It was my third day in London, and I found myself on a stroll through Piccadilly, St. James, and Westminster, one of the many hearts of historic London. Having just finished Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, a certain quote echoed in my mind. As I walked through the grandeur of a city that was once, and still is, a metropolis, I was constantly reminded of Victor Hugo’s critique of England:
“But this great England will be angry at what we are saying here. She still cherishes, after her own 1688 and our 1789, the feudal illusion. She believes in heredity and hierarchy. This people, surpassed by none in power and glory, regards itself as a nation, and not as a people. And as a people, it willingly subordinates itself and takes a lord for its head. As a workman, it allows itself to be disdained; as a soldier, it allows itself to be flogged.”
Hugo makes this comment when recounting the Battle of Waterloo, one of the most important moments in European history. The battle ended the Napoleonic Wars, marked the end of Napoleon's ambitions to dominate Europe, and resulted in a significant shift in French public opinion, leading to his abdication and exile to Saint Helena. But Waterloo's impact reached far beyond the battlefield. It played a role in shaping the political landscape of Europe for the next century. It led to the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy in France and contributed to a period of relative peace in Europe, though Hugo points out that peace alone did not solve France’s problems, highlighting the enduring consequences of poverty and social injustice.
Hugo gives merits to Duke of Wellington on the victory, but says that he should not have a statue because it does not give credit to the equally important soldiers who fought this battle; a comment that he says the English people will not take to kindly, since they view themselves as subordinates to the Royal Family. They do not view England as the common man, but rather as the aristocracy and royalty. He argues that even after the Glorious Revolution, the French Revolution, and all the progress made since then, they would not erect a statue for the brave men who risked their lives in the victory, but instead make one for the Duke of Wellington.
Victor Hugo applies this mentality to the time period of the battle, but also inherently to the time of writing the novel, and I would argue it still lingers to this day. London still holds its roots in hierarchy and heredity. Walking through Piccadilly, I passed exclusive Gentlemen’s Clubs and statues of “heroic” kings and dukes, fantastic feats of architecture built to house the aristocracy, and, at the peak of it all, Buckingham Palace: a place where the Royal Family of England has occupied since 1837, the very definition of living in the past.
At Buckingham Palace, it was fascinating to see a regiment of current-serving British officers practicing instruments for a ceremony. These British Army regiments, called the Household Division, do this as part of their ceremonial duties and public engagements. They guard the royal residences, conduct events like the Changing of the Guard, and often play the music for these ceremonial occasions, contributing to the pageantry associated with the British monarchy (which, to be clear, is no longer the legitimate governing body of England).
Continuing the walk to Westminster Abbey, the church’s tour guide led us through the numerous tombs and shrines as if narrating a gilded book of English kings. Every alcove had a story, every stone a name I’d heard in some history class or BBC documentary. The walls were adorned with intricate engravings of Tudor roses and emblems of past kingdoms. And every now and then the tour guide would say, casual and confident: “We liked this king because he won this war.”
It was said with a smile, almost like a punchline. I don’t even remember which king it was — one of the Georges or Henrys, probably — but the line stuck. We liked this king because he won this war. As if the war had been a solo duel, the king the lone swordsman. There was no mention of the countless men who bled on muddy fields or the towns that starved to keep supply lines open. No mention of the mothers or the farmers or the craftsmen who backboned every soldier.
And that’s exactly what Hugo was pointing to: a nation that remembers its aristocrats like heroes and forgets the people who made their victories possible. The king did not win that war. The people did. The foot soldiers did. The cooks and quartermasters, the smiths and sailors. But when it comes to history — at least the version we most commonly see in touristy places like these — it is the noble, not the nameless, who are remembered.
Westminster Abbey, magnificent as it is, felt more like a hall of royal rememberance than a church. It spoke in whispers of monarchy and martyrdom, of greatness made manifest in birthright. Standing beneath vaulted ceilings, I was among royal tombs and marble tributes, for many of whom did nothing other than subjugate the people so the wealthy could live lavish lives. A place that suggests a nation's soul can be found in the bloodlines of its rulers, rather than in the lives of its people.
Now, this is not an attack on England or its history. Many of today’s societies follow the same path, and many still praise prior kings and queens. History, after all, is told by the victors, and England’s victors were its aristocrats. So, of course they threw up statues for those who shaped the course of history. And there was the tomb of the unknown soldier, one of the most decorated tombs, sitting right at the entrance. So progress has definitely been made. It was just interesting how, even through so many revolutions, so much reform, so much progress towards the common man, the very thing that defines this country is the governmental figurehead of the past.
