Queen Victoria described Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington (1769–1852) as “the greatest man this country ever produced.” A military hero, the Duke is an indelible facet of the UK’s identity. Commemorated in stone and paint, his most famous portrayal is the Spanish artist Francisco de Goya’s oil on wood portrait. As befits an icon of British history, “The Duke of Wellington” ended up in the collection of National Gallery, London in 1961. Put on display in the beginning of August of that year, it was stolen a mere 19 days later.
Wellesley’s Dukedom
His mother felt he should follow a military path, so in 1787 he joined the British Army. After spending time in Europe, he fought in military battles in India, where he gained firsthand experience in strategy, discipline, diplomacy, and intelligence gathering, skills that would become second-nature during the Napoleonic Wars.
Despite a rough start, Wellesley’s celebrity rose thanks to his victories during the Peninsular War (1808–1814), a series of battles to remove the occupying Napoleonic forces from the Iberian Peninsula. As a reward, he received a British peerage, first becoming a viscount and then an earl as the conflicts progressed. Napoleon abdicated for the first time in 1814, and Wellesley was raised to the highest rank of the peerage as he was given a dukedom. When Napoleon returned to power from his exile on the island of Elba, Wellesley was given command of the allied forces against the French.
Finally, the Napoleonic Wars ended with Wellesley’s victory at the Battle of Waterloo, which defeated Napoleon permanently. Afterwards, Wellesley served as prime minster for two terms, and upon his death, was given a state funeral and buried in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Spain’s Famed Court Painter
Francisco de Goya (1746–1828) was Spain’s greatest painter during the late 18th century. Born to a gilder father and a mother from a noble family fallen on hard times, he ascended social circles to become a world-famous court painter.
At 14, Goya was apprenticed to a painter, and he later moved to Madrid to further his studies. Upon his marriage, he became Francisco Bayeu’s brother-in-law, the then-leading Spanish court artist. Goya’s new relation helped him procure a position at the royal tapestry factory, and from there his career was on an upward trajectory.
‘The Duke of Wellington’
Goya’s most famous portrait of Spain’s liberators is “The Duke of Wellington,” dated from 1812 to 1814. It’s a fitting match of the most prominent artist and the most celebrated military hero. In addition to this work, Goya also drew the Duke as a preparatory sketch for a large equestrian portrait. Scholars believe Goya painted the National Gallery’s artwork from life, though he made later changes that altered Wellesley’s pose and included newly awarded medals and military orders.
Goya’s “The Duke of Wellington” is a half-length portrait with a simple composition that shows Wellesley in an upright pose. He’s in front of an unembellished dark background, which guides the viewer to the great man’s face and his adorned crimson military uniform. Interestingly, his facial expression is not victorious. He appears serious and stoic, and the National Gallery notes that he looks battle-fatigued.
While some curators suggest Goya painted the picture with great speed and energy, other historians believe the exposed, brown priming layer was intended by the artist to create stronger contrast. Though loose brushwork was used for Wellesley’s decorations, they are still identifiable: On his chest are the badges of the Order of the Bath (top), the San Fernando of Spain (lower right), and the Tower and Sword of Portugal (lower left). Goya had to make adjustments, such as moving some of the gold buttons and medals, to include the blue sash of the Tower and Sword across his right shoulder and the pink sash of the Order of Bath over it.
The Great Heist
The portrait had an interesting adventure after it passed out of the hands of its first owner, the Duke of Wellington. It ended up in the collection of the Duke of Leeds and descended in the family until John Osborne, 11th Duke of Leeds sold it at Sotheby’s in 1961 to the voracious American collector Charles Wrightsman for 140,000 pounds, 2 million pounds in today’s money (about $2,489,600). However, the British government didn’t want such a historic artwork to leave the country. The British Treasury, in tandem with the charity Wolfson Foundation, matched the winning auction bid and secured the work for the country. The Goya portrait became nationally famous, drawing crowds to its display at the gallery.
However, on the morning of Aug. 21, 1961, the portrait was missing. No evidence was found at the crime scene that pointed to the perpetrator and the police were at a loss. Speculation ran rampant with theories including a criminal mastermind, a professional art thief, an audacious aristocrat, and a gang.
In May 1965, Bunton returned the painting anonymously. Six weeks later, he visited New Scotland Yard and confessed he was the thief. He used his trial and the media attention it garnered to speak out about TV license fees. Bunton was sentenced to three months in prison—not for the theft, since he'd returned the picture. He was found guilty of robbing the painting’s frame, which had been lost.
During his trial, Bunton explained that he disapproved of the government spending such a large sum on one painting. He walked the court through the process of his absconding with the work.
An Unusual Twist
But that’s not the whole story. The British government revealed a twist to the Goya painting robbery in 2012. The National Archives released a file that contained the 1969 confession of Bunton’s son, John Bunton. He was the real culprit. The younger Bunton had been previously arrested and fingerprinted for a minor offense. Concerned that the police would have his prints from the Goya theft (they did not), John admitted it was he, not his father, who had committed the crime.This scenario made sense to the police: His youth and agility made him a more likely candidate to enter and exit the building through a window than his aged, heavyset father. John revealed it hadn’t been premeditated, all done spur of the moment around 5:50 a.m. He told his father, who housed the picture and insisted on taking the blame in full. It was deemed too complicated and embarrassing following this admission to prosecute the son and charge the father with perjury, so it was swept under the carpet for decades.
The Duke of Wellington was one of the greatest military figures in history. He traversed the world, engaging in feats of now-legendary brilliance and bravery. Goya’s portrait shows him not just as an adulated leader, but also as a vulnerable, tired human. Despite its connection with a scandalous heist, it remains a renowned and profound work in its own right.
