Heather King's Blog, page 9

HORSES IN ART ~ THE RECKONING

Continuing my series on famous equestrian paintings, in this article I look at one of George Morland’s best works. An oil on canvas, it was painted circa 1783 – 1804 and measures 29¼ x 39 inches (74 x 99cm). It hangs in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Morland lived from 1763 – 1804.


[image error]The Reckoning, by George Morland

Morland excelled at painting animals and also depicting scenes of rural life. This picture, in itself a social comment by the artist, is rich with detail of an unfolding drama. Paintings of this style, which tell a story, were later dubbed ‘problem pictures’. Morland made his name producing such studies of everyday folk going about their normal business, and although his tendency towards drunkenness and profligacy meant he often had to paint ‘potboilers’ in order to stave off his creditors, works such as The Reckoning open a window on country life in eighteenth century England.


Set in the stable of a probable country inn, a young boy is seeking payment from a farmer. A second man looks on from the doorway, while the ostler (in the buff-coloured smock) is watching the confrontation. The saddle appears too far back on the horse, begging the question, has the girth not yet been fastened? If not, then why, and has this something to do with the disagreement?


The attitudes and expressions of the characters reveal much. The farmer is frowning, clearly displeased with the boy’s request and while his hand is delving into his breeches pocket, he appears reluctant to ‘cough up the readies’. The boy is holding a jug or tankard and is wearing an apron. Whatever the service he has performed, he is bravely holding his ground before a man socially his superior. The farmer is tall and well-built, eats well and is obviously a mean-tempered individual; these factors, plus his ownership of the horse, give him control of the situation. Even though the beast is no more than a rough cart-horse, he confers power on his master, because in the eighteenth century, the horse was transport and capital, much as the car is today.So the painting is demonstrating social order. The farmer is the ‘big cheese’; the man in the doorway is showing, by his relaxed demeanour, that he is secure in his position, both as a bystander and in the hierarchy, with the ostler and the boy both below him. The two latter, being low servants, were, at that time, subject to the often cruel and petty decisions of such men as the farmer, for they were deemed of less worth than an old cart-horse. In fact, to a lesser degree, certain employers in the equestrian world maintain a similar attitude into the twenty-first century!Nevertheless, in spite of all the implied intrigues and undercurrents of the picture, the animals are what make it worthy of a longer look. The grey cart-horse, the spaniel and the two bull mastiffs are finely drawn and beautifully executed. You can feel the mastiffs’ interest in the human conflict and the spaniel’s excitement in the scent he or she has discovered. Meanwhile, the horse waits with the patience of his like, almost dozing, indeed, as if secure in the expectation of a corn feed and a rack of hay on his return, whether or nay the poor lackeys go hungry…
Picture courtesy Wikipedia Commons

Rebirth Of An Old Friend

A Sense Of The Ridiculous Is Here Again!

I am proud to announce......that my debut novel, A Sense of the Ridiculous, is once more available!


After the 'death' of my publishers, I have revisited my old friends Jocasta and Richard, listened to their suggestions, polished and buffed to their present requirements, and now, under a new cover, they live again!



[image error]

Available for PRE-ORDER at Amazon for 99p or 99c until launch day, 27th August 2015:
http://www.amazon.com/Sense-Ridiculous-Heather-King-ebook/dp/B0141KWMGE/ref=la_B00I04PYPE_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439992171&sr=1-5http://www.amazon.co.uk/Sense-Ridiculous-Heather-King-ebook/dp/B0141KWMGE/ref=la_B00I04PYPE_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1439992327&sr=1-5 Friends and guests are invited to a Facebook party to launch my debut novel in the manner it did not enjoy last time, so if you love the Regency era, connect with me at:https://www.facebook.com/ARegencyRepository?ref=bookmarks and we'll get you invited!!Or visit my page at Goodreads:https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7425037.Heather_King
See you there!!Heather





Witley Court ~ Victorian Grandeur To Evocative Ruin

FROM JACOBEAN MANSION TO TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY HERITAGE SITE…
THE STORY OF WITLEY COURT
 
[image error]South Front (C) Heather King

 
In Victorian times, it was one of the largest and most celebrated houses in the country. Today, Witley Court, near Worcester in England, plays host to visitors from all over the world. Open air theatre productions take place in its beautiful grounds as well as fun activities for children and adults alike. You can take the dog and a picnic; walk around the Wilderness area; sit in the shade of a venerable tree and watch the huge jet of water from the restored Perseus and Andromeda fountain soar into the air; wander around the ruins or enjoy a piece of scrumptious cake in the tea rooms. A visit to the awe-inspiring Great Witley church is a must.
 
[image error]Perseus and Andromeda Fountain (C) Heather King It all began, however, in the 1620s, when a fine Jacobean house belonged to the Russell family of Strensham. Stourbridge ironmaster Richard Foley had copied a nail-making machine he saw in Sweden, made a fortune and revolutionized the nail manufacturing industry in the Black Country in the process. His son, Thomas Foley I (1617-77), bought the manor of Great Witley from the Russell family in 1655. He also acquired other estates in the area, including two Redmarley villages, Adam and Oliver. Highly respected for his honest business dealings, he became High Sheriff of Worcestershire in 1655 and also a Member of Parliament. After Richard’s death, Thomas made improvements to the old Jacobean manor house at Great Witley, creating a substantial, ‘fair new-built’ house with a central block, two square towers and two large wings extending behind. In front of the central block to the south was a walled garden.
 
It is believed that Thomas’ son, Thomas Foley II (c1641-1701), another High Sheriff and MP, also made improvements to the manor, possibly replacing the original roof with an overhanging hipped roof. This is visible in an early painting. He had added the six manors of Great Witley to the property by 1689. Nevertheless, it would appear that it was his son, Thomas III, who began the switch from industrial entrepreneurs of sound business practice and acumen to landed gentry and politicians. It was he who disposed of many of the family’s ironworks, presumably with this aim.
 
Inheriting the property in 1700, Thomas III became Baron Foley of Kidderminster in 1712, courtesy of Queen Anne, who created twelve new peers to increase Governmental votes in the House of Lords. Thomas III lived at Witley for thirty-three years and greatly extended the house to match his burgeoning ambition. He deepened the central block by filling out the garden front of the house and added another floor, as well as erecting small, two-storey wings on the south front of the existing east and west projections. A bowed frontispiece in the centre was built to provide architectural interest to the southern aspect, while bay windows improved the northern ends of the East and West wings. Two stable blocks were constructed to flank the main driveway.
 
Thomas III was responsible for the planting of thousands of trees, including a magnificent avenue approaching the house from the east, and it is likely that in the process various cottages were moved. Photos of an old painting, now lost, shows the Jacobean south front, with the medieval church about two hundred yards to the left of the mansion and houses in the foreground. Little evidence remains of either the original village or the old rectory, which stood opposite the present day Garden House. It had been Lord Foley’s intention to erect a new church to complement his remodelled house and do away with the old Gothic parish church, but in the end this was accomplished by his widow and the second Lord Foley, Thomas IV (1703-66).
 
Consecrated in 1735, the new church may have been designed by James Gibbs (1682-1750), who was the architect for St. Martin-in-the-Fields in London. He it was who oversaw the installation of the windows and ceiling paintings, which were acquired in 1747 from the chapel ‒ at Canons in Middlesex ‒ belonging to the Duke of Chandos. Thomas Foley IV was the initiator of a new approach on the northern side, by creating a causeway across the present Front Pool through the damming of a stream. New service blocks were also added to enhance the aesthetics of this façade for the visitor, with curved walls ‒ which in due course became arcaded screen walls ‒ being used to connect these buildings to the house.
 
The Foley family continued at Witley for 183 years, but the original barony became extinct with the death of Thomas IV in 1766. The estate passed to his second cousin, Thomas V (1716-77), who hailed from Stoke Edith in Herefordshire. Another MP, he was rewarded with elevation to the peerage on his own merit with the title Baron Foley, of the second creation. A source of great disappointment, his two elder sons were spendthrift and succumbed to ‘the River Tick’, while Thomas VI (1742-93) earned the sobriquet ‘Lord Balloon’ following a hot air balloon catching fire when its ascent failed from the garden of Foley House in London on 20 September 1784.
 
While Lord Balloon had a successful career, in that he became a privy councillor and Lord Lieutenant of Worcestershire, both positions of high office, it was noted in the Royal Register that he had sunk to such a level of ‘misery and disgrace’ through ‘debauchery, extravagance and gambling’ that he could never recover. His father disowned him, but the damage had been done. The family fortunes had been badly dissipated.
 
The next recipient of the title was Thomas VI’s third and only surviving son, also Thomas, who inherited in 1793, at the tender age of thirteen. Thomas VII (1780-1833) married one of the 2nd Duke of Leinster’s daughters in 1806 and thus restored his financial standing. He commissioned premier Regency architect John Nash (who often stayed with the family at Witley) to carry out various ambitious alterations. The most evident of these to the modern visitor are the two enormous stone porticoes built on to the north and south fronts. Although precise dating is unclear, the north portico is mentioned in print in 1814 and appears to have been added before the southern façade. The East and West wings were raised to match the roof-lines with the new porticoes. At this same time, the roof was altered to permit overhanging ‘Tuscan’ eaves.
 
Nash redesigned the house interior around a central gallery – a favourite ‘conceit’ of his in grander houses – and altered the East wing. Here he developed a line of rooms, starting from the Gallery with a dining room and leading through a library to ‘Lord Foley’s Rooms’, which included a bath. These arrangements are depicted in a drawing by architect C.R. Cockerell following a visit to Witley Court in 1821. Although described by Cockerell as ‘very coarse and vulgar in taste’, it is probable that Nash’s décor followed those fashionable Regency styles he had employed for the Prince Regent at Carlton House and then Buckingham Palace. The stable blocks were demolished at this time and large new domestic quarters were built around two courtyards to the west of the house. A small conservatory was also added by Nash, placed at right angles to the south-west service block. Kennels, in the shape of octagonal pavilions and exercise yards which inter-connected, were erected in the park for Lord Foley’s hounds by George Repton, son of the famous landscape gardener, Humphrey Repton. It is quite likely Repton Snr. was asked for his opinion with regards the landscaping.
 
The whole Witley estate, including the house and contents, was sold in 1837, four years after Thomas VII’s death, by his son Thomas VIII. It passed into the hands of the trustees of William, 11thBaron Ward of Birmingham, who inherited the wealth of the first Earl of Dudley, John William Ward, at one time a Foreign Secretary, in 1833. Prior to Lord Ward gaining his full inheritance (based on the income from over 200 mines in the Black Country), aged 28, Witley was let. Queen Adelaide, widow of William IV, was the most notable occupant, between 1843 and 1846. King Edward VII was another Royal guest, at various house parties around 1860-1910, towards the end of the Court’s Victorian heyday.
 
[image error]View of Orangery and South-west Wing (C) Heather King

 
Lord Ward put his own stamp on Witley Court, further enlarging the already impressive building. He was responsible for the addition of the Orangery, which replaced Nash’s conservatory, and the curved South wing. He added a facing of Bath stone to the whole building and the church, and brought in architect Samuel Daukes to refurbish the house in the ornate Italian style. A corniced balustrade was added around the new flat, lead roof and a new stable block was constructed adjoining the churchyard on the southern side. W.A. Nesfield was commissioned to lay out elaborate gardens; these were enclosed by a stone balustrade incorporating two pavilions and thus neatly formed the boundary of the deer park. The church was also further embellished, both inside and out.
 
[image error]Wall Pavilion (C) Heather King

 
Carton Pierre (a type of papier mâché) was used to create mouldings and other fashionable decoration, while the ballroom and the main reception rooms were dressed in various versions of white and gold as inspired by the Louis XIV and XV French interiors. Marble chimney-pieces and other such items were carved, many by the designer of the Perseus and Andromeda fountain, James Forsyth. This work was completed in 1860, the very year that Lord Ward succeeded to the revised title of Earl of Dudley in recognition of his charitable donations.
 
The first Earl died in 1885 and is buried at Witley, although his monument lies in Worcester Cathedral. The 2nd Earl, William Humble Ward, took up residence when 21, three years after inheriting, and held a splendid three-day party to mark the occasion. The first evening, there was a glittering ball for 214 guests. Two marquees were set up – one for the ball and one for all the coachmen – while an enormous temporary stable was arranged for one hundred horses. The second day involved congratulations and presentations from various trades. Then on the third day, a fair was held, complete with Punch and Judy, lunch for nine hundred men in a massive marquee sixty metres in length, pleasure boats, merry-go-rounds and fireworks. The 2ndEarl married Norfolk banking heiress Rachel Anne Gurney in 1891 and owned two properties in London (Dudley House and 7, Carlton Gardens), as well as estates in Great Britain, Europe and Jamaica. Lord Dudley hosted lavish shooting parties that were attended, as aforementioned, by the future Edward VII. Enormous dinners were held in either the ballroom or picture gallery when the dining room was of insufficient size to accommodate all the guests.
 
Guests might stay for a week, bringing with them retinues of servants (depending on status), all of whom had to be housed too. A lady’s maid, a valet, a groom, would be a minimum requirement for those joining a house party. Nobility and Royalty might well bring their own cook, footmen, gun loaders and more. The Court’s own servants included the butler, housekeeper, housemaids, footmen, boot boys, scullery maids, gardeners and stable staff, totalling about one hundred persons. It was the size of a modern hotel!
 
William Humble and his wife Rachel had seven children between them, but did not dance to the same tune. He was outgoing and enjoyed being one of the Prince of Wales’ rackety set, while she embraced the characteristic Victorian values of family, duty, good works and church. A legal separation was arranged in 1908 and Witley Court became the Countess’ domain. She created ‘My Lady’s Garden’ of topiary and this is now the garden of the Tea Rooms, adjacent to the church.
 
Lord Dudley’s extravagance, however, had depleted his fortune and foreign competition further ravaged the family’s wealth. The story goes that the Earl threw unpaid bills into a pair of wooden urns which stood at the bottom of the main staircase. The estate was mortgaged and pictures were sold to fund his partying. In 1920, the Countess died in a bathing accident in Ireland and Witley Court was sold the following year. The estate was bought by Sir Herbert Smith (1872-1943), a Kidderminster carpet manufacturer. Lord Dudley remarried and the line still continues.
 
Meanwhile, Sir Herbert, a self-made man and accomplished violinist, who retired at the age of forty-nine already a millionaire, reduced the staff and, although the house was furnished, lived with his family in the south-west wing. He had electricity installed, but the vast mansion was no longer to play host to the excesses of the idle rich. In September 1937 a fire started in the evening of the seventh, possibly in the basement bakery. It spread quickly, the flames assisted by a strong wind. Lack of maintenance meant the water system from the fountain’s reservoir was unusable and while villagers helped the few staff to save much of the contents, the eastern and central blocks were devastated. Those contents saved, plus garden statuary, were auctioned in 1938 and the house and grounds were sold to a Mr. Banks the year after. Trees were felled and the land was sold for farming.
 
The house fell into ruin, anything of value taken by a Stratford antique dealer, who bought the property in 1954. Nature’s forces began the slow process of reclaiming what man had built and the mansion was nearly demolished on several occasions for various schemes, including a caravan park, housing and a motor racing track. Thank heavens none of these proposals succeeded! What a travesty it would have been. It seems hard to believe, now, that visitors to Worcester Cathedral might daily be driving past the Perseus and Andromeda fountain on the roundabout there, or that the church could be sitting somewhere in London…
 
Thanks to the foresight of those responsible for a Building Preservation Order issued in 1964 and a Compulsory Guardianship Order from the Department of the Environment in1972, the ruined grandeur of Witley Court lives on to delight thousands of visitors, due in no small measure to the dedication and work of English Heritage, who took over in 1984.
 
Long may this still-glorious and evocative building continue to grace the velvet lawns of Witley in this time capsule of historic magnificence, and encourage many future generations to appreciate the architectural splendour of our country houses. First developed through industry, this author hopes that the industry of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries – tourism – will go on keeping our heritage alive.
I hope you enjoyed this post as much as I enjoyed my day out at Witley Court!
Heather

HORSES IN ART ~ WILD FEAR

HORSE ATTACKED BY A LION by George Stubbs
In the fourth in my series looking at famous equestrian paintings, I consider a dramatic composition which embodies the essence of nature at its cruellest.

[image error]Horse Attacked By a Lion, George Stubbs

Painted by the extraordinary British artist George Stubbs (1724-1806), painter of Whistlejacket, the first in this series of equine paintings, this is an image which lives on in the memory. A ‘close-up’ octagonal version, produced in enamel on copper, hangs in the Tate Gallery in London.
I cannot remember when, but I saw this picture as a child – possibly in a book – and while I would not say it has haunted me ever since, it has certainly influenced my thinking and perception of nature.
It is a subject which clearly affected Stubbs too, for he produced seventeen such works during the course of thirty years, through sketches, paintings and sculptures. This painting in particular was as famous at the time of its completion as it is today. What inspired Stubbs to paint it has long been the subject of conjecture – did he witness such a scene? One theory suggested that he took a trip to the coast of Africa on his return from a sojourn in Italy and saw a similar attack on a Barbary horse. Historians believe there is no evidence to support this and it is more likely, that as a known equestrian artist he was shown, while in Rome in 1754, the famous and evocative marble sculpture in the Palazzo dei Conservatori, in which a lion does indeed attack a horse.


[image error]Horse Frightened By A Lion, George Stubbs
Stubbs completed four separate parts to the evolving story. Part one shows the horse rearing in alarm as it smells the lion leaving its cave. In the second, the horse is rooted to the spot in fear as the cat approaches. This painting is the third episode of the drama, with the lion launching itself on to the horse’s back to make the death grip with its teeth just above the withers. Finally, the horse falls with the lion on top. The horse is depicted as ‘white’ (grey), as in the above painting, or as a chestnut with flaxen mane and tail.
[image error]A Lion Attacking A Horse, George Stubbs

Stubbs is believed to have visited the Hounslow Heath menagerie belonging to Lord Sherborne, in order to make preparatory sketches of lions from life, before commencing the project.
For centuries, Man has thought animals to be inferior beings; to be used as beasts of burden, for sport and for amusement. This was definitely the viewpoint of most during the eighteenth century, the ‘Age of Reason’. Being inferior because of their lack of intellect, animals, it was propounded, did not have feelings. They could not feel emotion for that was the domain of Homo sapiens alone. There are sadly some who still follow that creed today.
The scientist Descartes declared that animals’ responses were mechanical and therefore they could not experience anything in the same way as a human. Disagreeing, Voltaire asked Descartes if nature had not provided all the same means of feeling to the animal in order that it might feel. Whether or not this series of pictures by Stubbs express his comment on the subject is not for me to say, but he spent his life with horses, handling and studying them. He knew – as anyone who spends time with these wonderful animals does – that horses are remarkably like people in many ways. They can be sensitive, stubborn, intelligent, crafty, ‘out of sorts’; they can know confidence, arrogance, fear, suffering and much more.
This picture is a painting of violence; a statement on the cruelty of nature. The vivid contrast of the lion’s tawny hide against the stallion’s white coat adds to the impact and power of the work. It is a haunting piece. The horse is in a state of abject terror combined with fury. He wants and needs to remove the predator from his back. He feels the emotion just as the person viewing the painting experiences the drama, trauma and fear of the horse.Pictures courtesy Wikimedia Commons

COPENHAGEN ~ LEGENDARY HERO OF WATERLOO

Wellington's famous battle horse ~
the full story
As we celebrate the bicentenary of the Battle of Waterloo and remember those heroes, both human and animal, who lost their lives to preserve our freedom from the Napoleonic threat, I look at the horse without whom it might all have been so very different...
I am just a little bit fond of horses so when, while researching Waterloo for the Anthology Beaux, Ballrooms and Battles, I came across an interesting fact about the Duke of Wellington's horse, Copenhagen, it was manna from heaven. It is something I suspect is not universally known and it was enormous fun fleshing out the story around that snippet of information. You will have to read the story, 'Copenhagen's Last Charge', to find out what that fact is! I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you enjoy reading it.
This is an article I have written about Copenhagen and his relationship with the Duke. In my opinion he was a remarkable horse and when you read of his exploits, I think you will agree. 
Copenhagen. The very name of the Danish capital conjures exotic images of a bustling, modern city with an infamous red light district; a centuries-old port, evolved from a fortification built in 1167 to protect a ferry crossing; battles on the high seas and an international political centre.
It was also the name of a horse.
That horse was not just any old horse, though. He was the famed mount of a revered general. He was the war horse of no less a personage than the Duke of Wellington and carried his master throughout the whole of the Battle of Waterloo. 
[image error]The Battle of Copenhagen, 1807

 Copenhagen’s story begins at the siege of the city which gave him his name. His dam was the half-bred mare, Lady Catherine, bred by Thomas Grosvenor and, it is believed, ridden by him during that conflict, where he was a brigade commander. Lady Catherine’s dam was by the Rutland Arabian, ‘out of a hunting mare not thorough-bred’ according to The General Stud Book and was put to the successful racehorse and stallion, John Bull. John Bull’s sire, Fortitude, was by Herod and his dam was by the legendary Eclipse. Copenhagen was sired by Meteor, a son of Eclipse, meaning Eclipse was both his grandsire and great, great grandsire (denoted 2x4 in a pedigree). Meteor’s dam was an unnamed mare by Merlin. Meteor was second in the Derby of 1786 and then went on to win his next twenty-one starts. All this means that Copenhagen was well bred, but not sufficiently so. He was not eligible for the General Stud Book because of his grand-dam’s hunter blood. Lady Catherine is the only half-bred mare included in the stud book, in deference to his honourable military career.
Historical sources seem divided as to whether Lady Catherine was shipped back to England in foal or whether Copenhagen was born on the Continent. The listing for Lady Catherine gives no indication that he was foaled anywhere but in Britain ‒ most likely at the Grosvenor Stud, Eaton Hall, in 1808.
Meteor was tiny by today’s standards, measuring about fourteen hands, but Copenhagen took after his grandsire in colour, height and temperament. He was chestnut (as was his father), stood about fifteen hands high (a hand is four inches, a horse being measured to the base of the neck where it joins the body) and could be bad-tempered, being prone to lashing out with a hind leg. He is described as being muscular and compact, having two white heels, a hollow back and poor shoulders… and, conversely, as being a handsome horse.
[image error]The Duke of Wellington mounted on Copenhagen
Thomas Lawrence
     If the Thomas Lawrence and Samuel Spode portraits are accurate, he was a rich, dark chestnut, but it is interesting to note that his white markings vary. In the Spode painting he has a narrow stripe down his face from forehead to muzzle and one white sock on his near (left) hind leg. There are no obvious white markings on his legs in the Lawrence depiction and his head is turned away, in an active pose full of presence and arrogance. In a painting of the pair at Waterloo by Robert Hillingford, Copenhagen would appear to have four white socks. We shall never know, now, which is the most accurate, but one thing is certain. The stallion had a quality which drew the eye and fired the imagination.


[image error]Wellington at Waterloo, RA Hillingford


In all three paintings, he is a striking individual, his proud bearing, fine legs and sturdy conformation clearly reflecting his Arabian bloodlines. There would even seem to be, in the Spode portrait, a hint of the classic dished face – but that may be merely artistic licence. The former qualities were appreciated by the knowledgeable cavalry soldier, for on campaign, horses may receive little in the way of fodder while enduring the harshest of conditions. Toughness was a prime requisite. Wellington is quoted as saying of his famous horse: ‘There may have been many faster horses, no doubt many handsomer, but for bottom and endurance I never saw his fellow.’ Such stamina is the hallmark, not only of the Thoroughbred, but of the three Arab stallions from whom the breed evolved.
However, the Duke of Wellington and his illustrious horse had yet to meet. Despite his lack of a full pedigree, Thomas Grosvenor had bred Copenhagen to race, but although a quick colt, he had not inherited either Meteor’s or Eclipse’s speed. He did not run as a two-year-old and his two seasons were undistinguished at best, resulting in only two wins. He retired from racing in 1812, at the end of his four-year-old season and was sold to Sir Charles Stewart, (later the Marquis of Londonderry) who took the stallion to the Peninsula.
Not a favourite of the future Duke of Wellington, Sir Charles fell foul of the Field Marshal on several occasions, finally, so the story goes, being reduced to tears for remarks made in the Morning Chronicle. Soon after, Stewart was offered a post as Minister to Prussia – possibly through the good offices of his half-brother and Foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereagh. However that may be, towards the end of 1813, Sir Charles, being short of funds and no longer in need of a stable of horses, sold Copenhagen and one other to Colonel Charles Wood (or Colonel Alexander Gordon) on behalf of one Arthur Wellesley.
When Copenhagen arrived in the Marquis’ stables (Wellington was not made a duke until 1814) he caused no small amount of concern. Not only was his temperament uncertain, he had a particularly unusual idiosyncrasy. All horses will lie down in their stable, given that the bed is deep enough and they are comfortable in their surroundings. However, they eat standing up; hay from a hay rack or net, feed from a manger or bucket. Copenhagen had a hearty appetite, for corn feed especially, but he would eat it whilst lying down. Until they determined that there was nothing wrong with their expensive new charge, he no doubt gave the Marquis’ grooms many a sleepless night!
A true horseman, Wellington quickly realized that his chestnut charger needed plenty of occupation. He already maintained his own pack of hounds as well as a pair of hunters for his leisure hours in the Peninsula, since his battle horses were not suitable for the sport. Copenhagen, on the other hand, revelled in the work and the freedom from his stable. The discipline of standing quietly and then galloping when hounds set off developed the five-year-old’s fitness and hardened his legs and tendons. Days in the field developed a relationship between horse and rider which was to be indispensable. The two seasons Copenhagen had spent on the race courses of England had accustomed him to noise and clamour. The pieces of the jigsaw were fitting together to create a legend; a horse whose name would go down in history.
During the battle of Quatre Bras, on 16th June, Wellington and his aide, Lord Fitzroy Somerset, were left exposed when the Brunswick and Netherland troops took fright and abandoned their position. With a detachment of French cuirassiers too close for comfort, they had to put spur to their horses and gallop for the nearest place of safety. This happened to be a square formed by the 92nd Gordon Highlanders, under the command of Sir Thomas Picton. A square of massed bayonets is an effective defensive measure against cavalry, since horses will not, even under the strongest coercion, charge at such a fearsome wall of steel. As Wellington galloped Copenhagen at his own infantry ranks, he ordered them to lie down. As the astonished men hastily withdrew bayonets and flattened themselves, he drove Copenhagen into a mighty leap that saved both their lives. The gallant Highlanders resumed formation as Lord Somerset joined their illustrious commander and repelled the French onslaught with Wellington calmly giving orders as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. A lesser horse would, in all likelihood, have baulked. Had Wellington fallen that day, there can be little doubt that history would have recorded a different outcome. The trust and obedience honed on the hunting fields of Spain and Portugal had proved invaluable.
In her diary, Lady Frances Shelley states that: ‘On the day before the battle, the Duke rode Copenhagen to the Prussian headquarters, to ascertain whether he might depend on old Blücher’s co-operation.’ This belief is also reflected by the Reverend Charles Young, who was staying with the Rt. Hon. Henry Pierrepoint in 1833 when the Duke himself apparently related the tale. The Duke is reported to have said, ‘Before ten o’clock I got on Copenhagen’s back… I never drew bit, and he never had a morsel in his mouth, till 8pm, when Fitzroy Somerset came to tell me dinner was ready in the little neighbouring village – Waterloo.’ He went on to claim that he sent Fitzroy Somerset off on an errand, ‘ordered Copenhagen to be re-saddled, and told my man to get his own horse and accompany me to Wavre, where I had reason to believe old ‘Forwards’ was encamped.’ Wavre was some twelve miles away and the Prussian actually two miles further on, according to the Reverend’s account. The Duke further added that he had got the information he wanted and made the best of his way homewards. ‘Bad, however, was the best; for, by Jove, it was so dark I fell into a deepish dyke by the roadside; and if it had not been for the orderly’s assistance, I doubt that I should ever have got out. Thank God, there was no harm done, either to horse or man!’ Some modern historians believe this tale to be a fabrication and that an aide-de-camp had made the journey and returned with the message promising assistance from the Prussians. It is a more likely version of events, but if not… the possibility of having carried his master another twenty-eight miles on top of his day’s work, including stumbling into a ditch, and then be ridden the following day during the battle itself, adds immeasurably to Copenhagen’s already considerable lustre and reputation for bottomless endurance.
What is irrefutable fact, however, is that while Napoleon rode probably three or four horses during the battle and covered considerably less ground, the cranky chestnut stallion was Wellington’s sole mount for the whole of that long, momentous day ‒ a stretch of almost eighteen hours. Calm and composed amidst the smoke and mayhem of the battlefield, the very sight of the powerful horse and his rider cheered the Allied forces into greater endeavours and helped them stand firm when the odds were against them. Afterwards, he wrote to Lady Frances Webster and said, ‘The finger of Providence was upon me…’ So it must have been, because neither he nor Copenhagen took hurt, in spite of being in prominent positions on the famous ridge throughout the battle. Possibly the nearest they came to sustaining mortal injury was when, sometime before eight pm, Wellington, standing in his stirrups beneath the elm tree that had been his vantage point throughout, espied the arrival of the Prussians. Waving his troops onwards, he galloped Copenhagen into the confusion, accompanied by Lord Uxbridge. In what must have been one of the last volleys of artillery fire from the French guns at La Haye Sainte, a single shot passed between Wellington and his charger’s neck.
In his book on the life and letters of his forebear, the Marquis of Anglesey confirms the popular story of the incident. ‘By God, sir, I’ve lost my leg!’ Uxbridge is supposed to have exclaimed. Wellington, surveying the proceedings through his telescope and, one presumes, with his attention elsewhere, then duly took a cursory glance and answered, ‘My God, sir, so you have!’ The truth must have sunk in within seconds, for he leaned over and gave the Earl a supporting hand until he could be taken to safety. The grapeshot had shattered the knee joint and Uxbridge had his leg amputated. The saw used for this grisly service is now in the National Army Museum, donated by a descendant of James Powell, the surgeon who probably performed the operation.
Meanwhile, the Duke and Copenhagen – clearly unfazed by the close shave with death – followed the advance, oblivious of the last, desperate bursts of fire from the enemy. Perhaps one or both were charmed. It is little wonder that the illustrious pair were fêted by all and sundry when they finally arrived home victorious.
Once the despatches and other concerns had been completed, including a ride to Mont St. Jean to oversee the burial of the dead, the Duke and Copenhagen travelled on to Paris. The Austrian and Russian Emperors, bedecked in full ceremonial regalia, rode into the city on white horses. The Duke of Wellington, who had also favoured a white steed when entering the same city in May 1814, this time mounted his old friend and accepted the accolades of the populace plainly dressed in a red coat, a star upon his chest.
The Duke and Copenhagen remained in Paris for some time, Wellington being involved with the Paris Peace Conference and his military commitments as Commander-in-Chief of the Army of Occupation. Although they did not have as much time for hunting as formerly, they both enjoyed being the centre of attention of the fairer sex, both French and English. Many ladies clamoured to be allowed to ride Copenhagen, even though he was far from an easy ride. Lady Frances Shelley considered it a dubious pleasure, but although married, was half in love with the Duke. In her diary, she wrote in 1815:
I dined at three o'clock to-day, in order to ride with the Duke, who offered to mount me on Copenhagen. A charming ride of two hours. But I found Copenhagen the most difficult horse to sit of any I had ever ridden. If the Duke had not been there, I should have been frightened. He said: “I believe you think the glory greater than the pleasure in riding him!”
Towards the end of 1815, or early the following year, the Duke rented a house in Mont St. Martin as being more convenient for his official headquarters at Cambrai. Here the pair once more indulged their love of hunting, while Wellington held house parties, ceremonials and mock battles. In her Reminiscences, Georgiana, Lady Lennox, recalls the Duke announcing one of the latter, where the ladies were to be taken prisoner. As she was riding Copenhagen it was a simple matter for her to stay close to his master. She found herself ‘…the only one with him in a square, where they were firing. To the Duke's great amusement we heard one of the soldiers saying to another, “Take care of that ’ere horse, he kicks out; we knew him well in Spain,” pointing to Copenhagen! He was a most unpleasant horse to ride, but always snorted and neighed with pleasure at the sight of troops.’
While Wellington returned to England on occasion during the next year or two, the stallion remained peacefully in France until the close of 1818, when the Army of Occupation came home. With every care taken for his comfort as the honoured mount of the Duke of Wellington’s charger, his short journey across the English Channel must have been very different from the long voyage to Lisbon as a five-year-old. He came home to a hero’s welcome and yet more adulation from the ladies. The Government had purchased the Hampshire estate of Stratfield Saye for His Grace in recognition of his achievement and the Duke acquired Apsley House near Hyde Park Corner from his brother, Lord Richard Wellesley. Wellington continued to ride his famous horse around London but when his duties took up more of his time, he sent Copenhagen to Hampshire, bringing him back for one very special occasion. When he was elected Prime Minister in 1828, he rode his old friend up Constitution Hill and to the door of Number 10, Downing Street.
[image error]Wellington Statue, Courtesy Victoria Hinshaw


Copenhagen enjoyed a peaceful retirement at Stratfield Saye, petted by the Duchess of Wellington and many other ladies, whom, for the price of a sponge cake, a crust of bread or an apple, would request a lock of hair to be made into jewellery. Although he became blind and deaf, he had the best of care and was finally laid to rest with full military honours in his paddock near the Ice House on 12thFebruary 1836, having died in the ‘pink-washed’, ‘rococo curves’ of his palatial stall. He was twenty-eight.The Duke had been absent from the estate, but went immediately to the stables on his return, there to erupt in a towering rage because one of Copenhagen’s hooves was missing. There are two versions of the story – one being that a farmer had bought the hoof and returned it directly to the Duke; the other that a servant had taken it, only daring to confess thirty years later after the Duke’s death, whereupon the second Duke had it made into an inkwell. Ironically, this version mirrors the fate of Marengo’s hooves. In another parallel, the Duke was approached by the United Services Museum with a request for Copenhagen’s skeleton, so it might be displayed alongside that of Marengo. Claiming he was unsure where the horse was buried and that he would make enquiries, Wellington did no such thing. He had no intention of desecrating his old friend’s memory, nor yet of disturbing his final resting place.Mrs. Apostles, the Duke’s housekeeper, planted the Turkey Oak which now casts shade over the stallion’s grave, to commemorate her twenty years of service and the marble stone was laid by the second Duke, some years following the Iron Duke’s death.


The inscription upon it reads: 
Here LiesCOPENHAGENThe Charger ridden byTHE DUKE OF WELLINGTONThe entire day at theBATTLE OF WATERLOO.Born 1808. Died 1836. 
God’s humble instrument, though meaner clay,Should share the glory of that glorious day. 
Indeed.
[image error]Copenhagen's Grave, Courtesy Victoria Hinshaw

 

MARENGO ~ MYTH OR NINETEENTH CENTURY RIP-OFF?

THE STORY OF MARENGO, NAPOLEON’S FAVOURITE HORSE ~ Or Was He?On the eve of the Battle of Quatre Bras, before my post about Copenhagen, the mount of the ‘Iron Duke’ of Wellington, it seemed only fair to tell the story of Marengo, favourite battle horse of the Emperor of France. He was another courageous horse; perhaps in some ways more so than Copenhagen, for it would appear from accounts of the time that Napoleon was not in the same league as His Grace when it came to horsemanship. The story has been told for almost two hundred years, yet could it be that the legend is a mere myth? Although standing a mere 14.1 hands (a hand is four inches, measured from the ground to the withers, at the base of the horse’s neck where it joins the back), Marengo was an Arab stallion, a breed renowned for courage, endurance and fire, the latter yet tempered with a calm, steady nature in most individuals. Marengo was imported from Egypt in 1799, after the Battle of Aboukir, when he was aged about six. He may well have been bred at the celebrated El Naseri stud. He carried Napoleon safely through the Battle of Marengo despite a cannon shot severing part of the Emperor’s left boot and wounding him in the foot. Napoleon was so impressed with his new charger’s prowess in the thick of battle, he named him after that successful conflict.[image error]Napoleon on Marengo at the Battle of Marengo
Napoleon’s success as a general had much to do with his skilful deployment of his cavalry, so it should come as little surprise to the reader that his chargers were always superb Arab or Barb horses. Mostly cream or grey, they were specifically trained for their role at the Imperial Stud in St. Cloud. They had to remain calm but ready for action on the battlefield and move with a smooth, even pace for the Emperor’s comfort on long-distance marches. Marengo was no exception, although there is some debate over whether he was ‘white’ (light grey to horsemen) or a darker hue. In the famous painting of Napoleon Crossing the Alps, by Jacques-Louis David, a study which is considered an accurate portrayal, the horse is clearly a dapple-grey, with dark legs, whereas in the equally celebrated portrait by James Ward, painted in 1824, he is far lighter. Of course, both may be correct. Grey horses lighten in colour as they age and Marengo was about thirty-one years old at the time Ward took his likeness.[image error]Marengo by James Ward
To be Napoleon’s horse was to be honoured, well housed and fed, but a risky position nevertheless. According to popular belief, the Emperor had eighteen chargers killed whilst riding them in battle. In spite of his lack of stature and reportedly being wounded eight times during the course of his military career, however, Marengo survived the jinx to become the horse most closely associated with the ‘little Corsican’. He carried his master at the conflicts at Austerlitz, Jena and Wagram, and also was often required to travel the eighty miles from Valladolid to Burgos, a distance he frequently covered in only five hours. He was one of fifty-two horses in the Emperor’s personal stables, which was raided by the Russians in 1812, forcing the entire stud to flee. Napoleon arrived in Moscow in September of that year to find the city in flames. It was a disastrous expedition, resulting in a retreat through the harshest of winter conditions. While he came through the three thousand mile journey to the Russian capital and back unscathed, it is purported that the nineteen-year-old Marengo stumbled or slipped on the frozen ground, unseating Napoleon on to his imperial behind. This was considered an ill-omen by those of a superstitious nature, since during the withdrawal thousands of the Grande Armée died of starvation and exposure.When Napoleon was exiled to the Isle of Elba, it seems that Marengo was not chosen to travel with his master, but stayed at the Imperial Stables, his routine unaffected, awaiting the Emperor’s return. By the time Napoleon escaped his incarceration and arrived at Waterloo, Marengo had therefore attained the grand old age of twenty-two. He was stabled at La Ferme du Caillou, along with Marie and Désirée, the other war horses belonging to the French General, and was the Emperor’s mount during the early stages of the conflict. One source suggests he sustained a slight injury to his left hip, this being his eighth wound in combat, as mentioned above.Accordingly, Napoleon was riding Marie when, late on in proceedings, he was forced to flee from the Allied cavalry. The mare being tired, he had, of necessity, to stop at La Ferme du Caillou for another horse. Since Marengo was apparently not saddled (which seems likely if he were injured) and the Emperor had only seconds, he took the first available mount and galloped on to Charleroi. Here he changed to a carriage and travelled non-stop for three days to reach Paris.Discovered in the stables, Marengo was brought back to Britain by Lord William Henry Francis Petre and later sold to Lieutenant-Colonel (afterwards General) John Julius Angerstein, a member of the Grenadier Guards, for the purpose of breeding racehorses. He retired to stud at New Barnes near Ely, being advertised for a ten guineas fee as late in his career as 1820, even though he was by then twenty-seven. As a sire he proved of little worth, although when proclaimed ‘Bonaparte’s Personal Charger’, he drew huge crowds to London’s Pall Mall in 1823, many coming from far afield to marvel at the little stallion with the brand of the Imperial Stud – a letter ‘N’ surmounted by a crown – on his left flank and a bullet embedded in his tail.Contemporary reports conflict – as they do with the Duke of Wellington’s Copenhagen – as to whether Marengo was the personification of Arabian beauty and elegance, or whether he was actually bad-tempered and of poor conformation. We shall never know, but he died in 1831, having reached a venerable thirty-eight years. His skeleton was given to the Royal United Services Institute before later moving to Chelsea in London, where it is a prize exhibit in the enormous Waterloo Gallery at the National Army Museum. One hoof was made into a snuff box and was presented to his fellow officers in the Brigade of Guards by General Angerstein. It has occupied a position of honour at St. James’ Palace since then, on a highly polished sideboard in the Officers’ Mess. Another hoof, raised on a silver base and with a silver inkwell fashioned into the top, was kept by the family. It is currently on loan to the Household Cavalry Museum, complete with a lock of white hair in the well.[image error]Skeleton of Marengo at National Army Museum
But does it belong to Marengo? In April this year, The Times printed an article suggesting that the whole story of Marengo may actually have been a hoax. Gareth Glover, Treasurer of the Waterloo Association, claims in his book, Waterloo: Myth and Reality, that research by Jill Hamilton (Marengo: The Myth of Napoleon's Horse) into French records has put the whole legend in doubt. It would seem that not only is there no horse named Marengo entered in the books of the Imperial Stables, neither does his description fit any of the 1,372 which are listed.Is it possible that the favourite charger of Napoleon Bonaparte was a myth; a huge piece of nineteenth century spin doctoring?! Was he, in fact, just an invention produced by someone with an eye for the main chance, out to fleece the British public, as indeed purveyors of ‘relics’ have done since the Middle Ages? Were all the artists who painted his portrait conned by this almighty scam? Can we really suspend disbelief long enough to consider the likelihood of such a scheme? If true, it is the most astonishing piece of deceit, for how could it possibly have not been exposed as such at the time? The question also has to be asked, why was – if, indeed, he was – Napoleon so insistent that Jacques-Louis David paint an exact likeness of his favourite horse in his portrait, which dates from the turn of that century? Another consideration also springs to mind… since Napoleon rode mainly grey and cream Arab horses, how can anyone be sure, now, that their descriptions did not match that of Marengo? Nowadays, DNA testing and diagrammatical marking of a horse’s ‘whorls’ – swirls of hair as individual as fingerprints – can easily verify identity. From a simple, written description, it would be far less conclusive. It is, after all, always possible that Marengo was listed under a stable name or other identification… or were records of the Emperor’s personal horses kept separately from those of the Imperial Stables… or indeed, have those records at some time been altered? It is interesting there would appear to be little reverence of Marengo in France, unlike Copenhagen in Britain. Unless a DNA test can be done on the skeleton and bloodlines traced back to the El Naseri stud, or some unquestioned documents exist which tell the true story, it is doubtful we shall ever know for certain. The media may well continue to debate whether the skeleton belongs to Ali or Jaffa or any other of Napoleon’s horses; whether it was merely a light cavalry horse or any old Arab stallion, but in the absence of real evidence, I prefer to believe that after all his great service, Marengo enjoyed a long and peaceful life at stud. While it is of great personal relief that the Duke of Wellington ‘could not remember’ where Copenhagen was buried and therefore his grave lies undisturbed, it seems to me his opposite number should be reviewed in his display case with respect and remembered in honour as a great equine hero.[image error]Marengo in retirement, James Ward

All pictures courtesy Wikimedia Commons

HORSES IN ART ~ COPENHAGEN

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON
The full title is The Duke of Wellington Mounted on Copenhagen as at Waterloo 
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This portrait by Sir Thomas Lawrence was painted in 1818. Lawrence (1769-1830) was a revered portrait artist of the eighteenth century and today is considered by many to be the last truly great one. He was a master at combining the new Romantic ideas with the classical tradition. The painting is in the private collection of Earl Bathurst at Cirencester Park, the Bathurst country estate. It is an oil painting on canvas and measures 156 x 6 inches (13 x 8 feet; 396 x 244cm).
In this portrait of the Duke of Wellington, you get a real sense of the battlefield, with the cannon smoke in the background, the fading sunlight as the General rides away from the scene of his most famous victory, his hat held aloft in salute. Indeed, you can almost smell the smoke and powder residue. Yet the focus is clearly on the Duke and his illustrious horse, Copenhagen.
Described by French artist Delacroix as ‘a flower of politeness’ and by that assertion it can therefore be supposed a gentleman, Lawrence has, with great subtlety, created an imposing image of both an English aristocrat and a commander. The Duke is wearing the same uniform and Copenhagen carries the arms and saddlecloth that they used on 18th June 1815. When the painting was exhibited at the Royal Academy, it was listed as The Duke of Wellington in the dress that he wore and on the horse that he rode, at the battle of Waterloo.
Copenhagen was, of course, the horse Wellington rode for the whole of that momentous day – a stretch of almost eighteen hours. He is frequently termed a charger, for that is a suitable appellation for a battle horse, although the reality is he was not often required to perform that role. A general’s mount has to remain steady and calm under fire and yet be fleet enough of foot to convey his master to any part of the battlefield in moments. Copenhagen was the ideal general’s mount.
He is depicted by Sir Thomas Lawrence as a rich chestnut, his neck arched in a pose which subtly suggests arrogance and superiority. It has been suggested that he appears to be doing a lateral movement seen in the higher levels of competition dressage – a movement called ‘shoulder in’, where the horse travels at a slight angle, his body turned away from the direction he is moving. I can see where the idea has come from, since such suppling positions, aside from being natural movements witnessed in horses at play, originally were developed as both defensive and offensive measures when man first saw the potential of mounted combat. The ‘airs above the ground’, such as the courbette, the croupade, the pirouette, the levade and the capriole demand high levels of athleticism and skill from the horse as well as the rider. Medieval knights spent hours schooling their prized war horses to be quick, responsive and nimble. The shoulder in, for example, which is one of the best suppling exercises, can be used to prevent an enemy foot soldier getting close enough to strike a blow at the rider, or even to barge him to the ground. In this painting, the Duke demonstrates by his balance, depth of seat and easy carriage in the saddle, that he was an accomplished horseman, well capable of such disciplines.
However, that is not my perception, as someone who loves horses and drawing but is no art expert.
Copenhagen was the preferred height for a cavalry horse, standing just above fifteen hands (a hand equals four inches, measured to the base of the neck where it joins the body). The Duke was a fairly tall man, which is evident from the length of his legs in the stirrups, and yet Copenhagen is not made to appear pony-like. The pose gives him a powerful presence, the raised forefoot indicating a touch of impatience and even demand. His eye is merely suggested with a speck of white paint, but it is enough, for it cleverly hints at the horse’s supreme confidence and bold character. This, it says, is a horse who knows his own worth; a horse with attitude. He has that indefinable quality which draws the eye. It could be simply the artistry of Lawrence, emphasizing those elegant limbs and clean lines of what is a compact frame, but I prefer to think it is the persona of the horse shining through.
History tells us that Copenhagen inherited his grandsire Eclipse’s difficult temperament and my story Copenhagen’s Last Charge is built around an incident that reflected this. It was that very attitude, that lack of respect for the human race – with the exception of Wellington himself – which helped to create that aura of supremacy Lawrence has captured so well. It is that strength of personality and inherent arrogance which made him not only universally popular, but has chiselled his name into the annals of history as one of the greatest war horses ever foaled.
Doubtless his grooms called him by some stable name, but I suspect it would not have been too complimentary! Did the Duke do so too? As a man whose public image was austere and stern, it is hard to imagine, but perhaps, out of the public eye, in the Ice House Paddock at Stratfield Saye, the Duke’s Hampshire estate, Copenhagen and his master enjoyed a few moments when they both laid aside their egos and admitted how much each owed the other.
Copenhagen enjoyed a long and happy retirement at Stratfield Saye and there are two very different portraits of him painted during those peaceful years. James Ward portrayed him in a landscape somewhat larger, I suspect, than his Ice House Paddock, with mane and tail shaggy indications of an unfettered existence after his years of service. The stallion’s ears are pricked and he is gazing at something the viewer cannot see, his eye bright and his demeanour one of calm alertness, as though he is remembering all those proud moments on the battlefield. Perhaps a little artistic licence has been employed, to sweeten the image of a grumpy old war horse, but no doubt Copenhagen’s adoring public were glad to see him in such a pleasing pose.
[image error]
The second portrait of Copenhagen in retirement could not be more different. Painted by Samuel Spode, some time during the 1820s or 30s (up until 1836 when Copenhagen died), the picture shows the stallion harnessed in full military regalia, standing before a stone wall and a column, with just a glimpse of a door. He is a rich, dark chestnut with a ‘star and stripe’ on his face and a white sock on his near (left) hind leg. This is interesting, as he has no visible white on his legs in the James Ward portrait or the Thomas Lawrence painting. His coat gleams as would that of a fit, stabled horse, not one spending most of his time at grass in retirement. There is no evidence here of reported ‘poor shoulders and hollow back’. His Arab heritage is clear to see in the slightly dished face, compact muscular body and fine legs.
[image error]
In the final painting I am considering in this article, Copenhagen and the Duke are in action at the Battle of Waterloo. By Robert Hillingford, the Commander-in-Chief and his war horse are shown in the midst of battle, Wellington controlling the stallion effortlessly one-handed while all around them mayhem ensues. The picture portrays the unflappable nature of both man and horse, while at the same time giving the viewer a clear image of the battle’s confusion and atrocity. In this painting, too, you can almost hear the noise and smell the smoke of the guns and the stench of death. Copenhagen is depicted with the same ‘star and stripe’, but would appear to have four white socks.
[image error]
We will never know, now, his precise colouring or markings, but if we take all four paintings at face value, he was a handsome animal with both quality and presence, and clearly a horse worthy of being the Duke of Wellington’s celebrated battle charger.
Pictures courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
~*~
 

Midsummer Dreaming

In celebration of the e-launch day for Alison May’s brand new romantic comedy, Midsummer Dreams, I’m posting today on the theme of all things dream-related.

I had a dream…...or rather Jocasta did… 
Lost in a glorious memory of twinkling, smoky-flint orbs and a heady masculine scent, Jocasta drifted off to sleep. She dreamed she was in an enormous ballroom, with full length mirrors along one wall and two rows of marble columns supporting the ceiling, which was adorned by a Renaissance painting of Venus and Cupid in a meadow, surrounded by bright flowers. At the far end of the room, opposite the heavy oak doors through which she had entered, arched glass doors opened on to a paved terrace. An orchestra was playing and a dozen couples were performing the steps of La Chaîne Anglaise.
Jocasta hesitated, surveying the scene. A gentleman was walking towards her. Attired in a maroon coat of watered silk, pale cream breeches and white clocked stockings, he was the picture of elegance. At first she did not recognize him, for his dark wavy hair had been tamed into a fashionable style. He bowed with perfect grace, but as he straightened, she saw the glint of humour in Richard’s slate-grey eyes. He held out his hand.
“Do you care to dance, my lady?” he asked.
Dropping a deep curtsey, she laid her hand in his. Even through her thin white silk gloves, the heat of his touch tingled in her fingers and prickled in her veins.
Then the scene changed and she was on a stretch of moorland, which in an odd way appeared familiar. She was wearing breeches and in the distance a man was riding in her direction...
Jocasta awoke in a rush and flapped the covers on the bed. She was too warm. Sticky perspiration had gathered in her armpits and her heart was pumping faster than it should be doing. It was that strange dream. Had this sort of thing happened to her before? Was this how it felt when one found a gentleman attractive? She searched her memory, but still discovered no answers. With a sigh, she flopped back on the linen covered pillow. Who would have thought lying in bed could be so exhausting?
 
Excerpt from A Sense of the Ridiculous, Second Edition due out in the summer.


I had a nightmare…
...or rather a cavalryman did at Waterloo…
 The soldier lifted his blurry eyes, his attention caught by a horse and rider picking their way deliberately among the dead and dying carpeting the battlefield. Splashes of scarlet, black and Rifleman green, interspersed with the more subdued colours of bay, brown and grey, made a sombre garnish to a dish of mud and trampled corn. For many of the great, domed shapes, their suffering was over, their carcasses – so grotesque in death when compared to the beauty displayed in life – a sad testament to a horse’s role in war. Some lay thrashing in agony, entrails spilling forth in bloody disarray from gaping wounds inflicted by slash of sabre or whistling cannon shot. Others limped forlornly on the edges of the mud-bath which had once been a fertile valley, one leg dangling in useless condemnation. Screams of animal torment intermingled with the moans of the human injured; and, for an occasional, brief moment, the silence of doom. The reek of excrement, blood, powder and wet earth was a powerful odour the soldier knew he would never be able to clear from his senses. It had not only infiltrated his nostrils, it had taken up residence in his very soul.

Someone would have to destroy those pitiful creatures, he thought, pushing himself off the ground with one shaking hand. He was lying at the edge of the field, just a ditch between him and the road to Brussels. His head was thudding as though the kettle drums were being pounded inside it and his stomach was roiling like the washerwoman’s cauldron. Slowly he turned his head. Barely two feet below him, unseeing eyes stared up at the pinkish, blue-grey sky from a face which had nothing behind it. Unbidden, vomit spewed up into the soldier’s mouth. He managed to avoid desecrating the corpse; in truth, he had little more than bile to expel, having not eaten since the night before. On the other side of the road, a crow sat on the distended belly of a horse, its cry one of ghoulish triumph. The soldier felt in the soil beside him, found a stone and pitched it at the bird, which flew off, cackling in derision.

Pushing up to his knees and then to his feet, the soldier swayed and almost collapsed again. Dusk was falling and his vision was impaired by crusts of blood and mud, yet he instantly knew the great chestnut stallion and its rider, even at a distance approaching a quarter of a mile. No man whom had lived through the previous thirty-six hours’ campaign could fail to recognize the distinctive figure in grey greatcoat, Hessian boots and white breeches ‒ now liberally splattered with mud ‒ or the handsome, copper-coated charger.
 
Excerpt from Copenhagen’s Last Charge (anthology Beaux, Ballrooms and Battles: A Celebration of Waterloo)
 
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My dream for the future…
...Amelia dreamed of love, but it was not to be. Could the damaged Hugo possibly be her future?
 “I admit I have had few dealings with governesses, but it seems to me that you are not just in the common style,” he said in a careful tone. “I mean no disrespect.”
“Oh, no, sir.” She contemplated the path ahead. They were walking slowly down an avenue of horse chestnut trees. The flowering season was over for the towering sentinels, but she loved to see the glorious cones of white flowers, for they reminded her of candles in a tiered chandelier. Spring had been late this year, the flowers lingering longer than usual, so it seemed no sooner had they faded than June had burst forth with its blaze of colour. Beside her, Hugo kept pace with her, his free hand behind his back and his long stride adjusted to match hers. How much should she tell him? Her heart wanted to tell him everything, but an innate sense of caution made her fear the consequences.
As if he had read her thoughts, he then took the breeze from beneath her fluttering indecision.“You need not fear my judgement,” he said gently. “Short of having murdered a previous employer and made off with the family silver – and I can see that is not the case by your wardrobe – there is little you can say that will shock me. I am a soldier and have travelled around the globe. Some of the things I have witnessed would make those pretty locks of yours turn white!” His hand half lifted as he spoke, his fingers curling as if he were imagining trailing them through her hair.Tentatively, she turned her face towards him. The tender light in his eyes stole her capacity for coherent thought. Perhaps if she told him part of the story; it would not be lying, as such, except by omission. Mayhap one day she might be able to furnish him with the whole tawdry tale… yet her heart shrank from the idea of that softened look being withdrawn.“I married to disoblige my family,” she said at length, grateful for his quiet patience. They left the avenue and entered the shrubbery through an archway cut in a yew hedge. Pirate shuffled ahead with his rolling, three-legged gait before stopping to investigate an interesting smell at the side of the path. “I was young and silly; he was very handsome and dashing. I fancied myself in love. My parents disowned me. They were, of course, quite right and he proved to be just as feckless and unreliable as they had said him to be. I left him and returned home, but they closed the door to me. My father refused to even acknowledge me and all my mother would say was I had made my choice and must make the best of it.”Hugo covered her hand, where it lay lightly on his arm, with his and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. Would he be so sympathetic, were he to know the whole? A tiny piece of her soul died at the thought. The truth was, Roderick had never married her. They had travelled all day, as she thought, to Scotland and had arrived at an inn late at night. When she had refused to share a bed with him until they were legally married, he had sought his amusement elsewhere, returning in a drunken stupor and falling asleep. The following morning they had continued their journey, but it was only when they came to Barnet that she realized they had come south and he had never had any intention of marrying her. She had understood then what her father had meant about Roderick being ‘half flash and half foolish’, for he had flounced out of the mean room he had brought her to in a boyish sulk. He had spent their last few pennies on a drunken spree, been taken up by the Watch and had somehow become involved in a brawl where a constable had been stabbed. With no money and no-one of standing to give him a character, the magistrate had deemed him culpable and he had been thrown into Newgate pending trial.Amelia had found a job as a seamstress and somehow survived the next, miserable ten months. Roderick was sentenced to transportation, since the constable had not died, but she had received a letter less than a year later informing her Roddy had perished from a wasting disease. A lump rose in her throat. She had won through those times, had achieved a measure of respectability through hard work, but the loss of her true position in life and her parents’ affection had been bitter medicine to swallow.Hugo’s hand patted hers. “Tell me,” he urged.“I-I cannot.” She looked away. The heady perfume of mock orange filled her nostrils from several large Philadelphus bushes, which were a riot of creamy white flowers, almost overpowering the more delicate jasmine, also covered in a profusion of white blooms.“Then I shall be forced to conjecture, so you must not be offended if I am fair and far off!” He paused in dramatic fashion. “Let me see, now. You were found, as a baby, on a barge which had run aground on a sandbank in the River Thames, brought up by gypsies until you were fifteen, whereupon you ran away to join a travelling circus. You learned to juggle, ride backwards on a horse, train dogs to do tricks and brave wild beasts from the jungle. However, this life did not contain sufficient excitement, so you dressed in male clothes and joined a merchant ship. This was sunk by pirates in the Spanish Main and you were captured by the pirate captain, who discovered your gender and took you for his own. How am I doing so far?”She giggled in spite of her doubts and insecurities. “I believe you could rival Sir Walter Scott with your romantic ideas, sir!”“Ah, you flatter me, my dear.” Amelia’s stomach lurched at the endearment. Did he – could he possibly – have tender feelings for her? “I have much to learn, I fear, about such matters. Indeed, I am wary of making an irretrievable mistake.”What was he trying to tell her? She slowed her steps and came to a halt beside a small stone fountain in a circular junction of two pathways. Running her fingers over the pitted bowl, she pretended to be fascinated by the green water.“I am sure,” she said carefully, “that with the right lady, you would have no difficulty.”Hugo turned as he stopped, so he was now facing her. Pirate sat down at his feet and gazed expectantly from one to the other.“I fear the lady is concerned that her past might affect her future. I wish I had the words to tell her there is nothing – nothing – she may have done that could outweigh or diminish the high regard in which I hold her.”A sob threatened in the back of her throat. With difficulty, she managed to speak.“Oh, my dear sir, I think you just have.” Excerpt from Treasure Beyond Words (anthology Sweet Summer Kisses, due out 23rd June!) 
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I suspect most Regency authors share with me a dream to emulate Georgette Heyer’s wonderful novels of the era. Unfortunately, as my friend Elizabeth Bailey once said, ‘We can only aspire.’
We study our craft and read endlessly of our favourite period in history, endeavouring to be the best we can be, yet must forever be doomed to fall short of her unparalleled excellence. Nevertheless, it is my sincerest wish that ONE DAY my books will be enjoyed and remembered by a new generation of Regency readers and, if destined never to be viewed as ‘another Heyer’, at least to be considered ‘not half bad’.
 
~*~
 
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You can download the kindle edition of Midsummer Dreams here: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00XJOEJTM
 
About Midsummer Dreams
 
Four people. Four messy lives. One party that changes everything …
Emily is obsessed with ending her father’s new relationship – but is blind to the fact that her own is far from perfect.
Dominic has spent so long making other people happy that he’s hardly noticed he’s not happy himself.
Helen has loved the same man, unrequitedly, for ten years. Now she may have to face up to the fact that he will never be hers.
Alex has always played the field. But when he finally meets a girl he wants to commit to, she is just out of his reach.
At a midsummer wedding party, the bonds that tie the four friends together begin to unravel and show them that, sometimes, the sensible choice is not always the right one.
 

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HORSES IN ART ~ MARENGO

NAPOLEON CROSSING THE ALPS
The full title is Napoleon (1769 – 1821) Crossing the Alps at the St. Bernard Pass, 20th May 1800 c1800-1
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This portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte was painted by Jacques-Louis David (1748 – 1825) circa 1800-1. It is an oil on canvas and measures 102 x 87 inches (8’6” x 7’3”, 260 x 221cm). David was an ardent Bonapartist and this shows in the majesty of the pose and the bold composition of the work. This painting was intended to infer greatness.It is almost a piece of propaganda, for it shows Napoleon in an attitude of triumph, his fist raised, his horse in the half-rear stance known to nineteenth century equestrians as the pesade. The storm clouds behind are in stark contrast to the vibrant red of Napoleon’s cloak, the rocks and the glimpse of artillery in the background hinting at the struggle he had overcome. On the other hand, it has been suggested that those tiny figures represent the army following in Napoleon’s wake, small through distance but also to show their insignificance in the presence of their great leader. Whatever the truth of David’s intent, the viewer’s eye is taken straight to the horse and rider and held there in awe by the commanding combination of muscle and determination.The portrait was painted after Napoleon’s victory at Marengo in June 1800 – the battle which gave the horse his name. The horse in the painting is believed to be Marengo, although the conception of the work is slightly from the realms of fantasy. Napoleon did cross the Alps at the St. Bernard Pass, but it was going towards Italy for his second campaign there, and he rode upon a mule! David also ignored the true nature of the landscape and used artistic licence to place his idol in a setting he considered of sufficient grandeur.David would have been the perfect ‘spin doctor’, for he also used that same rose-tinted perspective on Napoleon himself. The General is depicted in heroic form; a lithe, athletic figure in the uniform he wore at Marengo and (at Napoleon’s insistence) on a perfect likeness of his favourite horse. It is almost like an author having a ghost writer, or hiring an actor to be their stand-in at public functions, for Napoleon was not a tall man, but here he dwarfs his charger.The horse, too, is shown as a powerful, imposing creature, a king of his species despite his lack of stature. Indeed. The portrayal of Marengo is probably far more accurate than that of his master. Although standing a mere 14.1 hands (a hand is four inches, measured from the ground to the withers, at the base of the horse’s neck where it joins the back), Marengo was an Arab stallion, a breed renowned for their courage, endurance and fire, the latter yet tempered with a calm, steady nature in most individuals. Marengo was imported from Egypt in 1799, when he was aged about six. He may well have been bred at the celebrated El Naseri stud. He carried Napoleon safely through the Battle of Marengo and the Emperor was so impressed with his new charger’s prowess, he named him after the successful conflict.Napoleon’s chargers were always superb Arab or Barb horses, mostly cream or grey and schooled at the Imperial Stud. They had to remain calm but ready for action on the battlefield and move with a smooth, even pace for the Emperor’s comfort on long-distance marches. Marengo was no exception. He carried his master at the conflicts at Austerlitz, Jena and Wagram, survived the disastrous Russian expedition of 1812 and is thought to have stayed at the Imperial Stud during Napoleon’s exile on Elba, before arriving at Waterloo at the grand old age of twenty-two.In the painting, Marengo is performing the half-rear or pesade at Napoleon’s instruction. A movement which is now obsolete, having been replaced by the levade, the pesade was the early introduction for the horse to the ‘airs above the ground’. In the pesade, the horse must engage his hocks (bend them underneath him to support his body) and hold his forequarters off the ground at an angle of thirty-six degrees. In the levade, the angle is forty-five degrees. It takes a great deal of skill and strength from both horse and rider to perform this exercise – particularly if the horse is to be trained not to rear at will. That this is a pesade and not the rear of a frightened or resisting horse, can be determined by observing the rider. He is sitting upright, to keep his weight back and thus enabling the horse to raise his front legs rather than leaning forwards to push his mount back on to all fours; his lower leg is drawn back, the spur lightly asking the horse to lift, not administer discipline, and finally, the horse’s hocks are flexed to a ninety-degree angle, thus demonstrating their engagement.Marengo, therefore, is showing by his posture that he is a noble steed worthy of a master who is a supreme horseman and king of all he surveys.As might be expected, with respect to a combination as revered as l’Empereurand his battle horse, this is by no means the only painting of Napoleon and Marengo. The stallion was aged about thirty-one when James Ward produced an equally celebrated portrait of him in 1824. Set against a wild, stormy sky, the horse is depicted running free on a grassy cliff overlooking the sea at sunset. He is shown as being virtually white, which, given his advanced age, was most likely accurate, since grey horses lighten in colour as they grow older. I suspect it is a somewhat glamorized portrayal, to show him well cared for and happy in retirement. Marengo was captured by the British at Waterloo, and lived until the grand old age of thirty-eight, dying in 1831. His skeleton is now on display at the National Army Museum in London.[image error]Marengo, James Ward 1824
Another purely equine portrait of Marengo was painted by Antoine-Jean, Baron Gros. In this he is again depicted as a dapple-grey, although lighter in tone than the David portrait. He has one foreleg raised and haunches lowered, in an attitude of spirit or defiance, as though about to spin around and take flight. He is shown with a thick, muscular neck and powerful hindquarters – again, a charger fit for an emperor, especially since he is harnessed with an ornate gold bridle and breastplate in addition to a richly ornamented saddle cloth of red and gold, with gold fringing, tassels and stirrups. His mane is plaited and embellished with red ribbon and gold tassels at each end, while a gold crupper is similarly adorned at the top of a flowing tail. Once again the message is clear – this magnificent creature is fit to carry the mighty Napoleon Bonaparte.
[image error]Marengo, Antoine-Jean, Baron Gros 1801

Baron Gros painted a similar portrait with Napoleon mounted, distributing the Sabres d’honneur aux Grenadiers after the Battle of Marengo. It is an evocative depiction, but undoubtedly owes more to a romantic ideal than actuality. Marengo is in the same pose as in the previously mentioned painting.

In the final two paintings I am looking at in this article, one by Ernest Messonier, painted in 1862, and one by Ludwig Elsholtz, 1845, Marengo is being ridden by Napoleon. In the former, they are set against a brooding landscape with indistinct figures representing the army in the background – suggestive, as in the David portrait, of their lack of importance when compared with the ‘great man’. Marengo is again pale grey, with darker tints in his mane and tail. The latter painting depicts him almost as a Victorian rocking horse – dapple-grey body with darker shading on the quarters, and black points, meaning mane, tail and lower legs. Interestingly, he has his right foreleg raised and is wearing the same elaborate harness in this painting as in the Baron Gros one. It appears that Elsholtz may have used Gros’ work as a reference for his own.
[image error]Napoleon I in 1814, Ernest Messonier 1862



[image error]Napoleon I with his generals, Ludwig Elsholtz 1845
We will never know, now, what Marengo’s true colour may have been, but one of his hooves, which was made into an inkwell, is on loan to the Household Cavalry Museum; it has a lock of white hair in the silver well.

As we get nearer to the Battle of Waterloo, I shall be telling Marengo’s story and revealing a possible mystery which has been unearthed!~*~ Beaux, Ballrooms, and Battles:A Celebration of Waterloo 
When Susana Ellis put out the call for authors interested in collaborating in an Anthology set around the Battle of Waterloo, I jumped at the chance. It seemed a wonderful way to celebrate one of Britain’s most famous victories and a great excuse to write a story involving the fabulous Copenhagen. It has been both a learning experience and fun working with other, more established writers. After months of furious scribbling and editing, Beaux, Ballrooms and Battles was released to the world on 1st April, 2015.“June 18, 1815 was the day Napoleon Bonaparte's Grande Armée was definitively routed by the ragtag band of soldiers from the Duke of Wellington's Allied Army in a little Belgian town called Waterloo. The cost in men's lives was high—22,000 dead or wounded for the Allied Army and 24,000 for the French. But the war with Napoleon that had dragged on for a dozen years was over for good, and the British people once more felt secure on their island shores.” Susana Ellis 
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Copenhagen’s Last ChargeWhen Meg Lacy encounters a broodingly handsome Light Dragoon at the Duchess of Richmond’s grand ball, she little expects that in the hours following the Battle of Waterloo she will be accompanying him around the streets of Brussels. Romance is the last thing on her mind as they seek a lost and valuable item belonging to the Duke of Wellington himself. 
Lieutenant James Cooper is surly and unhelpful, but Meg senses the Dragoon will need her help if they are to succeed. As they bicker their way around the narrow streets, a strange empathy begins to develop as gradually glimpses of the man beneath start to be revealed. Meg finds herself drawn to that person, but when they finally recover and then return the item to the Duke, Cooper makes a grave error of judgement which jeopardizes their budding friendship… 
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ExcerptStanding beside her father as he discussed cavalry tactics with General Lord Edward Somerset, Meg had the opportunity to observe the milling crowd ‒ the flushed cheeks of the young ladies as they danced by with equally youthful, dashing officers; the happy smiles and carefree pursuit of pleasure, all as though the French were not gathering to Bonaparte’s banner with the intention of destroying them all. Although the beau monde of Brussels was partying as if the escaped Emperor were but a fly to be swatted, Meg took a more realistic view. During the crossing to the Continent, she had become acquainted with a young man, Godfrey Winterton, who was seeking his elder brother. Their father was ill, not expected to live beyond a few weeks and the boy – for he could barely own more than seventeen years – was desperate to find his sibling, the heir to the family estates, before the unthinkable occurred. Unthinkable it might be, but to Meg it was not something to be ignored, swept beneath a rug until someone fell over the ensuing lump. 
She was glad when the music stopped and Georgy came to claim her attention from her maudlin thoughts. In her tempestuous wake, Georgy dragged her brother, the Earl of March. He was a handsome young man of four-and-twenty, a few years senior to both Meg and his sister. He was already Aide-de-Campto the Prince of Orange and bidding fair to enjoy an illustrious military career. 
He bowed deeply as Georgy presented them and begged the honour of the next dance. A quadrille was forming and feeling her cheeks heat at the honour he did her, when there were several beauties of higher rank present whom could be said to have greater claim, Meg curtsied. 
“I should be pleased, my lord.” The words had barely formed on her lips when Georgy nudged her arm. 
“Who do you suppose that could be?” 
Meg followed the line of her friend’s gaze to observe a tall, leanly built officer in the blue coat and white facings of a cavalry regiment, who was leaning casually against a pillar near the French windows, which had been opened to admit the warm night air. In his hand he held his red silk embellished dress helmet, as though he had little intention of remaining. 
“I cannot conjecture,” she replied with a smile. “Recollect I have but recently arrived and know hardly anyone.” “Oh, tush!” Georgy tapped the precious fan on Meg’s arm. “He is very fine, do you not agree?” She chuckled. “And with a mien almost as brooding as Lord Byron!” Turning abruptly to her brother, she said, “March, do be a dear and go discover who he is!” 
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 Other Books
A Sense of the Ridiculous – not currently available, but will be before long.
Waking up at a strange inn with no memory, headstrong Jocasta Stanyon finds the landlady’s son, Richard Cowley, is more than a match for her lively personality, but their stations in life are far apart and despite prolonging her stay by devious means, the idyll cannot last. She hopes to persuade her father of Richard’s qualities, but then she is summoned to receive the addresses of a fashionable stranger...
An Improper Marriage
Marriage to dull ironmaster Jeremiah Knight would be awful enough, but when Eleanor Honeybourne discovers an injured man at a ball, she uncovers a web of intrigue that puts her own and her stepfather’s lives at risk. Meeting again her childhood hero, Charles Ribblesford, she is forced into a situation which could well spell her ruin, unless they can solve the mystery and unmask the villain.http://www.amazon.co.uk/Improper-Marriage-Heather-King-ebook/dp/B00TP1ZE4C/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
http://www.amazon.com/Improper-Marriage-Heather-King-ebook/dp/B00TP1ZE4C/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
The Middle Of The Day Lottie Morgan loves all things Regency, but would she like to live in the early nineteenth century, married to a baron? A strange thing happens while she is visiting Berrington Hall; she finds herself confronting George, Lord Rodney and she is a newly-wed!http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UUQ7GE2
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Middle-Day-Heather-King-ebook/dp/B00UUQ7GE2/ref=la_B00I04PYPE_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1427237184&sr=1-3Writing as Vandalia Black: Vampires Don’t Drink Coffee And Other Stories This collection of fourteen tales brings together irresistible heroes and memorable heroines who battle against demons, muggers, lost loves, loneliness and unholy thirst to find their true loves. Tortured and honourable vampire heroes and one lady for whom the search for her mortal love has lasted centuries, will sweep you away into a paranormal world where eternal love means exactly that.http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vampires-Drink-Coffee-Other-Stories/dp/1500219096/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1406294881&sr=1-13&keywords=vampires+romance+short+stories+anthology
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vampires-Drink-Coffee-Other-Stories-ebook/dp/B00N05GXZI/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-13&qid=1406294881
http://www.amazon.com/Vampires-Drink-Coffee-Other-Stories/dp/1500219096/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1406297421&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=vandalia+black+vampires+short+stories+anthology
http://www.amazon.com/Vampires-Drink-Coffee-Other-Stories-ebook/dp/B00N05GXZI/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-1-catcorr&qid=1406297421
Photographs of Marengo and Copenhagen courtesy of Wikimedia Commons