Dancing into Battle

“That gentleman will spoil the dancing,” says Charlotte, Duchess of Richmond to her dance partner, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington. Or rather, Virginia McKenna says it to Christopher Plummer, mid-waltz, in the scenes depicting the Duchess of Richmond’s Ball in Brussels in Waterloo, the 1970s epic movie charting Napoleon’s “100 days”. That was the period (actually 111 days) in 1815 between Bonaparte’s escape from his rather genteel confinement on Elba to reclaim his throne and his ultimate defeat by an allied army led by Wellington. And while we all know that Napoleon was about to meet his Waterloo, at this precise point – towards midnight on June 15 – it was far from obvious, especially as “that gentleman” was in fact a messenger bringing the news to Wellington that Napoleon had quite literally stolen a march on him.

This moment and the touching scenes that followed – as dashing officers, still in their dress uniforms, bade farewell to wives or sweethearts before heading out to battle, where many would meet their deaths – has been like catnip to authors, painters, poets and film-makers who can’t resist the drama of this juxtaposition of glamour and war, revelry and carnage. The latest of these is Julian
Fellowes of Downton Abbey fame, whose novel Belgravia, which has just been adapted for television, opens with a chapter set at the ball, entitled Dancing Into Battle.

“Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, / And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,” wrote Lord Byron in Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. “And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago / Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness”. Thackeray worked the ball into Vanity Fair, and some 120 years after the ball took place it would appear in a film adaptation of his novel, retitled Becky Sharp – the first ever full-length Technicolor movie, with the departing officers’ redcoats filling the frame in a
dramatic portent of the slaughter to follow at the battles of Quatre Bras and Waterloo, which would take place over the next three days.

Fellowes’ saga is mostly set in the 1840s, when the mansions and leafy squares of Belgravia were being developed by master builder Thomas Cubitt and the Grosvenor family. For if Downton dramatised the social change of the early 20th century, Belgravia depicts the jostling for position in society of the new rich and old money in early Victorian London. But the plotline hinges on a decades-old scandal that bubbles to the surface – a scandal from 1815 in Brussels where, needless to say, Fellowes has placed his protagonists at that famous ball. The author Georgette Heyer did the same in her 1937 novel An Infamous Army, widely agreed to be the finest fictional account of both the ball and the ensuing fighting; as did Bernard Cornwell, who, in his book, Sharpe’s Waterloo, places the eponymous Sharpe as the very man arriving at the ball with alarming news from the front.

The sight of the well-heeled all dressed up to have fun generally makes for a great spectacle – and great drama – which is why so many novelists have deployed balls as a plot device, from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (published just two years before the Duchess of Richmond’s fateful gathering) to Tolstoy’s War and Peace or Lampedusa’s The Leopard. A ball brings protagonists together. And the way the dance-steps of a minuet bring love interests together – momentarily, only to part them – makes them perfect for a love story, or for a TV costume drama.

And then there’s the waltz. In 1815 the waltz was a daring continental innovation, as partners actually held each other for the duration of the dance, which was very shocking. The 4th Duke of Richmond – one of Wellington’s generals – had initially banned it when he’d brought his wife and children with him to Brussels, where two of his sons were among Wellington’s ADCs, while another was an ADC to the Prince of Orange. But in the end he had to give in, and waltzes were danced at the ball. Four sergeants
from the Gordon Highlanders also charmed this cosmopolitan audience with a performance of a reel and a sword dance.

The setting for all this was a former coach-house beside the Richmonds’ rented temporary home in Brussels rather than the splendid ballrooms typically depicted on screen. Yet we know it must have been a glamorous occasion from the guest list, which is now in the collection at Goodwood. Born a Gordon of Gordon Castle – which her son would ultimately inherit – the Duchess of Richmond was a leading figure in the cosmopolitan high society that found itself in Brussels that spring. Other guests included the newly minted Dutch royals, Belgian aristocrats, ambassadors and gallant officers aplenty. And we know Wellington insisted that his “family” of ADCs were sociable, stylish young men who could hold their own in a ballroom as well as on a battlefield.

There were many balls given in Brussels at this time, but we know the Duchess had been nervous about the timing of hers, given that Napoleon’s armies were known to be massing on the border. When asked, Wellington is said to have replied: “Duchess, you may give your ball with the greatest safety without fear of interruption.” But of course the ball would be interrupted by that messenger.

Wellington pocketed the note for a few minutes before opening it discreetly – a display of sang-froid designed to calm civilian nerves and keep the Duchess’s party going. Then he quietly asked his host if he had a good map of the area, which they then withdrew to consult in the Duke of Richmond’s dressing room, where they spread the map across a bed. But word of the military situation soon got out, the music stopped mid-bar and the military men began saying their farewells – despite the Duchess’s pleas to stay just a little while longer. Some of the civilian guests stayed up to witness the army marching out of Brussels at 4am.

Ultimately, Wellington would win his famous, if bloody victory – and present the Richmonds with a notable trophy of the battle, Napoleon’s campaign chair, which now resides at Goodwood. In one sense, the Duchess’s ball was ruined. In another sense, it’s worth pointing out that very few parties are still talked about – or indeed re-enacted for television – more than two centuries after the candles have been snuffed and the hour for carriages has passed.

This article was taken from the Winter 2019/2020 edition of the Goodwood Magazine.