Category: Duke of Wellington

22nd Wellington Lecture – October 27th 2010

Imagining Wellington: From “Punch” to Pantheon

Southampton University, which holds the Wellington Papers in their collections, is hosting the 22nd Wellington Lecture with Dr. David Howarth on October 27th.  Established in 1989, from an endowment from the Spanish Ambassador, the Wellington Lecture is given each year on aspects of the life and times of the first Duke of Wellington.
Over the years, the University of Southampton has welcomed a host of distinguished speakers to present the lecture. This year they’ve selected Dr David Howarth, Head of History of Art at the University of Edinburgh, who will present his lecture entitled ‘Imagining Wellington: From “Punch” to Pantheon.’

Refreshments will be served from 5:30 p.m. before the lecture begins at 6:00pm. This event is open to the public and free to attend. More information is available here.
Dr. Howarth’s first book was a study of the pioneer collector in England, Thomas Howard, 2nd Earl of Arundel (1585-1646): Lord Arundel and his Circle (Yale, 1985), published in conjunction with an exhibition on Arundel held at the Ashmolean Museum Oxford which Howarth co-curated with Nicholas Penny: Howarth’s Images of Rule (London and Berkeley, 1997), provided an overview of the relationship of art and politics in early modern Britain and it has become established as a standard work on the cultural history of Renaissance Britain. Complemntary to this publication was his editorship of Art and Patronage in Caroline England. More recently, Howarth has specialized in cultural relations between Great Britain and Iberia. Following the publication of his book, The Invention of Spain, he was Chief Guest Curator for the National Galleries of Scotland Edinburgh Festival exhibition for 2009, The Discovery of Spain. He is currently writing a biography of Rubens, commissioned by Oxford University Press.
There is no shortage of caricatures featuring the Duke of Wellington. Below are just a sampling of the prints that were published during his lifetime.

In an interesting side note – and one redolent of 18th and 19th century aristocratic eccentricity – Sir Edward Du Cann, an MP and former Conservative Party chairman, has the largest privately owned collection of Wellington caricatures known to exist and has pulished a book on the subject.
The book blurb states that: “From his collection of more than 230 caricatures of the great Duke of Wellington, Sir Edward has selected 105 for publication. He has written a short introductory piece regarding the significance of caricature as a reflectionof popular opinion at the time of Wellington’s entry into domestic politics after his return to England from the Continent following his defeatof the tyrant Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo. This was the golden age of English caricature and the selection includes examples of the work of Cruikshank, John Doyle, W. Heath, Sharpshooter and others,including some in the collection which are not listed in the British Museum catalogue. There has been no previous publication of caricatures of the Duke of Wellington on this scale. Thus as a popular viewpoint of the history of the times, the book offers a unique account. Each caricature is accompanied by a short note about the artist and publisher.”
But back to the subject of aristocratic finances – it seems that Sir Edward has had on again, off again fiscal troubles since the 1980’s. His bad debts were even aired in the House of Commons. In April 1989, Dale Campbell-Savours, the Labour MP for Workington, tabled an Early Day Motion asking the House to note a summons against Sir Edward by a London firm of lawyers, Boodle Hatfield.The motion said that clients of Boodle Hatfield had received a cheque for pounds 25,000 from Sir Edward which had bounced. The debt was later settled. Later that decade, Sir Edward, whose home is at 15th-century home, Cothay Manor, faced bankruptcy and the loss of his nearby property, Tremlett Hall Farm, which surrounds the hamlet of Greenham on the Somerset-Devon border. As well as the farmhouse there is a bungalow and a staff cottage in the village. The buildings are considered exceptional for a farm of its size. Sir Edward attempted to buy the property back from the bank. At the time, Lady du Cann said the publicity surrounding the debts was obscuring the great deal of good work her husband had done – ‘This whole thing is becoming absurd. Look in Who’s Who and see what he has achieved. There is masses of it.’

Cothay Manor
She felt that difficulties over debts were a normal part of business life. ‘If you are in business then you are going to have arguments with people,’ she said. ‘An awful lot of what is published is wrong, but he ignores it.
‘We have had difficulties with Tremlett Farm because somebody has been foul with us and not paid up. There is a knock-on effect. My husband is a private person. He is not an MP or the chairman of any company and he has retired. He is nearly 70 and I really think enough is enough.’
Let us hope that Sir Edward’s passion for collecting Wellington caricatures is not at the heart of his financial troubles, although I for one can well understand the temptation.
For more the subject of Wellington and caricature, I recommend The Duke of Wellington and His Political Career After Waterloo – A Caricaturist’s View by Edward Du Cann and The Duke of Wellington in Caricature by John Physick.

The Wellington Connection – The Battle of Hastings

Oh, dear. The historians at the town of Hastings made a major blunder in their PR copy in 2008, when the Battle Town Map and Guide, a brief introduction to the East Sussex town, described how the Duke of Wellington crossed the Channel in preparation for the famous showdown at Hastings – which took place on 14 October 1066. Apparently, no one caught the error and the guides were widely distributed. The irony continues in a Daily Mail article covering the mistake, which makes a blunder of its own, calling Wellington a “18th century commander.” While he may have been born in the 18th century, most of Wellington’s victories occurred in the 19th century.

For an entirely irreverant and often profane (warning!) take on the (real) accomplishments of the Duke of Wellington, check out this entry on a site which named the Duke Badass of the Week and applauds Wellington’s “asskickery.” Here’s just a sample: “Once again, it was up to Wellesley to kick more balls than Manchester United. At the battle of Assaye in 1803, Wellesley’s small force of about 7,000 soldiers launched an unexpected surprise assault on an Indian force numbering over 40,000 men, and somehow managed to drive them from the field and capture 98 of their cannons. This is pretty goddamned impressive, considering that the British only brought 20 artillery pieces to the battlefield that day, but it’s all in a day’s work for this hardcore badass. The British marched on, crushed the Indians, and Wellesley returned to England as a conquering awesome war hero. When he got home, Wellesley went to the home of Kitty Pakenham, pimp-slapped her brother until he was unconscious, and asked her to marry him. She pretty much tore her dress off right on the spot.”

Hatfield, a Prodigy House in Hertfordshire

Victoria here, peeking into another great country house, this one the home of the Cecil family, the Marquesses of Salisbury, Hatfield House. 

When I took the course on English Country Houses at Worcester College, Oxford University, our don, Geoffrey Tyack, took us to a number of historically significant houses, beginning with medieval manors and carrying into the Tudor houses, the most lavish of which are known as Prodigy Houses. These were the estates acquired by the “new” men who served the crown because of their intelligence,  education, and ability rather than by familial ties and nepotism. Once these “new” men got into positions of power, however, they did all they could to advance the interests of their families, particularly at court. One part of this quest was to have a large, profitable and magnificent estate at which to entertain, impress, and achieve strategic partnerships, whether by friendship, marriage or intrigue.  These houses, naturally, had to be large and luxurious enough to accommodate both royalty and its entourage.

One of the most important of the men who served Elizabeth I was William Cecil, Lord Burghley (1520-1598), who was Lord High Treasurer. He built Burghley House (above) between 1555 and 1587 in a more-than-grand scale. His eldest son, 1st Earl of Exeter, carried on the family at Burghley.
Robert Cecil (1563-1612), a younger son of Lord Burghley, made his own way in the world and did a bang-up job of it, becoming a chief minister to Elizabeth I and Lord Treasurer to her successor, James I. As Professor Tyack has written, Robert Cecil “also inherited his father’s taste for magnificent building.”

Robert Cecil was made the 1st Earl of Salisbury and took over, by exchange with the King for another house called Theobalds, the estate at Hatfield. The Old Palace there, above and right, had been the childhood home of Elizabeth I. The building you see in the pictures was only part of the huge complex, most of which the Earl demolished. The Old Palace now serves as a tourist attraction and a venue for meetings, conferences, banquets and weddings.

Lord Salisbury created for himself the foremost example of Jacobean architecture in Britain. Carpenter and Surveyor (the profession of architect was barely in its infancy) Robert Lyminge laid out the house to the earl’s preferences, incorporating familiar Tudor features (e.g. the capped cupolas at the corners and the oriel windows), and newer styles such as the classical loggia on the south front.

Entering the Marble Hall, I could see that the 1st Earl had indeed achieved his goal of creating a gathering place of incomparable and extravagant richness. It could not fail to impress friends or enemies, retainers or royalty. The ceiling is original though enhanced in the Victorian era with more colorful paintings. Tapestries from Brussels cover the walls, illustrating stories from mythology. This room has always been used for entertaining whether banquets, balls or masques.

Left is the rainbow portrait of Elizabeth I, which contains the motto Non sine sole iris, translated as “no rainbow without the sun.” The anonymous painter was heavily into flattery, one imagines. The portrait hangs in the Marble Hall, where no visitor could mistake its significance.


The Grand Staircase is a fine example of Jacobean wood-carving expertise. Finished in 1611, it includes gates at the bottom step to keep the dogs from lounging around in the state rooms upstairs. One of the figures carved into a newel post is John Tradescant (c.1570-1638), the great plant collector on behalf of Robert Cecil and his new garden. Tradescant brought back from his world travels many fruit trees, vines, seeds and bulbs, greatly expanding the scope of English gardening, all of which enhanced his employer’s prestige.

On the first floor (what we in the U.S. would call the second floor), the magnificent State rooms are divided into two apartments, one each for the king and queen. In King James’s Drawing Room a life size statue of the king stands above the fireplace. The walls are hung with old master paintings.
Long galleries were required in all Jacobean houses but few are as splendid as this one, with its fine cabinetry holding treasured gemstones and its gilded ceiling. Two gigantic fireplaces heated the gallery, where one could enjoy a morning stroll without combating the elements.

Many more rooms are open to the public, including a chapel with fine old stained glass, some of it more than 400 years old.

The house is much the same today as it was when first built, though one wing was destroyed by fire in 1835, taking the life of the first Marchioness of Salisbury, nee Emily Mary Hill, then age 85. The dowager, as she was known, was writing by candlelight, it was said, and her hair caught fire, eventually engulfing the entire west wing of the house.  Emily (1750-1835), wife of the first Marquess, portrayed here by Sir Joshua Reynolds about 1780, was a famed Tory political hostess and sportswoman.

Her son, James, the 2nd Marquess, married Frances Mary (1802-1839), known as the Gascoyne Heiress, and changed the family name to Gascoyne-Cecil. The story of Frances, often known as Fanny, is told in the book The Gascoyne Heiress: the Life and Diaries of Frances Mary Gascoyne-Cecil by Carola Oman, published in1968 by Hodder & Stoughton in London. These diaries are full of exciting political news, for Fanny became a close confidante of the Duke of Wellington, who had long been a family friend. Hatfield House is home to much Wellington memorabilia; both with her husband and children or solo, Fanny often visited Wellington, listened to his every word and recorded most of them for posterity.
This black and white reproduction of Fanny’s portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence does not do justice to her charm.

Like many country houses, Hatfield is also a business enterprise. Many events takes place here and no doubt you have caught a glimpse of the house or garden in one of the doszens of movies which shot scenes on the premises, such as Shakespeare in Love (1998), The Importance of Being Earnest (2002), or The Golden Age (2006).

The current dowager marchioness is well-known as a gardener, though she claims to be entirely an amateur. Not only did she redo entirely the gardens at Hatfield, she also has designed gardens for many others, including the Prince of Wales at Highgrove.  She has been associated with a number of books on gardening, though she no longer lives at Hatfield.

I took so many pictures in the Hatfield Garden that I could almost do a book myself. But have you ever come home and realized that your pictures completely failed to capture the essence of the subject matter? Below is a shot of a rose against the brick of the Old Palace followed by some lovely wisteria blossoms. Somehow it was all so much more beautiful on site!

                              Finally, an aerial view of Hatfield House.

Our Time With the Duke of Wellington

As I mentioned in a previous post, I purchased a rather large hand colored engraving of the Duke of Wellington at Storey’s in London and had it shipped home. A bit later, Victoria found a smaller version of the exact same print at Gray’s Antiques Market, which enabled us from then on to complete the rest of our Wellington tour with Wellington.

I must say, Victoria and I found the Duke to be everything we’d ever imagined – and more.

After first meeting up with him, the Duke took Victoria, Brooke and myself for a drink at The Golden Lion pub, St. James’s. Who knew he was such a two fisted drinker!? And the stories he told us . . . he is funny. There was one anecdote the Duke told us about Prinny that involved a dwarf and a footman. That Prinny – what a card! I’d relate the story to you here, but Victoria feels it’s a bit too racy for public consumption.
Afterwards, the Duke took us to dinner on St. James’s Street, at an upscale venue called  Just St. James. Of course, we were given a window table with views over the Street when the hostess realized that we were with the Duke of Wellington. However, on the way down the Street towards the restaurant we had passed a venerable building with a uniformed doorman out front. Victoria stopped before him and asked, “What is this building?” Well, honest to Betsy, the man refused to answer. He just looked at us with the tiniest of smiles and kept mum.

Then, Victoria asked, “It’s Boodle’s Club, isn’t it?”
Reluctantly, the man answered, “Yes, madam, it is.”
“Ha! I knew it,” said Victoria, taking the smallest step closer to the man. “Can we come in?”
“Certainly not!”
“Well,” Victoria allowed, “it was worth a shot.”
Of course, we could have pulled out the Duke of Wellington and gained admittance, but we decided to keep him in our back pocket, so to speak.
His Grace insisted upon we ladies ordering dessert and, though we demured, we did eventually order a gorgeous cheese plate and fresh English strawberries and cream. And an Irish coffee. And a glass of port.
The Duke also escorted us to many of the lovely garden squares we visited, and to the Lansdowne Club for cocktails.
We made a visit to Horse Guards, where the Duke was pleased to find that everything was still ship shape and Bristol fashion. And from there we went to the Grenadier Pub, where we three hoisted a few pints.
We asked the Duke about the mounting block outside the pub, purported to have been his. “Rubbish!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never needed the aid of a mounting block to mount my horse and still less a paltry sort of mounting block like that one!”
 
His Grace grew a tad sentimental at seeing Windsor again, what with it’s connections to Queen Victoria. When we asked the Duke if he also remembered George IV with fondness, he replied, “Not so much.”
Though he was the most charming of companions, I must say the Duke was chomping at the bit to get back to his old stomping grounds in Brussels.

The Duke (with description and price tag intact) arrives in Brussels.
The Duke visits the British Monument to those who fell at Waterloo at a cemetary in Brussels. The poor man . . . . it was a very touching moment.
The Duke was disappointed that the building that had been the site of his Brussels Headquarters was being  refaced. Progress, he sighed philosophically,  marches on.
The Duke with two of his fans. On the right is Jeremy Black author of many history books including this one below:
We first visited the French encampment . . .
where the Duke was not amused.
Finally . . . . we and the Duke reached Waterloo and the first thing we did was . . .

to eat lunch. Oh, and have a drink. Thus fortified, we headed for the Battlefield,
where the Duke spent some time checking out the artillery.
Here we are near the site of the Duke’s greatest victory.
Even in the nastiest weather, the Duke prevailed.
And was pleased to see that his troops were still capable of pitching a demmed fine tent.
And so our time with the Duke came to an end. Victoria and I will always look back with fondness on our tour with the Duke of Wellington, the sites we visited and the many good times we shared. Having completed many campaigns in his time, the Duke was a real trooper where travel was concerned and planned our outings with military precision. Not to mention the fact that, as a gentleman, he always insisted on picking up the tab. You’ve got to love it.

And The Collection Continues To Grow . . . .

In a previous post, I told you about my latest Duke of Wellington aquisition, found in Cecil Court, London. I’m happy to say that the Duke has arrived home from being framed and is now in his new place of honour on my wall.

The hand-coloured engraving is after an 1821 painting by Sir Thomas Lawrence and I had it museum mounted, double matted and placed under conservation glass. It is, if I do say so, a magnificent piece. When I arrived home with Arthur, my husband decided to help me hang the portrait. The conversation went something like this:

“Where’s my stud finder?”

“What for?”

“To find the stud. So we can hang the picture.”

“It weighs less than 20 pounds. We don’t need to find a stud. Instead we need to measure the distance between the end of the dresser and the wall and hang it at the midway point. So it’s centered in that space.”

Grumble. Grumble.

“Where do you want the nail? Here?”

“Pictures should be hung at eye level. I suppose that’s eye level if you’re Wilt Chamberlain.”

“Alright then. Whose eye level? Yours or mine?”

“Split the difference.”

Grumble. Grumble.

“Oh, it looks perfect. Just perfect!”

“Hhhnnn.”

“Look at it! Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It’s the Duke of Wellington. Again. Don’t ask me to get excited over it. If you like it, that’s all that matters.”

“You could show some enthusiasm.”

“What do you want me to do, drool over it?”

“No. But can’t you muster some Victoria-like enthusiasm?”

“You should have married Victoria.”

“I’m not asking you to be Victoria 24/7. Just for about 30 seconds during the official hanging ceremony.”

“Ain’t gonna do it.”

Things went alot smoother when I framed, matted and hung the three fashion pirnts I’d bought in Paris. They went smoother because I did it all last week, when my husband was in Pennsylvania for a few days. They were hung with no fuss, no muss and no stud finder (men!).

Typically, Victoria has the market cornered on fashion prints. I’ve been urging her to do a post on her large collection for this blog. However, strolling past the book and print seller kiosks that line the Seine in Paris, I was charmed by these three prints and their floral subject matter and delicate hand colouring.

I told Victoria that the style of drawing led me to think they’d been done in the 1930’s or 40’s, but while doing some reseasrch on the web, I found that these drypoint etchings were done by Henri Boutet in 1902 for a book called “Les Modes Feminines du XIXe Siecle.” His 100 etchings traced fashions for each year from 1801 to 1900. Boutet used a  drypoint etching technique that produces an intrinsic softness of texture. The illustrations were closely detailed and hand-coloured and the original etchings were limited to 600 copies. I did find prints from the same book, though not those I bought, selling online for $75 each. I paid 40 euros, or $52, for all three together. Nothing for my husband to grumble about there. I have my portrait of the second Duchess of Wellington out at the framer’s now. While the engraving is not new, I never liked the way it had been framed and so decided to give her a facelift, so to speak. I’ll let you know when the Duchess is at home.