Lord Exmouth's Commission: Part 1
Feb. 19th, 2011 01:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anteros_lmcTitle: Lord Exmouth's Commission: 64 Harley Street, London, 1816
Author: Anteros
Characters: John Thomas Serres, Olive Serres, J.M.W. Turner, Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: This is the first of a five part fic written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nodbear's birthday and inspired by her beautiful fic Eyes To See and the gorgeous work of Admiralty Artist J.T Serres. This fic tells the story of how Serres came to undertake a commission to paint a portrait of a particular young lieutenant. Almost all the aspects and events of Serres life described here are true, apart from his meeting with fictional characters. Obviously ;)
64 Harley Street, London, 1816
John sneezed as he kicked aside a pile of paint spattered sheets littering the floor of the dusty studio. He rubbed his nose on his threadbare sleeve and continued to forage through the debris of abandoned canvases, broken easels, dried up palates and crumpled floor cloths. At last he found the box of folios stowed in a corner beneath a pile of torn canvases. The sketchbooks were neatly labelled in his own clear hand Triton 1799, La Nymphe 1799, Clyde 1800, and there it was Indefatigable 1798. As he lifted the folio from the box a curl of yellow paper slid from between the pages, drifted to the floor and settled in the dirt at his feet. He looked down and an ink sketch of a young man smiled back at him. A young man in naval uniform, his face turned to the sun. John picked the small portrait up carefully brushed the dust from it placed it on the shelf in front of him. He turned the folio over in his hands and opened it with care. The blue cover was starting to fade and the pages to discolour but otherwise it was just as he had left it when he had stowed it away almost fifteen years previously.
John had always prided himself on keeping his work orderly and ship shape as befitted his profession and his standing as Artist to the Admiralty by Royal Commission. Only now he was struggling to maintain his profession, he had no standing, his reputation was in tatters and the name of Serres was a by word for scandal and ridicule in polite society. The hard won fortune, interest and influence that he and his father had worked so hard to maintain had been wantonly squandered by his wretched wife Olive. He rued the day that youthful heart, high spirits and sparkling beauty had stopped his ears to the protestations of his family and the caveat of the blushing bride’s own uncle. "Serres, she is now your wife, but keep her employed, or she will be plotting mischief!" He had eyes to see. How could he have been so blind? And now here he was twenty odd years later a bankrupt and a cuckold and a fool.
His precious notebooks and folios, his carefully observed charts, sketches and profiles were scattered to the winds as he could no longer afford to maintain a studio. Many of his commissioned works were lodged in the lofts of the Admiralty Hydrographic Office. They were safe to be sure, but beyond his reach. He would no longer dare to show his face at the Admiralty following the latest of Olive’s escalating indiscretions. Not least of which was her baseless claim in her scandalous biography of her uncle that the blameless man, the respectable Rev Wilmot had in fact been the notorious “Junius”, who had hounded and attacked the government from the coward’s bastion of anonymity. Had she confined her claims to an obscure provincial biography they might have passed unnoticed but no, Olive was now touting her baseless allegations in the pages of the Gentleman’s Magazine. Worse still, Serres had recently heard rumours that Olive had publicly declared herself to be the natural daughter of Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland, younger brother of King George III. She was even pedaling rumours of the King’s alleged marriage to the “Fair Quaker” Hannah Lightfoot to bolster her own claims to the throne. Had Olive calculated to destroy Serres’ name and reputation she could not have done a better job of it. As it was he was simply another casualty of her delusions.
It had taken John some time to recall what had happened to the particular sketchbook he was looking for. What survived of his work was scattered among various studios and garrets maintained by a dwindling circle of friends and acquaintances that had been more successful in their careers and fortunate in their marriages than he. Eventually he remembered that the Brest sketchbooks had been stored in the studio he had briefly shared with Joseph Turner at 64 Harley Street. Although rarely used, Turner had maintained the studio ever since. The warden had looked at him suspiciously when Serres had requested access to the building to retrieve his work and he had to argue with the man for a good half hour before convincing him that, shabby though he was, he really had once shared the studio with the celebrated artist. Reluctantly the warden had let him into the dim paint spattered room. It smelled of dust and damp and neglect. John’s heart sank as he remembered the bright ambitious young men that had occupied the small garret two decades before. Even then Turner had been diffident, eccentric, a visionary. John could still picture him standing beneath the skylight on a radiant winter morning.
“Painting is a strange business John. I don't paint so that people will understand me, I paint what I see, not what I know.”
And what Turner had seen had gone beyond anything any of them could ever have imagined. He had seen the colour of light and gone beyond the horizon.
John sighed and returned his attention to the sketchbook in his hand. The first few pages were scattered with coastal profiles. He immediately recognised the rock stacks of the Bec du Raz, the escarpment of Camaret Bay and the ruined monastery of Saint Matthew at Conguet Point. Several pages on, the profiles gave way to sketches of ships and brigs. Two ships lying at anchor in the Brest roads La Nymphe and the cutter Joseph. A frigate close hauled in light airs with her cutter pulling along beside her. That was the Indefatigable herself. He had sketched her from the razee’s jolly boat. He remembered sitting in the stern sheets as the two lieutenants had squabbled noisily, apparently obliviously to his presence. There had been great hilarity aboard the frigate when the lieutenants had volunteered to row Serres out from the ship in place of the jolly boat’s usual crew of seamen. The boat kept veering to one side as the tall dark lieutenant continually caught crabs with his oar. Some of the crew had whistled and cheered from the frigate and the fair lieutenant had ribbed his companion mercilessly, declaring that if he couldn’t even pull a jolly boat in a straight line he had little hope of making post captain although he might make a damn fine admiral. The dark lieutenant had tutted indignantly but his cheeks had been flushed with humour, his deep eyes sparkling. Kennedy and Hornblower, John could still picture them both so vividly, if he closed his eyes he could almost hear the sound of their laughter and the gulls calling overhead.
Historical Notes
J.T Serres was Artist to the Admiralty and sailed with the Channel Fleet between 1799 and 1800. He served aboard the Indefatigable in 1800. His father Dominic Serres was also a successful maritime arist and War Artist of the Navy.
Junius was the pseudonym of an anonymous writer who contributed a series of letters to the Public Advertiser, from 1769 to 1772. His identity is stil unknown but he is highly unlikely to have been the Reverend Wilmot! His words on John and Olives wedding are his own.
J.T Serres shared a studio at 64 Harley Street with J.M.W. Turner in 1801. Turner's words are his own (though I have conflated two separate quotes).
In addition to bankrupting and cuckolding her husband Olivia Wilmot Serres claimed to be the illegitimate daughter of Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland, younger Brother of King George III. She forged documents to "prove" that the King had married Hannah Lightfoot prior to his marriage to Princess Charlotte. Such a marriage would have negated his son's claim to the throne and cleared the way for Cumberland's offspring to claim the succession. Olive's allegations were eventually dismissed by Parliament and she was exposed as an imposter.
Author: Anteros
Characters: John Thomas Serres, Olive Serres, J.M.W. Turner, Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower
Rating: R
Notes: This is the first of a five part fic written for
nodbear's birthday and inspired by her beautiful fic Eyes To See and the gorgeous work of Admiralty Artist J.T Serres. This fic tells the story of how Serres came to undertake a commission to paint a portrait of a particular young lieutenant. Almost all the aspects and events of Serres life described here are true, apart from his meeting with fictional characters. Obviously ;)64 Harley Street, London, 1816
John sneezed as he kicked aside a pile of paint spattered sheets littering the floor of the dusty studio. He rubbed his nose on his threadbare sleeve and continued to forage through the debris of abandoned canvases, broken easels, dried up palates and crumpled floor cloths. At last he found the box of folios stowed in a corner beneath a pile of torn canvases. The sketchbooks were neatly labelled in his own clear hand Triton 1799, La Nymphe 1799, Clyde 1800, and there it was Indefatigable 1798. As he lifted the folio from the box a curl of yellow paper slid from between the pages, drifted to the floor and settled in the dirt at his feet. He looked down and an ink sketch of a young man smiled back at him. A young man in naval uniform, his face turned to the sun. John picked the small portrait up carefully brushed the dust from it placed it on the shelf in front of him. He turned the folio over in his hands and opened it with care. The blue cover was starting to fade and the pages to discolour but otherwise it was just as he had left it when he had stowed it away almost fifteen years previously.
John had always prided himself on keeping his work orderly and ship shape as befitted his profession and his standing as Artist to the Admiralty by Royal Commission. Only now he was struggling to maintain his profession, he had no standing, his reputation was in tatters and the name of Serres was a by word for scandal and ridicule in polite society. The hard won fortune, interest and influence that he and his father had worked so hard to maintain had been wantonly squandered by his wretched wife Olive. He rued the day that youthful heart, high spirits and sparkling beauty had stopped his ears to the protestations of his family and the caveat of the blushing bride’s own uncle. "Serres, she is now your wife, but keep her employed, or she will be plotting mischief!" He had eyes to see. How could he have been so blind? And now here he was twenty odd years later a bankrupt and a cuckold and a fool.
His precious notebooks and folios, his carefully observed charts, sketches and profiles were scattered to the winds as he could no longer afford to maintain a studio. Many of his commissioned works were lodged in the lofts of the Admiralty Hydrographic Office. They were safe to be sure, but beyond his reach. He would no longer dare to show his face at the Admiralty following the latest of Olive’s escalating indiscretions. Not least of which was her baseless claim in her scandalous biography of her uncle that the blameless man, the respectable Rev Wilmot had in fact been the notorious “Junius”, who had hounded and attacked the government from the coward’s bastion of anonymity. Had she confined her claims to an obscure provincial biography they might have passed unnoticed but no, Olive was now touting her baseless allegations in the pages of the Gentleman’s Magazine. Worse still, Serres had recently heard rumours that Olive had publicly declared herself to be the natural daughter of Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland, younger brother of King George III. She was even pedaling rumours of the King’s alleged marriage to the “Fair Quaker” Hannah Lightfoot to bolster her own claims to the throne. Had Olive calculated to destroy Serres’ name and reputation she could not have done a better job of it. As it was he was simply another casualty of her delusions.
It had taken John some time to recall what had happened to the particular sketchbook he was looking for. What survived of his work was scattered among various studios and garrets maintained by a dwindling circle of friends and acquaintances that had been more successful in their careers and fortunate in their marriages than he. Eventually he remembered that the Brest sketchbooks had been stored in the studio he had briefly shared with Joseph Turner at 64 Harley Street. Although rarely used, Turner had maintained the studio ever since. The warden had looked at him suspiciously when Serres had requested access to the building to retrieve his work and he had to argue with the man for a good half hour before convincing him that, shabby though he was, he really had once shared the studio with the celebrated artist. Reluctantly the warden had let him into the dim paint spattered room. It smelled of dust and damp and neglect. John’s heart sank as he remembered the bright ambitious young men that had occupied the small garret two decades before. Even then Turner had been diffident, eccentric, a visionary. John could still picture him standing beneath the skylight on a radiant winter morning.
“Painting is a strange business John. I don't paint so that people will understand me, I paint what I see, not what I know.”
And what Turner had seen had gone beyond anything any of them could ever have imagined. He had seen the colour of light and gone beyond the horizon.
John sighed and returned his attention to the sketchbook in his hand. The first few pages were scattered with coastal profiles. He immediately recognised the rock stacks of the Bec du Raz, the escarpment of Camaret Bay and the ruined monastery of Saint Matthew at Conguet Point. Several pages on, the profiles gave way to sketches of ships and brigs. Two ships lying at anchor in the Brest roads La Nymphe and the cutter Joseph. A frigate close hauled in light airs with her cutter pulling along beside her. That was the Indefatigable herself. He had sketched her from the razee’s jolly boat. He remembered sitting in the stern sheets as the two lieutenants had squabbled noisily, apparently obliviously to his presence. There had been great hilarity aboard the frigate when the lieutenants had volunteered to row Serres out from the ship in place of the jolly boat’s usual crew of seamen. The boat kept veering to one side as the tall dark lieutenant continually caught crabs with his oar. Some of the crew had whistled and cheered from the frigate and the fair lieutenant had ribbed his companion mercilessly, declaring that if he couldn’t even pull a jolly boat in a straight line he had little hope of making post captain although he might make a damn fine admiral. The dark lieutenant had tutted indignantly but his cheeks had been flushed with humour, his deep eyes sparkling. Kennedy and Hornblower, John could still picture them both so vividly, if he closed his eyes he could almost hear the sound of their laughter and the gulls calling overhead.
Historical Notes
J.T Serres was Artist to the Admiralty and sailed with the Channel Fleet between 1799 and 1800. He served aboard the Indefatigable in 1800. His father Dominic Serres was also a successful maritime arist and War Artist of the Navy.
Junius was the pseudonym of an anonymous writer who contributed a series of letters to the Public Advertiser, from 1769 to 1772. His identity is stil unknown but he is highly unlikely to have been the Reverend Wilmot! His words on John and Olives wedding are his own.
J.T Serres shared a studio at 64 Harley Street with J.M.W. Turner in 1801. Turner's words are his own (though I have conflated two separate quotes).
In addition to bankrupting and cuckolding her husband Olivia Wilmot Serres claimed to be the illegitimate daughter of Prince Henry, Duke of Cumberland, younger Brother of King George III. She forged documents to "prove" that the King had married Hannah Lightfoot prior to his marriage to Princess Charlotte. Such a marriage would have negated his son's claim to the throne and cleared the way for Cumberland's offspring to claim the succession. Olive's allegations were eventually dismissed by Parliament and she was exposed as an imposter.
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no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 05:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 10:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 09:43 am (UTC)Serres artwork of the French coast is so luminous and lovely,in additio to its utility and Pellew, whose own and his entire ship's lives ahd more than once depended on his own extensive and diligently studied knowledge of much of the same would indeed have made him sympathetic to Serres' presence and usefulness.
This so fits in with Eyes to See and its themes and the same time expands them that I am stunned.
must remember, since I have the whole fic here not to introduce spoilers for other readers, apart from the minor one above - so more with part 2 etc !
Thank you in English as well!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 11:11 am (UTC)I'm glad you think this fits well with Eyes to See. I still think that is a really moving and powerful piece of writing.
And yes, Serres coastal profiles are luminous aren't they? I was going to try and photograph mine and use them to illustrate the story but that will have to be a job for another day. I also want to make an icon of Serres little self portrait in the book. Maybe later today :)
Enjoy your birthday dear Madam Nodbear!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 12:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 01:24 pm (UTC)I suspect this weird hybrid of history and fic is the closest I'm ever likely to come to writing anything original!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 03:45 pm (UTC)You know, all your writing feels original to me. I am starting to think that whenever a writer has to say: 'how do i get from here to there' that ought to count.
And your writing has such a tactile being-there quality. I can just see Horatio rowing in a big wobble, because Archie is shining in the sun, and making him laugh.
Thank you, as always for giving us all something good.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 08:26 pm (UTC)that ought to count
You're absolutely right :)
your writing has such a tactile being-there quality
Oh what a lovely thing to say! Thank you sweetie :)
I can just see Horatio rowing in a big wobble, because Archie is shining in the sun, and making him laugh.
Somehow just I can't imagine Horatio being much cop when it comes to rowing!
Thanks for your kind comments as always. I'll post part 2 tomorrow :)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 06:14 pm (UTC)As an aside, my mom's maiden name was Wilmot. Makes me wonder if I might be a distant/very distant relative of those mentioned here.
Dave
no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 08:37 pm (UTC)my mom's maiden name was Wilmot
Really? What a coincidence! It's worth having a look at the National Archives page about Olive Serres which I've linked to above: Princess Olive and the Letters of Junius. It's the kind of fascinating story you really couldn't make up!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 07:55 pm (UTC)On dad's side of the family I can trace the family name back to his grandfather, William McChesney. I understand he immigrated from Scotland, and his wife Mary from Norway. We can, however trace dad's mom's family back well into the early colonial period. She was an Annis, descended from a Charles Annis who settled in Massachusetts in the 1660s.
Dave
no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 05:14 pm (UTC)Also, I'm very impressed by the historical background. Very abmitious for fanfiction:)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-20 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-06 08:30 pm (UTC)You can get a cream for that these days you know.
Sorry, couldnt resist. :P
no subject
Date: 2011-03-07 10:17 pm (UTC)PS Maybe we should send Horatio to Drummer Dick for a bit of advice?