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.