CHAPTER IV.
WALLS END CASTLE.
Walls End Castle was the seat of John, Earl of Pit Town. It had come into the family through the marriage of a former earl with the heiress of the great Chudleigh family. It was one of England's show places. The great park which surrounded it was one of the most celebrated in all England, celebrated alike for its size and its beauty. The entry to the park was never denied to artists; and they, their easels, and their umbrellas, might be seen at the various well-known "bits" all through the summer and autumn. The boys of the Elizabethan Grammar School had also the privilege of roaming in the park; and time had been when the people of the neighbouring town and the public generally were admitted; but excursionists had arrived in crowds, they had destroyed the poetry of the place with pieces of greasy newspaper, broken bottles, ham bones, and the remains of their Homeric banquets. They had shouted and whistled in the great picture galleries, they had written their names upon the window panes, they had committed all the innumerable offences that such people do commit; but the final straw which determined the present earl to exclude them, was their having played at the game of Kiss-in-the-ring, one Whit-Monday, directly under the windows of the noble owner. After that memorable day, Lord Pit Town kept his castle and his park to himself.
His lordship during the earlier part of his reign never came near Walls End Castle. The widowed earl travelled continuously in Southern Europe. He travelled, and he collected pictures, statuary, gems, plate, china—nothing came amiss to him . But John, Earl of Pit Town, was wise in his generation; he remembered that "if you sup with the devil, it is best to use a long spoon." He never purchased without an expert's aid; consequently the immense collection he had gradually accumulated was free from rubbish. Nothing doubtful or "reputed" ever arrived in the huge packing-cases consigned to Walls End Castle. For years his lordship was seldom seen in London, the great house in Grosvenor Square was never opened. When Lord Pit Town was in England, he stayed at Long's Hotel. Friends he had none; his doctor and his courier were the people who saw most of him. But as years rolled on his lordship grew tired of travel, his well-known figure, in the short blue cloak and velvet collar, was seen no more in the great picture galleries of Europe. Lord Pit Town now commenced the work of his life, the building of the new galleries at Walls End Castle. Winter and summer the little old man, for he was over sixty now, might be seen in the blue cloak, inspecting the growth of the vast galleries with a critical eye. Emilius Wolff, his German architect, was his constant companion. The great Mr. Buskin paid him a yearly visit; on these occasions Dr. Wolff (for Wolff was a doctor of philosophy) joined his lordship and the great art-critic at dinner. At length the great Pit Town collection was housed as it deserved to be. Its principal feature was the picture gallery. This was a vast building of classical design, resembling a Grecian temple. Dr. Wolff was a Berliner, and the tradition of Berlin is that a picture gallery should resemble a Greek temple. The vast galleries were probably among the best in Europe. They were lighted and heated to perfection. But the great galleries had one peculiarity; at irregular intervals along the wall were blank spaces of varying size; in the centre of each space was a label in his lordship's own writing: on these labels were inscribed the names of various great painters. It was now the only business of the Earl of Pit Town to gradually fill these spaces, each with a representative masterpiece of the artist indicated. Possibly John, Earl of Pit Town, notwithstanding his boundless wealth, could hardly hope to complete such a work in his own lifetime. The great Mr. Abrahams had an unlimited commission to secure at any price, a long list of great works. There was but one condition attached, any purchase must be above suspicion. But even the great Mr. Abrahams, on one notable occasion at least, had been deceived. A new acquisition, purchased from the collection of a wealthy amateur in the Rue Drouot, had arrived at Walls End Castle. A furious controversy concerning this picture had arisen among art critics. Herr Vandenbossche had defended the authenticity of the work, but old Mr. Creeps had demolished him in an exhaustive article in the Friday Review. Old Mr. Creeps was considerably astonished at receiving an almost affectionate letter from Lord Pit Town. His lordship thanked him for the article, and requested what he termed "the exceeding great pleasure of receiving you here;" the letter was dated from Walls End Castle. Old Mr. Creeps accepted the invitation for a couple of days. On his arrival at the local railway station he was met by his lordship in person. Lord Pit Town, one of the proudest and most exclusive of men, treated old Mr. Creeps with marked deference. At dinner, at which John Buskin and Dr. Wolff were present, conversation ran purely upon art matters. Old Mr. Creeps, the critic, had never enjoyed himself so much; the sitting was prolonged till the small hours. Next day, at noon, the council of four sat in solemn conclave upon Lord Pit Town's latest purchase. Old Mr. Creeps triumphantly proved his case. Lord Pit Town looked at Mr. Buskin. Mr. Buskin nodded. "Well, Wolff?" remarked his lordship.
"It is onhappy, most onhappy," replied the doctor of philosophy, "but I fear it is drue, too drue."
"What will your lordship do with it?" said old Mr. Creeps.
"You shall see," replied that eminent collector with a smile, as he advanced to the easel on which the doubtful picture stood. His lordship opened his penknife, carefully and quietly he cut the canvas out of the frame, he folded it in half; again he cut it, as though he were cutting up a sheet of brown paper; he repeated the process several times, then, handing the pieces to the German, he merely remarked, "Oblige me by burning these, Wolff."
"They shall make a vamous blaze," said the philosopher, as he left the room to carry out the sentence.
"Would that all collectors could afford to do the same, Lord Pit Town," remarked John Buskin with a sigh.