Duke of Wellington – Page 20 – Number One London

The Wellington Connection: The Koh-i-noor Diamond

The Koh-I-Noor diamond on view at the Great Exhibition

From Harper’s Magazine, Volume 32

The great diamonds of the world are as famous as the great mountains or rivers. Who has not read of the Koh-i-noor, the “Mountain of Light,” which has been stolen from sovereign by sovereign for near a thousand years, its last proprietor—by title, at least, semi-felonious—being her Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria? Every body knows that the Koh-inoor first belonged to the god Krischnu. From him—poor, helpless god!—it was stolen by a wild Delhi chief, who wore it in his hat; from him by Ala-ed-Din ; from him, in 1526,-by Baber of the Moguls. To Aurnnzebe it occurred that the Koh-i-noor, like other diamonds, would be the better for some polishing and cutting. Unhappily, the diamond-cutter who received it in charge was unskillful. From 793 carats the blockhead cut it down to 186. Aurunzebe was for cutting him down on the same scale, beginning with his head; and really, in the interest of art, one can not but deplore the fellow’s escape. It should have weighed at least 400 carats, and been worth $500,000,000. As it is, it would not fetch more than the value of a couple of stout cities. A mere pebble. Nadir Shah stole it when his turn came; from his descendants it was wrenched by Achmet Shah; from his son it was extorted by Runjeet Singh ; and from his people it was ” conveyed” by British troops, who loyally presented it to their Queen, who showed it to her people at the Great Exhibition of 1851. Her Majesty was not satisfied with its brilliancy, and had it cut again, this time by the great diamond-cutter, Costar, of Amsterdam, who reduced it to 106 carats.

The cutting marked an epoch. Costar and his men came over from Amsterdam for the purpose, and were installed at the Queen’s jeweler’s work-shop. A steam-engine was erected to do the work, and it was the Duke of Wellington himself who set the machinery in motion, and made the first cut. All England, through representatives in the press, was a breathless spectator of the thrilling scene. A single slip of the cutter’s hand might have done a mischief not to be measured save by hundreds of thousands of pounds. A moment’s inattention might have cost a million. Happily the operators’ nerves were steady, and their thoughts concentrated on their work, so that no accident occurred. Long and loud were the controversies, to which the cutting gave rise—one party claiming that these Dutch Jews were ruining the finest jewel in England, others maintaining that without a new cutting the Koh-i-noor was comparatively valueless.

Whichever was right, Costar carried his point, and connoisseurs and the trade are now generally agreed that the cutting was beneficial. It is now a perfect brilliant, with duly proportioned table, facets, and culet. Its previous shape . . . was irregular—neither rose nor brilliant.

The stone was soon after mounted in a brooch which Queen Victoria often wore and, after her death, it was set in Queen Alexandra’s crown. It was afterwards used in the crown of Queen Mary and, today, appears in the crown of Queen Elizabeth II, as seen above.

The Wellington Connection: Theme Parks

There are plans afoot to build “Napoleonland” in France. And, no, before you ask . . . I’m not kidding.

Funding is as yet unsecured, but preliminary plans are for the theme park to be built at the site where Napoleon defeated the Austrians in the Battle of Montereau in 1814 in Montereau-Fault-Yonne just south of Paris. The six-day battle was the nation’s last military victory over the Austrians.

Having apparently not gotten the memo telling the organizers of the park that Napoleon lost at Waterloo, they plan to re-create the Battle of Waterloo on a daily basis and visitors may even be able to take part in the reenactments. They will also be able to take in a water show recreating the Battle of Trafalgar, a la the entertainments once staged at London’s Vauxhall Gardens.

A museum, a hotel, shops, restaurants and a congress are all expected to be built at the theme park. French politician Yves Jego, who is backing the project, hopes that construction work can get underway in 2014 and that the park will open its doors in 2017. One has to assume that Jego will not be seeking re-election, as things go from bad to worse in the bad taste department with further plans to include a re-creation of the killing of Louis XVI, France’s last King, who died after being guillotined during the Revolution and. . . . . . . yet another attraction which will allow visitors to ski around the bodies of soldiers and horses frozen on the battlefield.

Why are there no plans to build Artie World instead?

The Wellington Connection: War Horse

I went to see War Horse in the movies recently and got a few surprises. Firstly, I was under the impression that no one recognizable was in the cast. Imagine my surprise when I saw Benedict Cumberbatch on screen as Major Jamie Stewart who, by the way, is the antithesis of the Duke of Wellington as far as military strategy is concerned.

Tom Hiddleston, who first came to my notice in the 2001 version of Nicholas Nickleby, played Captain Nicholls in War Horse. He is the officer who first takes possession of Joey, or the War Horse, when he’s intially sold to the Army. He vows to keep the horse safe and to return him at the end of the war.

Worth an honourable mention is Eddie Marsan as Sgt. Fry.

Another surprising thing about War Horse – I found myself crying at odd moments when no one else did. My first tear was shed at the opening when they showed wide shots of the hedgerows and fields of the English countryside. Next, I choked up when I saw the village in the scene where Joey is led away with the Army.

It was so iconically English. Turns out that the scene was shot in Water Street, Castle Combe, Wiltshire, below.

Then there was the scene where Cumberbatch and Hiddleston race for the gold ring during a practice charge. The entire regiment draws their swords and gallops forward, the ground thundering beneath them as thousands of hooves tear up the turf. It was so reminiscent of Waterloo that I couldn’t help tearing up. Not that I was actually at Waterloo, mind you. Well, I was at Waterloo, but not during the battle. Well, okay, I was at Waterloo during a battle, but not during the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

And then Benedict Cumberbatch, as Major Stewart, leads the regiment in their first battle charge in France, telling his men that their initial charge must at all costs be decisive, as it was at Waterloo, et al. And then, they begin their charge in a field of wheat, a la Waterloo.

Oh, the humanity! As I choked out a sob, my husband said, “What are you crying for? Nothing’s happened yet.” Little did he know that it had happened. In 1815. In Belgium. In my mind. But the Wellington Connection was other than simply in my mind – it turns out that portions of War Horse were actually filmed at the Duke of Welllington’s country home, Stratfield Saye, a fact pointed out to me by Jo Manning, who apparently sat through all the credits and noted that the producers thanked Lord and Lady Douro for their cooperation in filming. Wikipedia tells us that “Filming of War Horse began with the cavalry scenes being filmed at Stratfield Saye House in north Hampshire, the estate of the Duke of Wellington, where incidentally Wellington’s war horse “Copenhagen” is buried. Here a cavalry charge involving 130 extras was filmed.”

So, there you have the Wellington Connection. For anything and everything else about War Horse, check Wikipedia here.

Coutts Bank, a London Institution

Victoria, here, dreaming about my weeks in England last spring. Here are my photos of Coutts Bank, The Strand, London, taken in June 2011. The bank’s website is here.

It looks like an important place, though the architecture is about as 1970’s Mundane as one could imagine. The only reason I actually noticed it was that I was often across the street, sitting in McDonald’s where I could use their free wi-fi to power my iPad.* I was particularly amused that this great London institution, the bank that holds accounts for Her Majesty the Queen, had a glass curtain wall that clearly reflected that notable American institution on the other side!

[*Why is is that really inexpensive hotels have free wi-fi service while the better establishments charge outrageous amounts for the same thing? ]

As I walked closer to get this picture of the reflection of McDonald’s, I think that guard inside picked up the phone to call for assistance to deal with the clearly deranged photographer on the pavement! I didn’t wait around to see what happened! I’ll bet the bank’s directors did not consider what might happen to the glass during major demonstrations moving towards the adjacent Trafalgar Square. You can clearly see the McDonald’s sign reflected above and to the right of his head.

So, fully knowing I was edging into Wellington Connection territory, I decided to see what more I could learn about Coutts Bank. Angela Coutts (1814-1906) was a dear friend of the 1st Duke of Wellington, one of those younger women so attracted to the Great Hero (*like many of us???). But there must be much more. The bank’s website has a nice timeline and lots of information, but other than the widely known fact that QEII banks there, the list of clients is a well-protected secret.

It is said that checks written by (for?) the Queen are often saved as souvenirs, making it difficult to balance her accounts.

Here is an account of a famous period in the existence of the bank, excerpted from Tales of the Bank of England, with anecdotes of London bankers, an anonymous book from 1882:

“The house of Coutts & Co. has a very interesting history. A very great banking heiress is the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, whose recent marriage with Mr. Ashmead Coutts-Bartlett excited so much attention. The kindly and popular Baroness is—or was until recently—the head of the great banking firm of Coutts & Co., and was popularly supposed to draw a hundred thousand a year from the business. Mr. Coutts married, for his second wife, Miss Mellon, the actress, to whom he left his entire fortune—about a million of money. Mrs. Coutts, left a widow, married the Duke of St. Albans; but, in her marriage settlement, this vast fortune was left entirely in her own power. She thought that she would best carry out the wishes of her husband, who had made the money, by bequeathing it to his favourite granddaughter, Miss Angela Burdett, the daughter of the famous Sir Francis. An infinite amount of this money “has wandered Heaven-directed, to the poor.” Child’s Bank was once represented by a lady, who became Countess of Westmoreland, and afterwards by her daughter, who became Countess of Jersey. On certain state occasions Lady Jersey dined with the bank officials, and took the head of the table.

The history of Coutt’s Bank shows how much may be done by a discriminating liberality. Old Coutts heard, one day at a dinner-party, from the manager of a city bank, that a nobleman had applied to his house for the loan of thirty thousand pounds, and had been refused. At ten o’clock at night he started for the peer’s house, and saw his steward. He explained his business, and said that if the nobleman would call upon him the next morning, he might have whatever he wanted. On the next morning, when the noble lord called at the bank, Mr. Coutts handed him thirty notes of a thousand pounds each. “What security do you want?” asked the peer. “I shall be satisfied with your note-of hand,” was the reply. This was given; and the nobleman said, ” I shall only want for the present ten thousand pounds of the money; so I will leave twenty thousand pounds with you, and open an account.” Some time afterwards the nobleman sold an estate for two hundred thousand pounds, which he deposited with Coutts’s. Nor was this all. He told the anecdote to his friends, and also to George III. The King was so impressed with the story that he himself deposited a large sum with Mr. Coutts. The King withdrew his patronage, however, when Coutts supported Sir Francis Burdett in his contest for Middlesex with immense sums, and transferred his account to another banker, who failed; and we cannot help thinking that in this instance his Majesty was served quite right.”

Angela Burdett-Coutts, portrait by an unknown artist, from the National Portra
it Gallery

Another old excerpt about the bank appears in Walter Thornbury’s 1865 volume Haunted London (this obviously refers to the old headquarters of the bank on The Strand, not the present building pictured above):

“No. 59 is Coutts’s Bank. It was built by the Adam brothers—to whom we are indebted for the Adelphi—for Mr. Coutts, in 1768. The old house of the firm, of the date of Queen Anne, was situated in St. Martin’s-lane. No. 59 contains some fine marble chimney-pieces of the Cipriani and Bacon school. The dining-room is hung with quaint Chinese subjects on paper, sent to Coutts by Lord Macartney, while on his embassy to China, in 1792-95. In another room hang portraits of some early friends of this son of Mammon, including Dr. Armstrong, the poet and physician, Fuseli’s friend, by Reynolds. Mr. Coutts was the son of a Dundee merchant. His first wife was a servant, a Lancashire labourer’s offspring. He had three daughters, one of whom became the wife of Sir Francis Burdett, a second Countess of Guilford, and a third Marchioness of Bute. On becoming acquainted with Miss Mellon, and inducing her to leave the stage to avoid perpetual insults, Mr. Coutts bought for her a small villa of Sir W. Vane Tempest, called Holly Lodge, at the foot of Highgate Hill, for which he gave 25,000/. His banking-house strong rooms alone cost 10,000/. building. The first deposit in the enlarged house was the diamond aigrette that the Grand Signor had placed in Sir Horatio Nelson’s hat. Mr. Coutts, though very charitable, was precise and exact. On one occasion, there being a deficit of 2s. li)d. in the day’s accounts, the clerks were detained for hours, or, as I believe, all night. One of Coutts’s clerks, who took the western walk, was discovered to be missing with 17,000/.* Rewards were offered, and the town placarded, but all in vain. The next day, however, the note-case arrived from Southampton. The clerk’s story was, that on his way through Piccadilly, being seized with a stupor, he had got into a coach in order to secure the money. He had remained insensible the whole journey, and had awoke at Southampton. Mr. Coutts gave him a handsome sum from his private purse, but dismissed him.

Coutts’s Bank stands on nearly the centre of the site of the New Exchange. When the Adelphi was built in Durham Gardens, Mr. Coutts purchased a vista to prevent his view being interrupted, stipulating that the new street leading to the entrance should face this opening; and on this space, up to the level of the Strand, he built his strong rooms. Some years after, wishing to enlarge them, he erected over the office a counting-house and set of offices, extending from William-street to Robert-street, and threw a stone bridge over William-street to connect the front and back premises.

Mr. Coutts, a few years before his death, married Harriet Mellon, who, after his death, became the wife of the Duke of St. Albans, a descendant of Nell Gwynn, that light-hearted wanton, whom nobody could hate. “Miss Mellon,” says Leigh Hunt, “was arch and agreeable on the stage; she had no genius; but then she had fine eyes and a goodhumoured mouth.” The same gay writer describes her when young as bustling about at sea-ports, selling tickets for her benefit-night; but then, says the kindly apologist for everybody, she had been left with a mother to support.”

I wish that old building was still the headquarters. And I suspect that you will hear more about Angela Burdett-Coutts in this space in the future.

In 1969 Coutt’s Bank, with origins in the late 17th century, was bought by National Westminster Bank (NatWest), and in 2000, NatWest was purchased by the Royal Bank of Scotland. Coutt’s is now the wealth division of the conglomerate, engaged in private banking, with branches and offices worldwide. To become their client, I assume you would have to rob your piggy bank. And a few others as well.

The Strand, c. 1824

The Wellington Connection: Mistaken Identity

From: Three Years With the Duke, or Wellington in Private Life (1853) by Lord William Pitt Lennox (younger son of the Duke of Richmond)

The theatre in the Park (in Brussels 1814) was opened, under the management of Mr. Penley, with a company of English players. The comedy of John Bull was the first performance, and attracted a most crowded and fashionable audience. Throughout the day, it had been hinted at the box-office, that the Duke of Wellington would probably attend the evening’s performance, and a private box had been kept back under this hope. The Duke’s avocations, however, prevented his making his appearance upon this occasion, as he had already informed the manager, when asked to patronise the play. This nearly led to a ludicrous mistake—a young officer and myself had been dining in company with the Duke, and, with that good-nature and consideration for which he was famed, he gave us permission to attend the theatre, telling us we might take his carriage after it had set him down. Upon reaching the Park, the carriage was recognised, and a crowd immediately followed it. As we gained the entrance of the theatre, the name of Wellington rent the air. This was communicated to the manager, who thrust his head out from behind the curtain, to give a signal to the leader of the band to play, “See the conquering hero comes!” The report spread like wildfire. The performances ceased—all eyes were anxiously fixed on the vacant box.

In the meantime, we had jumped out of the carriage, had tendered our money, and were surprised at the obsequiousness of the box-keeper, who, thinking we were the precursers of the Duke, begged us to walk into the lobby. The manager, or some official personage, had rushed into the private box to prepare the seats, and there awaited the welcome visiter. We now began to see the mistake that we had unwittingly caused; and, anxious to explain it, we approached the now open box-door. No sooner were our uniforms visible, than the band struck up the heart-stirring melody. In vain did we try to correct the error: the audience had risen, en masse; shouts re-echoed throughout the house; the curtain was drawn up, and the company came forward to sing the national song of “God save the King:” but no Duke of Wellington appeared.

For some minutes the cheers continued, when at length it was announced from the stage, that a slight mistake had occurred— that the avocations of the noble Duke had prevented his attendance; and, after the excitement had a little subsided, my young friend and myself sneaked quietly into the box, placing ourselves behind the curtain, fearful of calling the attention of the public to two mere urchins, who so unintentionally had nearly received the honours due to their chief.