From the Women of England to Wellington

This week marks the 199th anniversary of the Duke of Wellington’s victory over Napoleon at Waterloo.  As we've mentioned in previous posts, Wellington ended up a much celebrated gentleman, with nations and royalty showering him with gifts and mementos.  One of my favorites, however, is said to have come from a very different set of people, the women of England.

The Wellington Monument in Hyde Park, also known as Achilles, was paid for by a ladies subscription amounting to 10,000 pounds sterling and cast from cannons captured at the battles of Salamanca, Vitoria, Toulouse, and Waterloo. Created by popular sculptor Sir Richard Westmacott, the 18-foot bronze statue sits on a plinth of Dartmoor granite to rise a total of 36 feet above the pebbled path near Hyde Park Corner.  Even before it was erected in 1822 it was surrounded by controversy.

For one thing, Westmacott must have focused more on his art than the dimensions of its intended location, for when the statue was moved from his studio in Pimlico, Achilles was found to be too big to fit through the gates of Hyde Park! Not to be deterred, the movers merely knocked a hole in the wall to move it through.

For another, critics could not decide whether it was great art or a cheap knockoff.  Newspapers and books of the time either praise the fact that the statue resembled one in Rome, where Westmacott had spent some time on his Grand Tour, or scolded the artist for failing to live up to his Roman pretensions.  Some deemed the body magnificent; others complained that it didn’t look enough like Achilles (and you would know how?).  One critic even lambasted Westmacott for including visible straps holding the shield in place on the statue’s arm.

And then there was the matter of Achilles’ lack of clothing.  The statue is said to be the first nude male figure on public view in London.  The ladies who had helped raise the subscription had not seen the design and were rather shocked by the anatomically correct statue.  Some seemed to feel their reputations damaged by association.  A fig leaf was hurriedly placed over the offending section.  It remains there to this day, even though it has been chipped off twice.

And if you’re a lady enamored of Greek or Roman statuary, or anything Greek or Roman, I urge you to return next week, when Marissa will be launching her first book for adults, by Jove.

Er, yes. By Jove.  No need to raise a subscription.  Fig leafs not required.

Number One London

Doesn’t that sound like a cool address?  It ought to be where the king lives, or perhaps the prime minister.  But it just so happens to be the former home of the Duke of Wellington, and a fete there was one of the most sought after invitations in nineteenth century England.

Originally built by the famous architect Robert Adam for the first Baron Apsley Henry Bathurst, Apsley House sits at the north side of Hyde Park Corner, with a commanding view over some of London’s busiest streets.  Lord Apsley sold it to Wellington’s older brother, who in turn sold it to Wellington.  The duke had it enlarged and remodeled to suit his needs.

Part of that remodeling involved moving the entrance hall to one side.  Then as now, portions of the house were open to visitors, so a room just off the entrance was made into a museum showcasing some of Wellington’s trophies and mementoes.  Of course, even at the time, his friends remarked that the entire house felt like a museum because so many pieces of furniture, paintings, and plate were in fact gifts for Wellington’s services in putting down Napoleon. 

Napoleon is a large part of the house, beginning with a larger-than-life marble statue of him as Mars, which takes up much of the main stairwell.  Then again, one of the most beautiful rooms at Apsley House is the Waterloo Gallery, named after the battle where Wellington finally triumphed.  Over 90 feet long and two stories tall, the room boasts walls covered in silk damask, gilded doors and ceiling, and mirrored shutters for the windows.  As the story goes, Wellington and his designer argued over how the room would look.  In the end, Wellington insisted on yellow damask for the walls, although today it can be seen in scarlet.  The grand gallery was the scene of many an entertainment, including an annual banquet to celebrate the victory at Waterloo.

Because something that big needs to be celebrated annually in a room that gorgeous in London’s first residence.

And speaking of celebrations, I’m delighted to report that next Friday will see the beginning of a special two-part guest post by Jo AnnBrown, author of this month’s A Bride for the Baron, who promises to tell all about smuggling in early nineteenth century England and the secrets of Robin Hood’s Bay! Join us!

Moving Day!

No, we aren’t going anywhere. My family and I spent last evening helping set up the house for our church’s new pastors and their family. So, when I started thinking about what I was going to write for the blog this week, I naturally thought about houses and moving.

It’s no secret that many aristocratic families in the nineteenth century in England had more than one house. If you were titled, you had your family seat—the original estate that went with your title. For example, the family seat of Earl Spencer (related to the late Diana, Princess of Wales) is in Althrop, Northamptonshire (shown in the picture). You might also have smaller homes salted around the country for other purposes: a lodge in the north for hunting season, a "cottage" in the Lake District or along the shore for summer. And you had to have a townhouse in London when you went up for the Season.

If you weren’t so fortunate as to have been born with all these homes in the family, you rented homes in all these places instead. That way you could still follow Society about the country. Often rented homes came furnished and decorated, so all you had to do was show up with your servants and have them make up the beds with fresh linens.

However, either in homes you owned or homes you rented, sometimes you just didn’t like the furnishings and decided to redecorate. Also, some people had a special set of paintings or furnishings without which it just wasn’t home. For example, even though the Duke of Wellington had lovely furnishings at Apsley House in London, his seat in Stratfield-Saye along the Hampshire/Berkshire border, and 10 Downing Street in London when he was prime minister, he insisted on sleeping on an old camp bed. Your servants also had to pack up those items and make sure they were reinstated wherever you were going. You might also want to bring some of your books with you as you traveled about.

And speaking of books, Meg is the winner of a copy of Betraying Season! Meg, please contact Marissa at her website with your mailing address. Thanks to all who commented! Excellent suggestions all around. Look for us to be implementing many of them in the coming weeks.

And please come back next week for a special set of posts dedicated to Marissa’s Betraying Season, which makes its hardcover debut on Tuesday!