Chelsea

by G. E. Mitton

All the Waterloo veterans have died out, but Crimea and Indian Mutiny men there are in plenty. At each end of the wings are the staircases, which lead into passage halls. At the extreme end of the eastern wing is the Governor’s house, built in exactly the same style as the rest of the wing, and looking like part of it.

In the Governor’s house there is a magnificent state-room, 37 feet in length and 27 in width. It has the immense height of 27 feet, occupying two complete stories. The effect of height within the room is, however, diminished by a cornice which projects quite a foot all round, about two-thirds of the way up. The ceiling, which has been frequently alluded to by writers on Chelsea, but never fully described, has an immense oval in the centre, surrounding a circle of acorns and oak-leaves, from the middle of which the chandelier is suspended. On either side of this are two smaller circles, containing the letters G.R. and C.R. intertwined. The oval does not quite touch the walls of the room, and at either end there are the letters J.R., surrounded by a semicircular device of leaves, surmounted by a 77 crown. At each side of the oval are the national arms. In every one of the four corners is a wreath of roses, passion-flowers, and fruit in very heavy relief, and the interstices are filled by guns, arms, and accoutrements. The proportions of the room may be best understood by the statement that there are three windows at the end and four at the sides. The walls are all panelled and disfigured by hideous light pink paint, done, probably, in the same period of taste when an attempt was made to whitewash the statue of bronze in the court to make it look like marble! This disfigurement extends even to the magnificent trophy of arms and accoutrements carved round the great mirror over the mantelpiece, and, of course, supposed to be the work of the great Gibbons. The fireplace and mantelpiece are of white marble, with an inner setting of veined marble. The edges of many of the panels on the walls are also carved. The magnificent series of pictures give character and dignity to the room. Occupying almost two-thirds of the north end is an oil-painting of King Charles I. and his family, by Vandyck, in 1632. There is a mournful expression on all the faces, even those of the two small children in the front. On the east wall, on one side of the fireplace, are large oil-paintings of George III. and his consort, Caroline, by Allan Ramsay; and on the other a copy of Winterhalter’s 78 picture of Queen Victoria as Empress of India, by Hanson Walker, R.A.

Between the southern windows are portraits of King James II. and King Charles II., by Sir Godfrey Kneller and Sir Peter Lely respectively. As the windows are set very deeply in the walls, the light is bad, and these magnificent pictures are not seen to advantage. Occupying similar positions on the west are life-size portraits of George I., by Sir Godfrey Kneller; George II. and his consort, Caroline, by Enoch Seeman. Thus the fair, placid Caroline smiles down from the wall not many hundred yards from the house where she so often came to consult with the potent Sir Robert Walpole on the affairs of the nation and the liaisons of the King.

All the pictures in the room are the official property of successive Governors. The last three mentioned were bequeathed by William Evans in 1739. We can pass from this room through the vestibule, and along the wards, and thus reach the central wing, and pass under the colonnade into the hall beneath the cupola, without once going into the outer air. From this central hall open off the chapel and great hall on the east and west sides respectively. In this central hall it is possible to look right up into the hollow interior of the cupola at an immense height. Both hall and chapel are considerably raised above the 79 ground-level, and are reached by a flight of steps. They are of the same dimensions—108 feet by 37 feet—but, as the roof of the hall is flat, and that of the chapel hollowed out, the former looks much larger.

In the ‘History of the Diocese of London’ Newcourt gives the following quotation from the Bishop of London’s Registry: ‘The chappel of this Hospital (which is a very large and stately one, as is also the hall, which is of the same dimensions) is 108 feet long, and 37 feet and 9 inches wide ... consecrated by the Right Reverend Father in God, Henry, Lord Bishop of London, on Sunday, August 30, 1691.’ The prelate here referred to was Bishop Compton.

The chapel is paved with black and white marble, and all the fittings and wainscoting are of oak. The altar-rails and the side of the wainscot compartments are carved by Grinling Gibbons. Over the altar is an immense painting, made to fit the apse-like end. It represents the Resurrection, and was executed by Sebastian Ricci. The altar itself is heavy and ugly—a great oak canopy supported by Corinthian columns in oak. The feature of the chapel is, however, the number of standards which are suspended from either wall all down the nave. The greater number were transferred here from the Chapel Royal, Whitehall, and India House, by order of King William IV., 80 in 1835. Captain J. Ford, to whose laborious and painstaking work is due the record of the tombstones in the old burial-ground, made also a list of these flags, and drawings of those recognisable. This collection was purchased by Queen Victoria, who caused it to be made into a book, and presented it to the Hospital, adding an autograph inscription. The flags are chiefly American and French. There are also several French eagles and some native Indian flags. On the latter the mark of a hand, supposed by the natives to be the impress of their chief’s hand, recorded by supernatural agency, can be clearly seen. Every Sunday all the veterans who are not disabled by ill-health or infirmity take their places in the body of the chapel, almost filling it. Visitors and the Hospital officials sit in transverse pews of an old-fashioned shape, which run down the sides of the walls. The organ, presented by Major Ingram in 1691-92, is in a gallery at the west end, and immediately beneath the gallery on the right-hand side is the Governor’s pew.

The Chaplain is the Rev. J. H. S. Moxley. The service is short and simple, and at its conclusion the old men all march out together before the visitors leave. The service of plate presented by James II. is valued at £500. It includes three flagons, four chalices, six salvers, and a pair of candlesticks, all of silver-gilt. After service dinner 81 is the order of the day, and a visit to the kitchens, fitted with all the latest modern improvements, is necessary. It does not seem as if the regimen were very strictly adhered to. Great savoury pies of mutton and kidney, roast sirloin, and roast pork, with baked potatoes, are allotted to the various messes, to be followed by steaming plum-puddings.

The men do not dine in hall, as they used to do, but those who are on orderly duty wait there to receive the rations, and then carry them up to their comrades in the wards to be divided. The messes vary in number; some contain eight, some ten, some even fourteen. On either side of the central gangway in the hall are tables where the old men can sit and smoke, and play dominoes, cards, and bagatelle. There is a raised daïs at the western end, in the centre of which, facing the door, is a bust of Queen Victoria, and right across the end of the room, and continuing for the width of the daïs, on the sides is an immense allegorical painting of Charles II., with the Hospital in the background. This was executed by Antonio Verrio and Henry Cooke. All round the panels of the hall hang portraits of military commanders, with the dates and names of the battles in which they have taken prominent parts. These were collected by a former Governor of the Hospital, General Sir J. L. Pennefather, G.C.B. Above them are 82 other standards tattered beyond recognition and hanging mournfully over the heads of the men below. At the east end is a large painting of the Duke of Wellington in allegorical style. The court-martial on the conduct of General Whitelock was held in this hall; here the Duke of Wellington lay in state for seven days from the 10th to the 17th of November, 1852; and several courts of inquiry have been held. For some years it was used as a place of examination for military candidates, but this was rightly considered to be an abuse, and was discontinued in 1869. Formerly a dining-room, the hall is now a recreation-room, and must be a great boon to those whose wards lie up four flights of stairs.

Passing down the steps, through the vestibule, and under the colonnade on the south front, we see two monuments to the men of the Birkenhead and the Europa. The loss of the former in 1852 has often been quoted as an heroic instance of self-command; when the ship struck, the men went down standing shoulder to shoulder as if on parade. Their names are all inscribed here. The Europa was burnt at sea, and the twelve private soldiers who lost their lives with it are here also commemorated. There are other memorials, brasses, and a marble slab, to the memory of various officers. But the most striking monument, in the centre of the grounds, near the Embankment 83 gate, is that of the Battle of Chillianwallah, at which nearly 30 officers and more than 700 privates were killed. The monument takes the form of a great obelisk, with the names inscribed on the sides. Two of the guns which stand beside it were captured on the same occasion. A little higher up, between the bronze Charles and the Chillianwallah obelisk, is a cross to commemorate 243 officers and privates who were killed in suppressing the Sepoy Mutiny. The veterans are thus surrounded by a halo of gallant deeds; on every hand the memory of their comrades in arms greets them.

Further on down the colonnade we pass westward, through the west wing, to a continuation of the main building, in which is the library. This faces the next court, which, like the east, is filled in the centre with evergreen shrubs. The library contains 4,000 volumes, including Captain Ford’s Manuscripts. There are two rooms, and here the men can see the daily papers, which are afterwards passed on into the great hall. In the west court is the Chaplain’s house, and immediately across the road is the infirmary. In 1808 it was suggested that an infirmary for the pensioners should be established, and for this purpose the Commissioners fixed upon Sir Robert Walpole’s old house, which was conveniently near. The land on which this stands was leased to William Jephson in 1687 for 84 sixty-one years. Some years later the lease was passed on to Edward Harley, Earl of Oxford, who lived here in 1707. Apparently he assigned it to Sir Richard Gough, who paid the rent from 1714 to 1719. In 1723 Sir Robert Walpole, the great statesman who virtually ruled England for more than twenty years, became the lessee. He had had some connection with the Hospital since 1714, when he had been made Paymaster-General, and had held a seat on the Board of Commissioners by virtue of his office. His influence in the reign of George II. still continued, and while the King was absent on the Continent, Walpole House was the seat of power in the kingdom. Here came office-seekers and busy flatterers. L’Estrange says “it was thought remarkably convenient that state documents should only have to travel from Chelsea to Kensington Palace.”