by Simon Heffer
In the early summer of 1864 he was asked to submit an estimate for the cost of building ‘the colossal statue’.57 The reaction ought to have been a warning signal, but so committed was the Queen to the prospect of Marochetti sculpting her late husband that it is unlikely that any warning, however clear, would have been heeded. The Baron asked for £10,000, cash on the nail, roughly twice what Scott had considered likely. He was given £3,000 as an advance, and accepted it, but soon fell out with the Household. Phipps wrote to him in the early summer of 1865, saying he would lose the commission unless he was more cooperative: the Baron backed down, and a new agreement between him and the Palace was concluded in July 1865.
Other sculptors – MacDowell, Calder-Marshall, Thornycroft, Lawlor, Foley, Weekes, Theed and Bell, a cast that would change slightly over the coming years – were then chosen for the allegorical sculptures representing the four corners of the globe and different branches of economic activity, that would be placed around the pedestal. At the bottom would be friezes of 169 sculptures that, in keeping with the cult of the great man, would represent artists such as poets, musicians, architects (of whom Scott, at the Queen’s command, would be one) and indeed sculptors themselves, and which, after the Greek example, was called the Frieze of Parnassus. This would be made by two sculptors especially favoured by Scott, Henry Hugh Armstead and John Birnie Philip. The Queen had made the choice of sculptors: she was guided in it by Eastlake, however, since one or two whom the Queen favoured were not considered up to the mark, and needed tactfully to be advised of this. Keeping control of this selection of artists, notably Marochetti himself, would prove a problem, and helped put the completion of the memorial years behind schedule. Poetry, painting, architecture and sculpture would also be the subjects of the four mosaics in the different elevations of the canopy above the shrine, and these were designed by Clayton and Bell.
The supervision of this detail would have been Eastlake’s responsibility, but he died in late 1865. After much consideration, it was decided to offer his place as representing the ‘art element’ on the Memorial Committee, to Austen Henry Layard, a Liberal MP, aesthete, classicist and renowned archaeologist, who in the 1840s had discovered Nineveh.58 The idea was Grey’s and Phipps’s, and they reached it not least in the consideration that ‘his connection with the Govt might be useful in communicating with them.’ Grey wrote to Layard on the Queen’s command on 15 January 1866 asking him to take the role. ‘I do not think’, Grey wrote to him, ‘it likely that your acceptance of this charge will entail any great trouble upon you.’59 Layard, ‘very sensible of the honour which the Queen has been pleased to confer upon me’, believed him, and accepted by return of post.60
Layard, who was born in 1817, had had an unconventional upbringing. His father had served in the Ceylonese civil service but had been an asthmatic, and the family settled in Florence because of the climate. Young Henry had a Filippino Lippi altarpiece over the bed in his nursery and immersed himself in the fine arts. After a failed attempt to become a solicitor in his uncle’s London practice, he went exploring in the Middle East, an experience he was lucky to survive. He nearly died of malaria in Constantinople and, seeking to see Petra and the Dead Sea, was robbed and beaten almost to death by unfriendly natives. He learned Arabic and was appointed an attaché by Sir Stratford Canning, the British Ambassador to the Sublime Porte. He persuaded Canning to fund archaeological work on some mounds near Mosul in what is now Iraq, and uncovered three Assyrian palaces there; some of the discoveries were sent to the British Museum, who provided more funding. Layard, after reading further, realised one of the palaces he had discovered was Nineveh.
Excavations continued there until 1851, by which point Layard had become famous for his achievements, and for his combination of scholarship and intrepid exploration. He decided to move into politics, and in 1852 became Liberal MP for Aylesbury. With his deep knowledge of the region he became a fierce critic of Aberdeen’s conduct of the Crimean War; and once Russell became Foreign Secretary in Palmerston’s administration he had Layard as under-secretary. Layard had become a great connoisseur, notably in Italian art, and had been offered the directorship of the National Gallery, which he refused. He was also, in July 1865, approached by Henry Cole to succeed Panizzi at the British Museum – ‘there being a general opinion that you ought to be [a candidate]. Can you tell me if you think you will come forward?’61 Layard did not: the political urge remained strong.
He could not, however, refuse his Sovereign. He began almost at once touring the studios of the sculptors working on the memorial, though he had to make time first to read the minute-book of the committee he had joined and various files of correspondence.62 He went on regular visits to the studios of the mosaic sculptors as well, sometimes with Scott, and reported progress to Grey. Buckingham Palace chose to disburse funds to the artists only when Layard told Doyne Bell in the Privy Purse Office that the progress merited it. He also had to ascertain from them what metal would be required to cast ‘the colossal statue of the Prince Consort – ‘old gun metal’, 23 tons of it.63 The metal would cost £2,000 and the casting another £600.64 On 19 February Layard for the first time visited the studios of Baron Marochetti. In the main body of his report to Grey he passed no comment on the quality of the work, but observed that the Queen ought soon to go to see it. There was, however, a worrying postscript. ‘I may mention’, Layard noted, ‘that Baron Marochetti has departed in several instances from the small sketch model which had been submitted to Her Majesty.’
The Queen visited Marochetti’s studio later in 1866 and advised him on ‘likeness and costume’. She also dropped in on Armstead, and relayed back to him her satisfaction with his work. He asked Layard to retail to her his assurance ‘that I shall endeavour to justify, in the progress of the work, the opinion she is pleased to entertain of it.’65 She also approved all the sketches of the mosaics sent to her by Scott before they were executed. Scott and Layard had gone at the end of February to the studios of Armstead and Philip, where they had noticed work that was ‘susceptible of improvement’.66 He had alerted Scott to what he perceived was a ‘meanness and stinginess’ in some of the designs, and had left it to Scott to deal with these matters. Layard was not nit-picking. As he told Grey, the mosaics would be easily scrutinised, and possibly criticised, because they were at eye level, and therefore needed to create nothing but the finest impression. ‘It seems to be highly desirable that they should be executed in the most satisfactory manner possible.’67
Using his skill and knowledge as an antiquarian, Layard wrote to Philip and referred him to Roman sculptures in the British Museum that might serve as an example of excellence.68 He sent Grey a copy of his letter, and Grey remarked that the sculptor ought to be ‘eternally grateful’ to Layard for his trouble.69 In September 1866 Doyne Bell visited all the sculptors and reported back on their progress, which he found satisfactory.70 During the following winter, however, alarm bells started to ring at the Palace, notably in Grey’s office, about the expense of the preparations of the mosaics by the engraver, Clayton (‘is it absolutely necessary to make such elaborate oil paintings as Mr Clayton speaks of?’ he asked Layard on 19 February 1867) and also because ‘time is really a very important consideration.’71 However, the following week Clayton wrote to Layard to ask whether there was ‘any proposal that the period allowed for the preparation and delivery of the cartoons for the mosaics of the Prince Consort Memorial be extended – as fairly due to an undertaking of such importance – to eighteen months from the 1st instant – I would suggest the following details as the basis for a contract . . .’72
The new schedule meant that the last mosaic – that of ‘Architecture’ – would not be delivered until 31 July 1868. Grey, with resignation and after consultation with his colleague Sir Thomas Biddulph, the Keeper of the Privy Purse, conceded to Layard on 4 March that ‘we both agree that there is nothing for it but to accept Mr Clayton’s proposal – and also that it will be desirable to ha
ve a written agreement.’73 He said the Queen was about to go on another tour of the artists’ studios, no doubt to give inspiration and encouragement. Meanwhile, Layard wrote to Clayton and told him he would have to sign a binding contract: ‘I need scarcely press upon you the importance of strictly adhering to the terms mentioned by you for the delivery of the cartoons, and I trust that nothing will now stand in the way of their completion.’74
The statue of Albert became Layard’s main worry. At the end of December 1866 Biddulph had asked him to go to Marochetti’s studio ‘and report for the Queen’s information what the state of his work is.’75 Layard went within a week. He was unable to appraise the statue properly as it was confined to a small room. The lions for Trafalgar Square were being cast in the same studio, and once they were moved the Prince Consort’s statue would be shifted to the great space they were occupying, where Layard said he would get a better view of it. Grey asked Layard to take Scott to see the sculpture; which, within a few days, he did.
On 7 March 1867 he and Scott visited Marochetti’s studio, where he found the life-size plaster model of Albert ‘almost finished. It only requires some slight alterations in the head and the addition of some details in the drapery.’76 He remained nervous, however: ‘Mr Scott and I think it desirable that the Queen should not see the statue yet. Anything but a favourable impression can be derived from so large a mass in pure white plaster, seen from a very short distance – and without sufficient light and shade to give the proper effect to the modelling of the more delicate parts.’ Indeed, Marochetti himself suggested the model should be gilded ‘before Her Majesty visits his studio’, and Layard thought that the small cost of this process was worthwhile to stave off grief.
He also told Grey of Scott’s suggestion that the completed model ‘should be placed on a pedestal in the Park’ so the effect of the statue could be judged by the Committee before it was cast. Layard supported this, but warned Grey that ‘great care must be taken that it should not be seen except by the Queen and those who are immediately concerned with the Memorial – as any premature criticism in the public prints might be prejudicial to the ultimate success of the monument’. The Queen agreed: but Marochetti went to see Layard on 11 March, seeming ‘uncomfortable as to the impression that the model has made upon Mr Scott, and is agreed that he may be required to make considerable alterations in it.’77 Marochetti was telling Scott, however, that ‘he has no doubt about its effect and his experience must give him every means of judging, but to others it would be satisfactory to see with their own eyes.’78 Layard advised Marochetti in late March 1867 to start casting the plinth for the statue, which would ‘in no way interfere with any alterations that may hereafter be considered necessary in the statue itself,’ a statement betraying Layard’s cast of mind.79
In early April Marochetti saw Biddulph, and Stanhope reported to Layard that ‘the interview was of a much more satisfactory and amicable character than might have been expected’.80 Marochetti needed an extra £1,000 for the costs of erecting the model. On 6 April Layard told Marochetti that Grey had advised him that the Queen would be ready to go and see the model in the park before the end of the month, and asked him to organise its positioning with Scott.81 Scott arranged for everything to be in place for 29 April 1867, though Marochetti was reluctant to the last to do this.82 On 23 April, a few days before the Queen’s visit, Scott wrote to Layard to say Marochetti ‘has been on the ground and finds things in a state which he thinks so unsuitable for putting up the figure that he wants to delay it till after the Queen’s return [from Osborne].’83 The strain was becoming enormous. ‘He wishes to see me this afternoon,’ Scott continued, ‘but I do not like the responsibility of being a party to the alteration.’ He sought Layard’s advice, and also wrote to Grey. Marochetti, unnerved, wrote to Biddulph assuring him that all would soon be well.84
Scott wrote again on 29 April saying that having seen Marochetti’s figure, and having consulted others who had, ‘some very decided change is necessary’.85 He listed the problems: ‘The first impression seems to be that of prodigious size and the next one of want of refinement; indeed in plain terms of an ungainly clumsiness. One opinion went so far as to describe this by the term “ugliness”, or something stronger.’ Scott had seen it three times and had become ‘rather accustomed to it . . . when I saw it first in the studio it gave me a severe shock.’ He continued: ‘It strikes me that, when a statue is to be magnified to so colossal a size, it needs to be refined, its proportions a little lightened, and the folds of the drapery reduced, or it becomes offensive just as a man would if viewed through a gigantic magnifying glass. I had hoped that the distance and height would have modified this, but they fail to do so.’ This was not all: the body seemed to have been shortened and the legs ‘look unnaturally developed’.
The Queen’s visit was postponed, in accordance with Marochetti’s wishes: he met Layard on 1 May and they spent two hours on-site discussing the problems, with the model on its pedestal above them, screened off from public view.86 The sculptor said the problem was that the Prince was sitting down. An equestrian statue would have been easier. But ‘Mr Scott objected to an equestrian statue on principle,’ Layard told Grey, ‘considering that it would be inconsistent with the general design . . . of the monument.’ So Marochetti was asked to make the modifications suggested by Scott, though not with much enthusiasm. Meanwhile, hostilities opened on another front: Armstead and Philip told Layard in May that ‘they could not possibly finish the podium sculptures within the period specified’.87 Layard told Grey that they had asked for an additional fifteen months ‘at least’. This, too, would have to be referred to Buckingham Palace.
Then Marochetti renewed his demands for an equestrian statue, which upset Scott. ‘I am most alarmed at Baron Marochetti’s movement in favour of an equestrian statue,’ he told Layard on 24 June 1867, ‘instead of the enthroned or quasi-enthroned statue for which the monument was designed.’88 To make matters worse Sir Edwin Landseer, designer of the Trafalgar Square lions, had, gratuitously, offered his own view, taken seriously by some at Court and not least by Grey, that an equestrian statue would be right.89 Doyne Bell took the opposite view, saying that ‘of course, as Baron Marochetti is to do his best to satisfy the Queen, it is only fair that he should be permitted to try every experiment – but the true results of such experiments can only be tested on the pedestal in Hyde Park.’90 The pedestal would not accommodate a horsed Prince Consort.
Scott added: ‘I did not feel, when the model was placed in position, that the difficulties arising from the sitting position were the main cause of the defects which we perceived to exist.’ He said Marochetti had a poor grasp of perspective – he had not seen ‘the well-known necessity of raising a figure upon its seat and thus giving additional slope to the knees’. But the insistence on a ‘too great scale’, which was not Marochetti’s fault, was at the root of the problem. It had been agreed to reduce the scale by one-tenth, and Scott felt it was ‘impossible to conceive that an artist of Baron Marochetti’s eminence’ could not eliminate the difficulties without changing the nature of the statue. Scott told Layard that if Albert were horsed, then ‘in the front view the body and the head of the figure of the Prince would be entirely eclipsed by the head of the horse, while from the only position from which the figure of the Prince could then be seen – the side view – the head and tail of the horse would be liable to be cut off from view by the pillars’.
Scott added that ‘had I been designing a monument of which the principal figure was to be Equestrian, I should certainly have treated it very differently – and should probably have omitted the canopy and shrine altogether. The whole design is framed for a sitting figure.’ Scott had further weapons to deploy, with respect to the mosaics being designed for the faces of the memorial: ‘One can hardly conceive of any congruity between a military statue and the symbols of art and science with which the entire monument is exclusively adorned.’ The monument was, after all, sup
posed to commemorate ‘the great promoter of art, science and of social virtues in our country’, and not a cavalry officer. Scott’s arguments were placed before the Queen, who immediately decreed that ‘in the face of such a strong expression of opinion from Mr Scott, an Equestrian Statue must not be thought of.’91 It also helped that Layard had signalled to Grey his entire agreement with Scott, whose arguments he said were ‘very weighty’.92 Cole, who could not bear to keep his finger out of this particular pie, also argued for an equestrian statue: how far he did this because he believed it, and how far because he liked antagonising Scott, is a matter for speculation. Grey bore the bad news to the Baron, telling him that ‘that idea must be at once excluded from further consideration.’93
By early July one of Clayton’s cartoons was ready. This, too, troubled Scott, who asked Layard to come and see it in place on the memorial. ‘It looks very fine so far as general design goes but I differ much from Clayton as to the question of tone. As it stands it is very gay, pronounced and prominent, whereas I think it should have a quiet, rich and somber [sic] tone rather like an old painting: rather giving the idea of retiring as the quietest part of the composition than of thrusting itself forward and challenging public gaze.’94 If Layard shared his view, he said, a little extra time spent rectifying the matter would be well spent.
V
The Queen, now it seems sharing the anxiety of her courtiers on the matter, asked at the end of July for a report on what Marochetti was doing. Scott saw him at the Royal Academy a couple of evenings later and the Baron told him he had made certain changes and ‘if it would not do now, nothing would make it do, and that the sitting figure must be given up.’95 This did not sound promising, and indeed was not. ‘I expected from this to find that a strong effort had been made to meet the difficulty supposed to exist, but was disappointed at finding myself mistaken, and that all which had been done was to make a mechanical reproduction, to a scale one-tenth smaller, of the former figure (in the nude).’ The Baron proposed to drape this ‘lightly’, and ‘so as to show the outline of the limbs and body which I have no doubt is wise’. However, Scott continued: ‘Beyond this, it seems worse than useless to offer the smallest suggestion for, whatever is suggested the Baron not only pronounces, almost before he knows what one is saying, to be wholly inadmissible, but seems rather determined to do just the reverse.’ Then came the killer blow: ‘My own conclusion is that he has no wish for it to succeed, but by a determined refusal to correct all defects arising from the difficulty of this position to drive us to the adoption of an equestrian figure or to shift the blame for failure from himself to me. I am myself convinced that if he had any real desire to make the figure successful he would have no difficulty in effecting it, but I simply despair of inducing him to make even the smallest effort.’
