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Specimen No. 226 Delft Bluet Dragonfly
Specimen No. 226
Name: Delft Bluet Dragonfly | Libellula delftensis
Observer: Dr. Algernon T. Hartwell
Date of Discovery: Approx. July-August 1847
Locality: Estate of Lord Pemberton; the Cotswolds, South West England, 51º 48’N 2º 2’W
Catalog No. FD - 25 - 226
The Remarkable Discovery of the Delft Bluet
In the summer of 1847, Dr. Algernon T. Hartwell, a somewhat eccentric lepidopterist with an unfortunate habit of chasing anything with wings, made what would become one of the most peculiar discoveries in entomological history. While pursuing what he believed to be a rare azure butterfly through the ornamental gardens of Lord Pemberton’s estate in the Cotswolds, Hartwell stumbled—quite literally—into a shallow ornamental pond. As he flailed about in the water, cursing his waterlogged specimen jars, he noticed an extraordinary dragonfly perched on a decorative vase that had toppled in during his aquatic mishap.
The creature before him defied all conventional understanding of dragonfly coloration. Its wings displayed an intricate blue and white pattern that bore an uncanny resemblance to the celebrated Delftware pottery that had become increasingly popular in English manor houses throughout the 18th and early 19th centuries. Dr. Hartwell, who was as much a collector of fine ceramics as he was dedicated to scientific inquiry, immediately recognized the striking similarity between the insect’s wing patterns and the delicate blue-on-white motifs found on authentic Dutch pottery. He carefully captured the specimen, noting its preference for habitats that included both natural water features and decorative ceramics—a most unusual ecological niche that would later prove crucial to the species’ identification.
Upon returning to his cluttered study in Oxford, Hartwell spent months examining his prize specimen. The dragonfly’s most remarkable feature was not just its Delft-inspired wings, but its apparent ability to perfectly match the decorative motifs of whatever ceramic surface it landed upon—a form of adaptive camouflage previously unknown in the insect world. Local gardeners reported sightings of similar creatures that seemed to vanish when they landed on pottery, porcelain, or particularly ornate china services. Hartwell theorized that the species had evolved alongside human decorative arts, developing its unique patterns as a survival mechanism in increasingly domesticated landscapes.
In 1849, Hartwell published his findings in the Journal of Improbable Natural History, officially naming the species Libellula delftensis (commonly known as the Delft Bluet or Hartwell’s Ceramic Darner). His paper, titled “On the Curious Correspondence Between Pottery Glazes and Wing Coloration in Certain Odonata,” was met with equal parts acclaim and skepticism from the scientific community. Critics argued that Hartwell had simply discovered a common species while under the influence of laudanum, which he was known to use liberally for his chronic “wing-chasing fatigue syndrome.”
Despite the controversy, L. delftensis secured Hartwell’s reputation as one of Victorian England’s most imaginative naturalists. The species was never again reliably documented in the wild, leading some to suggest it had evolved further to match increasingly complex ceramic patterns before ultimately disappearing into china cabinets sometime around 1873.
Today, the only confirmed specimen remains mounted in a frame in the Natural History Museum’s “Questionable Discoveries” wing, where it continues to perplex visitors with its impossibly perfect Delft-blue patterns—a testament to either nature’s remarkable adaptability or Dr. Hartwell’s remarkable creativity.
Algernon Hartwell was a doctor, though his medical degree from Cambridge (1834) was quickly overshadowed by his passionate pursuit of entomology. His transition from physician to naturalist was complete by 1840, much to his family’s chagrin and financial detriment.
As for his field notes, this remains one of the great mysteries surrounding the Delft Bluet discovery. Hartwell was notoriously meticulous in his record-keeping—his surviving journals from other expeditions are filled with precise sketches, detailed habitat descriptions, and even pressed flower specimens from collection sites. However, his notes from that fateful day at Lord Pemberton’s estate have never been found.
Some scholars believe the notes were lost during his tumble into the ornamental pond, dissolved beyond recognition in the murky water. Others suggest that Hartwell deliberately destroyed them, perhaps embarrassed by the circumstances of his discovery or concerned about the scientific credibility of his claims. The absence of these field notes has only added to the mystique surrounding Libellula delftensis and continues to fuel debates about the authenticity of Hartwell’s remarkable discovery.
Note: High quality archival glicée print on acid-free paper, a method that creates fine art reproductions with exceptional color accuracy and longevity. Pigments-based inks are designed to resist fading and discoloration and capture the finest details and subtle color variations with great precision.
Housed in a 4×6” crystal-clear acrylic specimen block, its 1” depth allows freestanding display. Each piece is designed to exhibit on desk or shelf.
Fly Design uses a practice known as entonology — the study of fictitious insects — to reimagine the natural world through scientific storytelling and poetic design.
Specimen No. 226
Name: Delft Bluet Dragonfly | Libellula delftensis
Observer: Dr. Algernon T. Hartwell
Date of Discovery: Approx. July-August 1847
Locality: Estate of Lord Pemberton; the Cotswolds, South West England, 51º 48’N 2º 2’W
Catalog No. FD - 25 - 226
The Remarkable Discovery of the Delft Bluet
In the summer of 1847, Dr. Algernon T. Hartwell, a somewhat eccentric lepidopterist with an unfortunate habit of chasing anything with wings, made what would become one of the most peculiar discoveries in entomological history. While pursuing what he believed to be a rare azure butterfly through the ornamental gardens of Lord Pemberton’s estate in the Cotswolds, Hartwell stumbled—quite literally—into a shallow ornamental pond. As he flailed about in the water, cursing his waterlogged specimen jars, he noticed an extraordinary dragonfly perched on a decorative vase that had toppled in during his aquatic mishap.
The creature before him defied all conventional understanding of dragonfly coloration. Its wings displayed an intricate blue and white pattern that bore an uncanny resemblance to the celebrated Delftware pottery that had become increasingly popular in English manor houses throughout the 18th and early 19th centuries. Dr. Hartwell, who was as much a collector of fine ceramics as he was dedicated to scientific inquiry, immediately recognized the striking similarity between the insect’s wing patterns and the delicate blue-on-white motifs found on authentic Dutch pottery. He carefully captured the specimen, noting its preference for habitats that included both natural water features and decorative ceramics—a most unusual ecological niche that would later prove crucial to the species’ identification.
Upon returning to his cluttered study in Oxford, Hartwell spent months examining his prize specimen. The dragonfly’s most remarkable feature was not just its Delft-inspired wings, but its apparent ability to perfectly match the decorative motifs of whatever ceramic surface it landed upon—a form of adaptive camouflage previously unknown in the insect world. Local gardeners reported sightings of similar creatures that seemed to vanish when they landed on pottery, porcelain, or particularly ornate china services. Hartwell theorized that the species had evolved alongside human decorative arts, developing its unique patterns as a survival mechanism in increasingly domesticated landscapes.
In 1849, Hartwell published his findings in the Journal of Improbable Natural History, officially naming the species Libellula delftensis (commonly known as the Delft Bluet or Hartwell’s Ceramic Darner). His paper, titled “On the Curious Correspondence Between Pottery Glazes and Wing Coloration in Certain Odonata,” was met with equal parts acclaim and skepticism from the scientific community. Critics argued that Hartwell had simply discovered a common species while under the influence of laudanum, which he was known to use liberally for his chronic “wing-chasing fatigue syndrome.”
Despite the controversy, L. delftensis secured Hartwell’s reputation as one of Victorian England’s most imaginative naturalists. The species was never again reliably documented in the wild, leading some to suggest it had evolved further to match increasingly complex ceramic patterns before ultimately disappearing into china cabinets sometime around 1873.
Today, the only confirmed specimen remains mounted in a frame in the Natural History Museum’s “Questionable Discoveries” wing, where it continues to perplex visitors with its impossibly perfect Delft-blue patterns—a testament to either nature’s remarkable adaptability or Dr. Hartwell’s remarkable creativity.
Algernon Hartwell was a doctor, though his medical degree from Cambridge (1834) was quickly overshadowed by his passionate pursuit of entomology. His transition from physician to naturalist was complete by 1840, much to his family’s chagrin and financial detriment.
As for his field notes, this remains one of the great mysteries surrounding the Delft Bluet discovery. Hartwell was notoriously meticulous in his record-keeping—his surviving journals from other expeditions are filled with precise sketches, detailed habitat descriptions, and even pressed flower specimens from collection sites. However, his notes from that fateful day at Lord Pemberton’s estate have never been found.
Some scholars believe the notes were lost during his tumble into the ornamental pond, dissolved beyond recognition in the murky water. Others suggest that Hartwell deliberately destroyed them, perhaps embarrassed by the circumstances of his discovery or concerned about the scientific credibility of his claims. The absence of these field notes has only added to the mystique surrounding Libellula delftensis and continues to fuel debates about the authenticity of Hartwell’s remarkable discovery.
Note: High quality archival glicée print on acid-free paper, a method that creates fine art reproductions with exceptional color accuracy and longevity. Pigments-based inks are designed to resist fading and discoloration and capture the finest details and subtle color variations with great precision.
Housed in a 4×6” crystal-clear acrylic specimen block, its 1” depth allows freestanding display. Each piece is designed to exhibit on desk or shelf.
Fly Design uses a practice known as entonology — the study of fictitious insects — to reimagine the natural world through scientific storytelling and poetic design.