Samson Slaying a Philistine

Samson Slaying a Philistine is the Giambologna marble sculpture that becomes the emotional and symbolic centerpiece of Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor's private tour of the Victoria and Albert Museum for Alex Claremont-Diaz. The statue, which depicts the biblical hero Samson in the act of killing a Philistine, is the first piece that knocks the wind out of Alex when they walk in, and it is the work they wind up back at after Henry has led him around the gallery. It is the only Giambologna that ever left Florence, a gift from the King of Spain to Charles I, who in turn gave it to his favorite, George Villiers. For Henry, the sculpture is not merely an object of aesthetic wonder but a landmark of national gay history, a piece of evidence that queerness has always been woven into the fabric of British power.

The Sculpture and Its First Impression

When Alex first lays eyes on Samson Slaying a Philistine, he is overwhelmed by its physicality. He has never seen anything like it—the smooth muscles, the indentations of flesh, the breathing, bleeding life of it, all carved by Giambologna out of marble. The statue's realism is so intense that Alex swears if he could touch it, the skin would be warm. This visceral reaction sets the tone for the entire museum visit, marking the sculpture as the most powerful object in the room. The work depicts Samson in the midst of violence, a muscular figure caught in the exertion of slaying his enemy, and it is this raw, physical energy that captivates Alex from the moment he enters.

Henry's Queer History Lesson

Standing before the statue, Henry delivers what amounts to a revisionist history of British queerness, using Samson Slaying a Philistine as his centerpiece. He points out the irony of his own position—"Me, the cursed gay heir, standing here in Victoria's museum, considering how much she loved those sodomy laws"—and then launches into the story of James I, the gay king whose most beloved favorite was George Villiers, called "the handsomest-bodied man in all of England." Henry recites a poem by the French poet de Viau about the king's relationships, noting that it rhymes in French, and explains that the King James translation of the Bible exists because the Church of England was so displeased with James for flaunting his relationship with Villiers that he had the translation commissioned to appease them. He tells Alex that James stood in front of the Privy Council and said, "Christ had John, and I have George."

The sculpture's own provenance is bound up in this same queer lineage. Henry explains that Charles I, James's son, is the reason they have dear Samson. The King of Spain gave the sculpture to Charles, and Charles gave this massive, absolutely priceless masterpiece to Villiers. A few centuries later, it sits in the museum, one of the most beautiful pieces they own, and they didn't even steal it. "We only needed Villiers and his trolloping ways with the queer monarchs," Henry says. "To me, if there were a registry of national gay landmarks in Britain, Samson would be on it."

Alex's Photograph and the Kiss

Henry's beaming pride as he gazes at the statue—like a proud parent, like Samson is his—triggers a wave of pride in Alex in kind. Alex takes out his phone and lines up a shot of Henry standing there, all soft and rumpled and smiling, next to one of the most exquisite works of art in the world. When Henry asks what he is doing, Alex replies, "I'm taking a picture of a national gay landmark," and adds, "And also a statue." Henry laughs indulgently, and Alex closes the space between them, takes Henry's baseball cap off, and stands on his toes to kiss the ridge of his brow. The moment is tender and playful, a rare instance of public affection between them that is made possible by the privacy of the museum setting.

The Transformation of Shame into Pride

The encounter with Samson Slaying a Philistine precipitates a profound shift in Henry's self-understanding. "It's funny," Henry says. "I always thought of the whole thing as the most unforgivable thing about me, but you act like it's one of the best." This admission reveals the depth of Henry's internalized shame about his sexuality, which he has long regarded as the most unforgivable aspect of himself. Alex's reaction—treating Henry's queerness and its historical echoes as something to celebrate and photograph—offers Henry a new frame through which to see himself. The sculpture, which Henry has claimed as a national gay landmark, becomes a mirror in which Henry can finally see his own identity not as a curse but as part of a lineage of queer love and power that stretches back through British history. Alex's act of photographing Henry beside the statue is thus an act of reclamation, transforming a site of potential shame into a monument of pride.