A Certain Magic

Because of their provenance or associations, some things have a certain magic about them. One thing that I always think this about is a certain snuff box that was amongst the property that was sold by auction as "The Property of A Gentleman Gone Abroad", following Beau Brummell's flight in 1816. It had been a special commission and, inside was a note to the effect that it had been made for the Prince Regent, who would have received it, had his conduct towards Brummell been different. I wonder what happened to it? It would, with the note intact, probably be worth a fortune now; being such a strong link with a legend and a celebrated enmity ("Who's your fat friend?" and so forth). I would have a similar regard for Brummell's brown umbrella, with a handle fashioned in the form of the Prince Regent's head, which accompanied him into exile.

Another item of a similar kind, for me, is Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch's pen, which he mentioned once had been the pen with which he had taken his degree and been awarded a second class rather than a first class. He decided then that he would make good with it at last, and everything that he later wrote he wrote with that pen, which became patched and mended over the years. I saw this once on display in Fowey Museum, a battered and insignificant looking little thing, until you realize what it is and think to yourself that, even if they let you, you wouldn't really want to touch it.

Then, of course, there are the familiar props left to us by those that we have loved; watches, cufflinks, pins, pens, rings, books; losing any of which leaves us with a sense of wretchedness.

The photograph, taken by Kenneth Lim, is of the Brummell statue in Jermyn Street, by Irena Sedlecka.