BEHIND THE HEADLINES
1852: Wellington’s funeral
When the Iron Duke was laid to rest it was one of the great state occasions of the century – a Victorian extravaganza of a funeral. The victor of the Battle of Waterloo, ensuring subsequent peace in Europe, was “the last great Englishman” according to the poet laureate Alfred Tennyson. Queen Victoria generously said he should have a funeral fit for a member of the royal family
Wellington’s controversial period as a prime minister was forgotten. He had, in fact, been so unpopular as an opponent of democratic reform that mobs twice broke the windows in his home, Apsley House, 1 Piccadilly.
Those of your ancestors alive in 1852 who remembered this earlier period, in the late 1820s and early 1830s, charitably drew a veil over it. They were following the classical injunction to speak good of the dead ( de mortuis nil nisi bonum). This principle was held in high regard and any deviation would have been bad form.
Wellington’s funeral took place at St Paul’s Cathedral on 18 November 1852. He had died on 14 September in Walmer Castle, Kent, but the funeral was delayed to make time for preparations for typically Victorian overstatement. The Duke’s body lay in a pine coffin which was enclosed in lead; this was placed in a coffin of English oak and this went into a coffin of Spanish mahogany. This very heavy artefact was transported by rail to the Royal Hospital at Chelsea in London. Wellington lay in state here in the Great Hall, which had been decorated with black cloth overlaid with
a trellis of silver cords and plumes of black feathers; the spectacle was illuminated by 83 candelabra. Thousands thronged to see the coffin with dire consequences: two women were killed in the crush and many more were injured.
The funeral gave rise to a small industry selling crepe for armbands and hatbands, and any number of souvenirs such as funeral wine, cake and biscuits. There were statuettes, medals, laudatory pamphlets, printed portraits and more relics emerged than were feasibly possible. Countless mourning rings and brooches contained “genuine hair” from Wellington’s head; at a lower price hair from the tail or mane of the Duke’s horse could be purchased.
The most startling funerary artefact was the gigantic six-wheeled funeral car whose construction was overseen by Prince Albert. He wanted it to be “a symbol of English military strength and statesmanship”. The bronze car was cast from over ten tonnes of cannon captured at Waterloo and was 27 foot long by 17 foot high. It was decorated with ducal coronets and batons, the names of Wellington’s famous battles, and symbols such as laurel wreaths. The whole thing was overlaid with rich embroidery and velvet.
Twelve huge black horses were engaged to strain at this structure, harnessed three abreast. Queen Victoria, along with military admirers of the Duke, thought it artistic and appropriate. Not everyone was so impressed. Writer Thomas Carlyle described it as “an incoherent huddle of expensive palls, flags, sheets and gilt emblems and cross poles” and Charles Dickens said that the car excelled in “forms of ugliness”. More funeral decorations appeared on the streets including a full dressing of Temple Bar, the ancient gate to the City, which was draped in black cloth with silver cornices, papier mâché aristocratic decorations such as arms and trophies, and topped with silver urns from which shot flaming gas jets. Rooms along the route from Chelsea to St Paul’s were let to viewers for high prices. It was estimated that 1.5 million people watched the procession, a quarter of a million of them from specially erected seats. The procession started off at 8am with marching infantry regiments, muffled drumbeats and the sound of Handel’s Dead March. The great funeral car started to move at 9.25am and, inevitably, got stuck. Sixty policemen had to push it out of a rut on The Mall. It was not until after 1pm that the end of the procession had reached St Paul’s Cathedral and the funeral got underway. It was suggested that waiting around in the cold weather may have hastened the demise of several old generals.
The Duke’s coffin was finally winched down to the crypt where it was eventually placed in a mausoleum of Cornish porphyry; giving Wellington a heroic resting place that responded to the Mausoleum of Napoleon, which was being constructed at the same time in Paris.
Political upheaval
This year a shuffling of the powerful in the political pack resulted in a top job for the colourful figure of Benjamin Disraeli. In a minority coalition government, he became Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons (the Prime Minister, Lord Derby, was in the Lords).
The political establishment sneered at Disraeli as a Jew and a political newcomer (previously he was a novelist) who had not attended the great public schools or Oxford and Cambridge, which had nurtured other statesmen of the time. Disraeli was always an outsider, but as such was prepared to think creatively, away from the old mould of politics. He brought forward a budget in December 1852, which was designed to appeal to the working classes who Disraeli saw as a key to the future of society.
When Disraeli stood to speak on his budget in the House of Commons he was predicted to lose by a large majority. He spoke for three hours in what was widely seen as a parliamentary masterpiece. The government still lost the vote, but by a very slender majority. The Liberals took over, and Disraeli was replaced as Chancellor by his arch-rival William Ewart Gladstone. A new kind of politics had arrived.
Hot off the press
Politics was probably less important to your ancestors than religious rivalries. In 1850, the Catholic church had sharpened up its administration by re-introducing bishops to England and Wales. This was described as ‘papal aggression’ by those who feared a Catholic revival. Some scholarly Anglican clergymen had joined the Catholic church, the chief of them being one who rose to become Cardinal Newman. It was in his role as a defender of the Catholic faith that Newman supposedly libelled a former Dominican priest
THOUSANDS THRONGED TO SEE THE COFFIN WITH DIRE CONSQUENCES: TWO WOMEN WERE KILLED IN THE CRUSH AND MANY MORE WERE INJURED
called Giacinto Achilli, leading to a lurid trial that transfixed your ancestors.
Achilli had been accused of seducing an 18-year-old girl in Italy and later of raping a 15-year-old girl, as well as other offences against women. The Catholic hierarchy in the form of the Roman Inquisition took steps to remove him from the priesthood; they also sentenced him to three years penitence in a remote Dominican house.
Achilli escaped, turned rabidly against his previous faith and toured Europe with the support of organisations like the Evangelical Alliance which had been formed to spread anti- Catholic propaganda. Cardinal Newman exposed him in print as a fraud and a sexual predator. Achilli sued and in June this year your ancestors enjoyed newspaper reports of the salacious details that came out at the trial. Newman had written the truth, but such was the prejudice against Catholics that the jury found him guilty. He was fined the small sum of £100, but had to find £12,000 costs, which was raised by public subscription among Catholics in the UK and Europe. Achilli was discredited by the trial, despite his victory, and left the country.
For those with no taste for racy court cases, tamer fare was available in the homes of your forebears. There were numerous titles aiming at the comfortable place that the Victorian home aspired to be, such as Family Herald or Useful Information and Amusement for the Million. This featured serial fiction, items of biographical or historical interest, poetry, a letters page, and advertisements. Another, the Home
Journal focused on providing useful and entertaining knowledge to artisan and lower middle class readers. Charles Dickens had recently founded Household Words as his contribution to this weekly market as a place for his short fiction and social journalism with a conscience. This year there was a new addition: Samuel Orchart Beeton’s The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine. It was decidedly middle class with an intention that it should “tend to the improvement of the intellect”. It had articles on domestic issues, fashion, fiction and a lively letters column. Soon Samuel married and Mrs Beeton would begin writing for the magazine, taking it to new heights in developing the ‘cult of domesticity’.