The Achilles Statue: The Naked Duke of Wellington
Take a look at the towering bronze figure before you. Eighteen feet of rippling muscle, a raised shield, a sword poised to strike... and not a stitch of clothing. This is the Achilles Statue... though it's really a monument to the Duke of Wellington.
London · from the walk “The People's Park: Secrets & Untold Stories of Hyde Park”
Statue of Achilles, Achilles Way, Hyde Park, London W1J 7NT
Take a look at the towering bronze figure before you. Eighteen feet of rippling muscle, a raised shield, a sword poised to strike... and not a stitch of clothing. This is the Achilles Statue... though it's really a monument to the Duke of Wellington. And the story behind it is one of the most delightfully scandalous episodes in London's history.
It begins in eighteen fifteen, after Wellington's crushing victory over Napoleon at Waterloo. A patriotic upper-class society known as the Ladies of England commissioned a statue of Wellington on behalf of the nation's women. The concept came from Lavinia, Countess Spencer, herself an artist of some repute, who sought contributions solely from other, mainly aristocratic, women. They raised a hefty ten thousand pounds... approximately four hundred ninety thousand in today's money.
They hired the acclaimed sculptor Sir Richard Westmacott. He cast the statue from thirty-three tonnes of bronze melted down from enemy cannons captured at the Battles of Salamanca, Vitoria, Toulouse, and Waterloo. The body was modelled on a Roman figure at Monte Cavallo in Italy, with the head based on the Duke himself.
Now here's where things get entertaining. When the monumental artwork arrived at Hyde Park, it was Far too big to fit through the gates! They had to knock a hole in the adjoining wall just to get it in.
And Then came the real scandal. The moment it was unveiled on June eighteenth, eighteen twenty-two... many people simply broke out laughing. You see, the statue was completely nude. It was London's First public nude statue. Lord Spencer, whose wife had headed the list of subscribers, frantically wrote to the Committee of Taste demanding a fig leaf be added... since this was the tribute of the Ladies of England, decency and decorum were essential. Imagine the embarrassment! These aristocratic women had Accidentally funded what many considered a frighteningly lewd display.
But the story doesn't end there! In nineteen sixty-one, a group of members from London Rowing Club decided the fig leaf would make a spectacular door knob for their clubhouse. It took them several nights of sawing with a hacksaw... the blades snapping frequently... stacking park chairs between Achilles' feet to reach the leaf, which was secured by three very solid brass bolts. They were fortified by pints of beer from The Nag's Head on Kinnerton Street. They did get it off... but it proved too heavy to use as a door knob! Years later, the ringleader, a lawyer named Peter Coni, confessed... contacted the Ministry of Works, paid a substantial sum, and had the Original fig leaf restored.
So next time you glance up at Achilles, remember... you're looking at a statue that scandalized Georgian London, was too big for its own park, and once lost its modesty to a group of rowers armed with a hacksaw and a thirst for beer.