James Murray
Ahead of Julian Fellowes’ latest sumptuous series Belgravia, the famous eve of Waterloo ball captured forever in an historic painting
IT IS A stunning painting that brings a defining moment in British history to life. Bejeweled aristocratic ladies dressed in all their finery chat with handsome officers at a grand 19th century ball. At first glance, all seems well at what should be a joyous throng, but a closer inspection of their faces betrays the tension crackling under the surface. Few of the women are smiling. In fact, their gazes are mostly downcast, fretful, worried, even scared.
Artist Robert Hillingford beautifully recreated a scene from the night of June 15, 1815, when the Duchess of Richmond, wife of the 4th Duke of Richmond, threw a ball in Brussels in defiance of the threat posed by Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte’s forces massing somewhere in France following his escape from exile on the Mediterranean island of Elba.
Hillingford’s work, painted sometime in the 1870s, would become known as Dancing Into Battle evoking, as it did, the calm composure of officers as they savoured time with their wives and lovers in the presence of their commander, the Duke of Wellington, shortly before the Battle of Waterloo.
Downton Abbey creator Julian Fellowes kicks off his new ITV period drama Belgravia tomorrow night with a sumptuous recreation of just this ball. In Fellowes’ take, the Duchess of Richmond reluctantly entertains the fictional James Trenchard, a social-climbing tradesmen played by Philip Glenister.
AT “Glorious” Goodwood House, the West Sussex home of the Dukes of Richmond since the 17th century, Charles Gordon Lennox, 11th Duke of Richmond, is waiting to see how such a powerful moment in his family’s illustrious history will be portrayed.
In the hall hangs Hillingford’s original painting and nearby is a copy of Napoleon’s campaigning chair. The fallen emperor’s actual chair sits in the Duke’s private study, and he uses it every day because it is so comfortable.
Even after 150 years, the painting shines vibrantly in the elegant room despite being smaller than you might expect, about the size of a television screen. Goodwood curator James Peill, a former Christie’s auctioneer, analysed the painting for his book Glorious Goodwood, a biography of England’s greatest sporting estate, and reveals the backstory of the ball. Charlotte, the Duchess of Richmond, was at that time a mother of 13, still grieving the death of her 14-year-old son.
The family had chosen to live in Brussels as part of what she called an “economical plan” to save money in the wake of the death of the 3rd Duke of Richmond and the substantial debts the family had incurred.
“They had to stop building works at Goodwood and rented a large property in Brussels but it was not in the most fashionable part of the city,” says James.
“Her husband had retired from the army but they had three sons with them who were still serving, Charles, William and George, all young officers.
“The ball was actually held in a large hall which was originally used as a showroom for coaches. It was hastily decorated for the ball.”
A close friend of the Richmonds was the 1st Duke of Wellington, Dublin-born Arthur Wellesley, who’d served as an ambassador to France, but was in Brussels to command an allied army. His force of British, Prussian and Russian soldiers were preparing to invade France and protect Brussels.
Before throwing the party, the Duchess is said to have enquired of Wellington: “Duke, I do not wish to pry into your secrets, nor do I ask what your intentions may be: I wish to give a ball and all I ask is – may I give a ball? If you say ‘Duchess,
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don’t give your ball’ it is sufficient. I ask no reasons.”
Wellington reputedly replied: “Duchess, you may give your ball with the greatest safety, without fear of interruption.”
Gazing at the picture today, James says: “The moustached man you see arriving through the door on the left is Lieutenant Henry Webster who’d travelled 10 miles to bring a handwritten note saying that Napoleon and his army quite had actually into Belgium.
“Just in front of him to the right is the Duke of Wellington talking to the Spanish General Allava, who’d fought at the Battle of Trafalgar.
“The man in black, to the Duke’s right if you’re facing the picture, is the German Duke of Brunswick, who led an army of more than 5,000 men, who were known as the Brunswickers. They wore a silver skull badge on their black uniforms.
“In the foreground sitting chatting to a woman is the Prince of Orange, who had a cavalry of around 100,000 men. He was known as Slender Billy.”
The small orchestra playing light music stopped abruptly mid-bar as the Duke of Wellington silently absorbed the contents of the message. “In the picture, the Duke of crossed the border
Richmond is standing at the back on the right and you can tell it is him because of the silver Knight of the Garter insignia he is wearing.
“Taking charge of the situation, Wellington tells Webster to call the Prince of Orange’s carriage so he can leave immediately to join his forces at Braine-le-Comte and prepare for battle.”
AS NEWS spread among the partygoers, officers parted from their wives and lovers. The Richmond children’s tutor, clergyman’s son Spencer Madan, later wrote: “A sad gloom overspread the entertainment, and a trying scene of leave-taking followed.” As the ball began to break up, Wellington
‘At first glance, all seems well, but closer inspection betrays tension bubbling under the surface’