Built in 1857 by Joseph Russell Jones, a wealthy steamboat magnate, the house was never meant to be subtle. It was built to be seen—and from the moment you lay eyes on it, it’s clear that this was a man with ambition, taste, and more than a little desire to be remembered. It’s the kind of house that doesn’t just suggest wealth, it declares it. Elaborate brackets. Tall arched windows. A widow’s walk crowning the roofline like a feather in a cap.
But Galena is full of old houses. What makes the Belvedere special is not just its architecture—but its proximity to power, and its layered relationship to national history.
Jones, the original owner, was more than a businessman. He was politically connected—close friends with Elihu Washburne, and an early backer of Abraham Lincoln. In fact, it was Jones who helped secure a modest job for a struggling leather clerk in Galena by the name of Ulysses S. Grant. Grant never lived in the Belvedere, but he walked past it often, and its owner helped guide him quietly toward his rise. Power does that—it gathers in clusters, often behind closed parlor doors.
During the Civil War, Jones was appointed U.S. Marshal for the Northern District of Illinois and later served as Minister to Belgium under President Grant. But his fortunes soured in the 1870s, and like Galena itself, the house faded into gentler decline.
The Belvedere has changed hands many times since, each owner adding layers of mystery, grandeur, and eccentricity. Today it operates as a historic home museum—a curated tour of opulence with a few unexpected curiosities tucked inside. There’s Victorian furniture, of course. Velvet drapes. Crystal chandeliers. But also—a piece of Hollywood.
In an upstairs room sits a long green-and-gold drapery set said to have belonged to Tara, the fictional plantation from Gone with the Wind. It’s a strange, glamorous relic. A layer of cinematic fantasy inside a house already heavy with historical memory. Real or not, it gives the place an added air of Southern Gothic—an echo of myth alongside the facts.
The gardens, though modest compared to palatial estates, are lovingly maintained. They slope gently down toward the Galena River, offering a view not just of the landscape, but of the passage of time. It’s a place to linger. I found myself sitting on a bench longer than I expected, wondering how many others had done the same. Visitors. Veterans. Statesmen. Tourists. Ghosts.
There’s something about the Belvedere that blurs the line between reality and performance. Perhaps that’s its gift. It was never just a house. It was a statement. A stage. A signal to the world that something important was happening in Galena—and that even if the spotlight had moved on, the house would remain, elegant and unbothered.
History here isn’t just preserved—it’s posed.
And yet, behind all the gilt and grandeur, the Belvedere still feels human. It was built by a man who wanted to matter. Who wanted to be near power, near history. In that way, it’s not just a mansion. It’s a mirror. What do we build to be remembered? What do we leave behind that tells people we were here?
At the Belvedere, the answer is clear: a view, a house, and a legacy that still stands tall over the river, waiting to be asked its story.