord Hertford was a great gentleman, one whom it must have been a pleasure to serve.

It is easy to imagine the _sava indignatio_ of Lord Hertford if he could come to life again and see “the prices which people give now for these old affairs.” Money could hardly have been better invested than it was by himself, his father and his grandfather, when they paid what were deemed wild sums for their works of art. Fancy Sir Joshua’s “Nellie O’Brien” being bought by the second Marquess for £64 1s. at the Caleb Whitefoord sale. Think of the third Marquess buying Vandyck’s “Young Italian Nobleman,” a glorious portrait of the Genoese period, for £409 10s. In the second half of the nineteenth century prices went up madly, but, even so, Lord Hertford, when he gave £1,795 10s. for “Mrs. Carnac,” was purchasing gold for silver. Why, the first state of the mezzotint engraving of that picture by J. R. Smith was sold a few years ago, if I remember aright, for eleven hundred guineas. For the “Strawberry Girl” the price paid at the Rogers sale was £2,205. “No man,” said Sir Joshua, “could ever produce more than half a dozen original works, and that is one of mine.”

Lord Hertford was delighted with the acquisition. He wrote to Mawson:

“You have done admirably, and I return you most sincere thanks for your kindness. The ‘Strawberry,’ is dear. I should be sorry to have a large basket at _that_ price; but it seems it is beautiful, and in this affair, as in others, I have completely followed your good advice, and you have added to my collection pictures I have never seen, which shows, more than words can express, the great and friendly confidence I have in you. I am sure I shall be delighted with what you have acquired. I am very sorry your honourable name was not coupled with our ‘Girl’ when she was knocked down. It is not fair that you should not enjoy the little glory of having secured in a gallant manner the gem of this interesting sale, so you are at full liberty to use my name with yours respecting this painting. Was it not an immense price? I don’t regret it at all; on the contrary, I am delighted to have so fine a Sir Joshua, as I am extremely fond of them, and they cannot always be had when wanted.”

Another notable picture bought at the Rogers sale was the “Don Baltasar Carlos in the Riding School,” by Velasquez, for which Mawson paid £1,210 1s. A wonderful bargain at the Stowe sale was Murillo’s “Assumption of the Virgin,” knocked down for £58 16s.

I have no space to go into details, but we can form some idea of the value of these purchases when we see that Lord Hertford bought five of the very finest Sir Joshuas for £7,974 5s. The six finest Rembrandts cost him £5,453 15s.; five of the best Watteaus, £2,037. What superb investments—to speak of no others!

It is something of an anti-climax to find Lord Hertford giving £4,000, and Sir Richard Wallace £2,400, for works by Ary Scheffer. Well might Lord Hertford write to Mawson in 1853: “You know, fancy has a great deal to do with pictures as with anything else.” £1,680—a “_prodigious_ price” for a Velasquez! £4,000—given without hesitation for a picture by that most namby-pamby of artists, Ary Scheffer!

The desire to surround himself with beautiful works of art was one of the crimes laid to the charge of Lord Hertford. He was extravagant, he was selfish. As to the first of these accusations, the prices which he paid were surely no more than what was permissible to a man with an income of nearly a quarter of a million sterling; and, as I have shown, from the mere investor’s point of view the money was well laid out. As for the cry of selfishness, what could be more natural than that a man endowed with the most refined taste and judgment, debarred by health no less than by inclination, from the more active relaxations in which rich men find pleasure—the turf, sport of all kinds, hunting, and, of late years certainly, shooting, should be captivated by the excitement of the auction-rooms. It was in them that he found the pleasures of the chase. He was deprived of much, and it were scurvy treatment to reproach him for what harmed no living being at the time, but has ended by giving joy to millions of his countrymen. The amusement with which he solaced long days and years of physical pain, aching under a complaint which notoriously affects the spirits perhaps more than any other, has borne fruit for which we should be grateful, even though it be only indirectly that we owe it to him. He might fairly have written in his will like Bacon: “For my name and memory, I leave it to men’s charitable speeches and to foreign nations, and to the next age.” We are “the next age”; it behoves us to be not only just but generous. To our shame we have been neither.

There can be very few men now alive who knew Richard Lord Hertford personally. From Lord Esher, who as a youth did know him, I have a letter, which he very kindly allows me to quote, giving more than one of those little intimate touches which lend a spice to narration. But it does more than that. It furnishes direct evidence of the truth of what I have written about the calumnies by which Lord Hertford’s character was poisoned by people for whom his chief crime was that he did not choose to know them. Is it likely, is it even possible, that two ladies in a high position like Lord Esher’s grandmother and mother should have visited him in the Rue Lafitte and in the much-talked-of Bagatelle had those vile slanders been true? The story of Sir Richard Wallace’s birth and upbringing is conclusive.

Let the letter speak for itself.

“Roman Camp, Callander. “March 17th, 1916.

“MY DEAR REDESDALE,

“I remember being taken, by my grandmother, to tea with Richard Marquis of Hertford. He lived at the corner of the Rue Lafitte, and his fine rooms were crowded with objets d’art—although not smothered in _clocks_, as they afterwards became when Wallace and Scott occupied them. Everything was most sumptuous, but I recollect perfectly that when the tea was brought in by a very solemn major-domo, whose long grey whiskers I can see to this day, Lord Hertford went to a beautiful Louis XVI. secrétaire, which he unlocked, and brought out the sugar-basin, which he carefully put away again after tea. (Lord Hertford was a very handsome man, but frail and delicate.) Not long afterwards my mother and I were invited to spend an afternoon at Bagatelle, where Richard Wallace entertained us, as Lord Hertford was engaged—so he sent word—in Paris. The gardens were beautiful—as they still are—but the house was not so full as the Rue Lafitte.

“My grandfather, Colonel Gurwood, who had served through the Peninsular War in the Light Division, was given a captaincy in the 10th Hussars in 1814, and Richard Seymour joined the regiment when he was seventeen years old and ten years’ junior to my grandfather, who became much attached to him. This friendship lasted through life.

“I possess three volumes of bound letters to Colonel Gurwood from Lord Yarmouth, by which name Lord Hertford was know from 1822 to 1842, when he succeeded his father, Francis, the third Marquess of Steyne of ‘Vanity Fair.’

“These letters are interesting, as they contain many references to the collection of bric-à-brac which Lord Yarmouth and Wallace, his secretary, had already commenced to form. Many fine things which belonged to my grandfather, and are now the property of my sister, were purchased by Lord Yarmouth and Wallace or by their advice. In return, my grandfather always bought for Lord Yarmouth his riding and driving horses. He used to send them to Paris, where Lord Yarmouth lived with his mother, Lady Hertford, Maria Fagnani.

“Many times have I heard my grandmother and my mother tell the story of Sir Richard Wallace’s adoption by Lord Hertford. Wallace was the son of Lord Yarmouth by a girl, Agnes Jackson by name, who was a kind of _fille du régiment_ of the 10th Hussars, and young Seymour made a home for her in Paris while the liaison lasted. There Wallace was born, and when Seymour parted from his mistress, the child was placed with a concierge in the Rue de Clichy, where he ran wild under a _porte cochère_ until he was about six years old.

“My grandfather, who had known Agnes Jackson and all about her short-lived liaison with Lord Yarmouth, hunted up the boy, and finding he was a smart child, showed him to Lady Hertford, Maria Fagnani, and induced her to bring him up, much against the inclination of her son.

“There is, and never was, the slightest foundation for the absurd legend that Maria Fagnani was Sir Richard Wallace’s mother, although the writer in the ‘Dictionary of National Biography,’ who cannot possibly know anything of the facts, adopts it.

“One of the reasons sometimes given for assuming that Lord Hertford could not be Wallace’s father was that there was not more than eighteen or nineteen years between their ages. On the other hand, it was overlooked that Maria Fagnani was very nearly, if not quite, fifty years of age when Wallace was born. Anyway, I have no doubt whatever that the facts are as I have stated them.

“They were corroborated, as far as I am concerned, by the evidence of Madame O—— de B——, a lady who for forty years lived on the _deuxième étage_ of the Rue Lafitte and in a beautiful villa, called St. James, close to Bagatelle.

“She was a lady of irreproachable life, and virtue as stern as that of Madame de Maintenon, whom she resembled in many ways. I inherited some of the gifts which she had received from Lord Hertford; among them a fine ‘Garter George,’ which belonged to Prince Charles Edward, and was acquired by Francis, third Marquis, from the collection of Cardinal York.

“It was destined for my grandfather and his children, and Madame O—— fulfilled her obligation.

“I perfectly remember Sir Richard Wallace’s son, whose liaison with a French girl bitterly offended Sir Richard, although, as he was told by the young man when the quarrel was irremediable, he had only followed his father’s example.

“Young Wallace came once or twice to London after 1870. He died of typhoid fever when still a young man. But Wallace would never recognize his son’s children or their mother; the former were amply provided for by Lady Wallace. Madame O—— de B—— had no children of her own, but she showed great kindness to her connections _de la main gauche_. I perfectly remember the advent of Sir John Scott into the Wallace household, and the subsequent course of a lifelong devotion to the interests of his employers that deserved and obtained its reward.

“There is no need to enter into the story of Lady Wallace, a very refined, shy and excellent lady, although the facts were well known to my family.”

“My French relations were intimate with Lord Hertford, Sir Richard Wallace and Sir John Scott, over a period extending from 1817 to Scott’s death.”

“Yours ever,

“ESHER.”

[Illustration: SIR RICHARD WALLACE, BART., K.C.B.

_From a bust in the Wallace Collection._

[_To face p. 192._]

In a further letter to me Lord Esher very justly calls attention to the remarkable likeness between Lord Hertford and Sir Richard Wallace. The busts at Hertford House demonstrate this.

Richard, fourth Marquess of Hertford, who never married, died at Paris on the 25th of August, 1870. His successor in the title, Sir Francis (or, as his familiars called him, “Franco”) Seymour, as was natural, hurried over to Paris, not yet beleaguered by the Prussians, to look after his interests. He was accompanied by his eldest son and his solicitor. The fortune at stake in lands and money was great, but, if the value of the works of art be taken into account, enormous even in these days of plutocratic dominion. The real estate and the personalty, taken together, would have reached a sum “beyond the dreams of avarice;” indeed, by comparison, the boilers and vats of Mr. Thrale would have represented no more than a modest competence.[16]

It must have been a rude shock for the new Lord Hertford when the will was read at Bagatelle after the funeral, and he found that, barring the settled estates, which without the money were almost a white elephant, there was nothing for him. The wealth which had given his two predecessors such power that, in spite of manifest drawbacks, they were propitiated with the Garter, had vanished like Alnaschar’s dream, and he was left with the unredeemed anxieties and responsibilities of a country squire. Equally, it must have been a startling shock for Sir Richard to find that he was the heir to all that wealth.

With the exception of a handsome property which Lord Hertford bequeathed to his cousin, Sir Hamilton Seymour, the famous ex-Ambassador, or rather Minister, to Russia, practically everything was left to the future Sir Richard Wallace.

Sir Richard (I call him “Sir” for convenience’ sake, though he was not created a baronet until the following year) lost no time in turning his newly-acquired wealth to good account. He was one of the most generous men that ever lived. Bravely he stood by Paris and the French in their troubles, started ambulances, founded the Hertford Hospital for poor Englishmen, and set money flowing like water in aid of all sufferers by the war. His charities in France were boundless, and continued throughout his life, and indeed beyond it. But he felt it his duty to come to England, and for thirteen years represented Lisburn in Parliament—Lisburn, which he made the headquarters of his vast Irish domain.

In recognition of the great services which he had rendered to the English in Paris during the siege he was created a baronet in 1871, when he married a French lady, Mademoiselle Castelnau, with whom he had lived for many years, and by whom he had one son who was an officer in the French Army. That son, now long since dead, was the great sorrow of Sir Richard’s life. The breach between them was irreparable, and it made the father miserable. He told a friend of mine, an Italian gentleman, who was breakfasting with him one day and found him in a state of utter dejection, how it irked him that people should look upon him as one of the happiest of men, when in truth he was the most wretched. The sympathy of a good son was the solitary thing wanting, and that he never had.