Category Archives: Historic Homes

Back to Blenheim

Every now and then the stars align favorably. I was lucky enough to visit Blenheim Palace last fall, and doubly lucky to be in England again in the spring. When I bought my Blenheim ticket last fall, I stopped at a kiosk and made it into a year-long pass–at no extra charge! What a deal! I’d probably go back even if I didn’t like the place, but I happen to love it.

Blenheim was used for the exterior scenes of the great film Hamlet, with Kenneth Branagh as director and and playing the melancholy Hamlet himself. He was perfect. English major and Shakespeare lover that I am, I’ve watched the film quite a few times. I like to turn on the subtitles so I can get all the glorious Shakespearean words, but it is very dramatic and easy to follow even without caring much about the dialogue. It even ends with some swashbuckling worthy of Jack Bauer in 24. The acting is stellar, featuring, besides Kenneth Branagh, Charlton Heston, Julie Christie, Billy Crystal, the late Robin Williams, Derek Jacobi, Kate Winslet, Michael Maloney, Timothy Spall, Richard Attenborough, Brian Blessed, Judi Dench, Geraard Depardieu, John Gielgud, Rosemary Harris, and Jack Lemmon (he was still with us in 1996!)

Toward the end of the film, one scene shows the new King arriving after the tragic events of the story, riding up to the palace with his retinue.

The palace, decorated with military mementos of the First Duke of Marlborough, was just the right location. The 11th Duke of Marlborough had a cameo appearance as one of the nobles accompanying the new king. I’m guessing it was one of the highlights of his long and distinguished life. After all, he was appearing with fine actors in a great film that showcased his ancestral home. Plus the new King was played by Rufus Sewell, in fine smoldering form. Who wouldn’t want to appear in that film?

I last saw the 11th Duke last fall on my visit. He was usually a very visible presence, striding around his palace and really seeming to welcome visitors. When I was there last, his brother was being married in the palace chapel. So the Duke was jovially greeting his guests. He looked frail, though, and I was sad to learn that he died just a few weeks later. During my visit, I saw his lovely wife, and I also saw the soon-to-be 12th Duke with his wife. I recognized them all from photos in the house. The heir is in the photo just behind the 11th Duke.

I previously wrote about Blenheim at https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/11/06/blenheim-the-s…kings-waterloo/

I wrote about the death and funeral of the elegant 11th Duke at https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/10/30/what-are-plus-fours-anyway/ ‎ and https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/10/29/farewell-to-th…of-marlborough/

The 12th Duke has now moved to the front of the photo displays in the palace. Yesterday I toured the several of the family’s private rooms in the East Wing. The rooms are sumptuous, but lived-in. (Think of the most elegant possible version of Shabby Chic). There are 12 bedrooms, each with its own bathroom and dressing room–but they are off limits. No photos were allowed. The 12th Duke was in the house–his flag was flying. But he must not have been told that I had come to see him, because he was nowhere in sight. As an American, I’m always puzzled but intrigued by British aristocracy and royalty. I wish the 12th Duke many years of carrying on his family’s heritage, and I’m sure he’s as dedicated to the task as his late father was.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!

Nuffield Place: Home of a Practical Man

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Last month I visited the home of William Morris–not the Arts and Crafts genius, but another kind of genius.

He rose from poverty to invent and manufacture the Morris Minor motorcar, the British equivalent of Henry Ford’s Model T. He made an automobile affordable, for the first time, for the newly emerging middle class in Britain. Many families could even afford two of them.

He was “created” Lord Nuffield, making him a Peer of the Realm, because he was one of England’s greatest philanthropists besides being a fine inventor. He gave away the equivalent of over a billion dollars in today’s money.

He and his wife lived modestly in their beloved country home starting in 1933. Lady Nuffield died, childless, in 1959. When Lord Nuffield died in 1963, he left their home to Nuffield College, which he had founded in nearby Oxford. The bequest stipulated that the house remain as they left it.

What did the college do with the house? They must have maintained it, at least. It’s very livable, with all the original bed linens, china and towels. Maybe it was used to house special guests. The house remained a time capsule until it was given to the National Trust and opened to the public in 2011. Now it’s one of my favorite NT properties, because it’s such a contrast with the conspicuous consumption I’ve grown to expect when I flash my NT pass.

Although he was a close personal friend of the King and Queen, Lord Nuffield liked nothing better than to go home to Nuffield Place, where he could tinker with his inventions and walk his Scottie dogs.

Nuffield Place is just one more reason to love driving around the English countryside with my trusty National Trust pass!

Lady Emma Hamilton: Wild Times and a Sad End

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Portrait of Emma, Lady Hamilton, George Romney, c 1782-84, from History Today article cited

Emma Lyon was born to working-class parents in 1765. She grew up to be breathtakingly beautiful–and wild. Early in her life, she worked as a maid, but she soon left dustcloths far behind. She herself joked about her “giddy ways.” She was a popular dinner guest in certain aristocratic circles. Small wonder: she was fond of dancing naked on the dining-room table.

At Uppark, a country home in England, I actually saw one of those dining room tables where Emma frolicked long ago. No photos were allowed. I looked closely for scratches and there were none; Emma must have been light on her ((bare) feet.

Coronation Portrait, George IV, Sir Thomas Lawrence, 1821, Public Domain

In the raffish household of the owner of this particular house, the Prince of Wales, who later became George IV, was a frequent guest. He was the ultimate playboy. So there were plenty of aristocrats more than happy to dally with the beautiful Emma. She bore an illegitimate child to a gentleman at age 16.

One Charles Francis Greville took Emma into his home, educated her, and introduced her to society painters such as George Romney and Joshua Reynolds. They loved painting her portrait.

Eventually Greville passed Emma on to his elderly uncle, Sir William Hamilton. She married him when he was 60 and she was just 26. He was Ambassador to what is now Sicily, and in Naples the couple were popular in high social circles. Still beautiful, charming and uninhibited, she delighted men in particular by appearing in flimsy mythological costumes.

Lord Nelson, John Hoppner, Public Domain

In 1791, Emma met Horatio Nelson, and he fell head over heels for her. Her husband, Sir WIlliam, didn’t mind; in fact the three of them lived happily together, although Nelson had a wife living elsewhere. Emma bore Nelson’s daughter, Horatia in 1801.

Sadly, Lord Nelson was killed in action at Trafalgar.

Emma’s life was all downhill from there. She inherited a little money from Hamilton, but his brother held on to most of her money. By this time, she was an alcoholic–from way too many champagne toasts in her wild youth. She eventually was able to move across the Channel to Calais, where she died at age 49, poor and ill. But out of respect for Lord Nelson, the captains of many English ships attended her funeral.

I love English country homes. I feel they’re inhabited by the ghosts of people living their colorful lives long ago. There are always volunteer docents happy to tell stories of the past.

http://historytoday.com/richard-cavendish/emma-lady-hamilton-dies-calais

Blenheim: The Sun King’s Waterloo

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Claude Lefebre, Public Domainnknown artist, after Louis XIV, circa 1670, u

Before there was Napoleon Bonaparte, there was Louis XIV, the Sun King. He believed himself the greatest monarch the world had ever seen, so naturally he thought he might as well control all of Europe plus the British Isles, not just France. In 1704, the War of the Spanish Succession had been going on for four years, and things were going well for the French. Unlike many kings, Louis XIV was actually a soldier, and an accomplished one.

John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough, 1704, Adriaen van der Werff, Public Domain

He met his match in John Churchill, who had risen through the ranks after beginning at court as a lowly page. He had already attained the rank of First Duke of Marlborough when he stopped the French in their tracks. He changed the course of European history. Churchill/Marlborough did this through a combination of deceptive communications and wily maneuvering of his forces. As I understand it, he marched his troops undetected through the Low Countries, pretty much surprising the French at a little Bavarian village called Blenheim. The object was to keep the French from occupying Vienna, which would have broken up the delicate and ever-shifting balance among European powers.

Marlborough’s heroics ended Louis XIV’s dream of controlling all of Europe. The French suffered 30,000 casualties. The French commander-in-chief, Marshall Tallard, was captured and hauled to England as a prisoner. There were still battles left to fight, but the battle of Blenheim was a huge turning point in history.

A grateful nation gave the 1st Duke of Marlborough the lands and the money to build a suitable tribute, a palace that would rival the Versailles of Louis XIV. In fact, the cavernous entry hall at Blenheim is as impressive as anything I’ve seen at Versailles. It’s more austere, though–suitable for the military theme of Blenheim. The palace was built in the English Baroque style, and contained 187 rooms. The construction was halted in 1711, after the Duchess of Marlborough had a terrible quarrel with Queen Anne. In fact, the Duke and Duchess had to go into temporary exile on the continent until the Queen died in 1714. After that, the Duke had to spend his own money to complete his palace.

Serious historians would not be much impressed by my analysis of the military situation. If I wanted to fully understand the War of the Spanish Succession and its many battles, I could study a large military exhibition at Blenheim Palace. I thought about the military exhibit on my recent visit, but the tearoom was calling my name.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!

A Cradle Fit for a King (or Emperor or Duke)

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When Consuelo Vanderbilt did her duty and produced the required “heir and a spare” for the 9th Duke of Marlborough, she rocked her boys in a regal cradle, which is still on view at Blenheim Palace. Consuelo’s mother, the irrepressible Alva Vanderbilt, wasted no time in ordering this cradle from Italy. She had moved heaven and earth to marry her very rich daughter to the Duke of Marlborough. The birth of a male heir insured that the Vanderbilt bloodline would forever have a secure footing in the British aristocracy.

According to a placard about the cradle in Blenheim Palace, it was a near-replica of the one made for Napoleon Bonaparte’s long-awaited heir in 1811. I don’t see much resemblance, though. Consuelo’s cradle is ornate, over-the-top with fanciful figures and gilding. (Actually, a baby being rocked in this cradle would have gone straight over the top and onto the floor–the mattress is even with the sides. If Consuelo actually used it, she must have used it with a lower mattress).

Napoleon II’s cradle is now in the Imperial Treasury in Vienna, because the child’s mother was Napoleon’s second wife, Marie-Louise of Austria. It was never actually subjected to a burping, crying child. It was a ceremonial object–a “throne cradle”– presented to Empress Marie Louise by the City of Paris. This cradle has a distinctly military look. It was fashioned of 280 kg of silver, replete with symbols of power and good government: horns of plenty, the Roman Capitoline Wolf, a laurel wreath, a crown of stars, and numerous bees. Napoleon the Emperor took the bee as his personal emblem; it was also an old symbol of Paris, indicating diligence. The foot of the cradle has a small eagle; Napoleon II was popularly known as “The Eaglet,” with the hope that he would surpass even the glorious exploits of his father.

Napoleon’s only legitimate son had a short and tragic life. The Emperor made his son the King of Rome the instant he was born. Glory did not follow, though. After his father’s abdication in 1814, Napoleon II’s mother was forced to flee home to Austria with her toddler. She remained married to Napoleon, but never saw him again. The child died in isolation in Austria, where he had to be kept from the public for fear of his father’s admirers trying to rally around him. I read somewhere that the unfortunate child’s only companion was a pet bird. He was a frail, sickly child, kept indoors almost all the time. He died of tuberculosis at age 21.

Duke of Marlborough and His Family, John SInger Sargent, 1905, Public Domain

Consuelo’s marriage to the 9th Duke of Marlborough was loveless and unhappy, but her older son, in the fullness of time, became the 10th Duke of Marlborough and her younger son lived out his days as Lord Ivor Spencer-Churchill. Consuelo’s ancestors continue to occupy Blenheim Palace to this day.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!

Consuelo Vanderbilt to the Rescue

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La Duchess de Marlborough, Helleu, 1901, Public Domain

Julian Fellowes, creator of the television hit Downton Abbey, did not invent the story of an American heiress bringing her fortune to the rescue of an aristocratic British family of declining fortunes. Fortune-hunting Brits, titled but poor, regularly patrolled the upper reaches of American society for rich brides. Consuelo Vanderbilt was one of those real-life brides. She became the very reluctant wife of the 9th Duke of Marlborough.

By all accounts, Consuelo was one of the loveliest and most charming women of her age. The playwright Sir James Barrie, author of Peter Pan, famously wrote, “I would wait all night in the rain, to see Consuelo Marlborough get into her carriage.” She was also sweet, compliant, and dominated by her mother Alva Vanderbilt.

Alva was formidable. She was estranged from her husband, the fabulously rich railroad man who, among other feats, created Madison Square Garden. He was a grandson of the dynasty’s founder, Cornelius “The Commodore” Vanderbilt, and inherited the equivalent of about $1.4 billion in today’s money. Alva divorced him for adultery and landed a settlement of the equivalent of $280 million in today’s money. Alva named her daughter after her godmother, a half-Cuban American socialite who had made a spectacular marriage into the family of the Duke of Manchester.

Alva expected no less of her beautiful daughter Consuelo. She forced Consuelo into a brilliant but doomed marriage with the 9th Duke, who didn’t want the marriage any more than Consuelo did. Alva actually placed her daughter under house arrest in her bedroom, keeping her away from the man she loved, until the tearful teenager finally agreed to marry the Duke of Marlborough. Consuelo wept behind her wedding veil at the 1895 ceremony in New York. She was just 18 at the time. The Duke wasted no time in collecting her dowry, the equivalent of $67 million dollars, which he sorely needed to maintain the family seat at Blenheim Palace. The money lasted until around 1950, when declining fortunes forced the house to open to the paying public.

Duke of Marlborough and His Family, John SInger Sargent, 1905, Public Domain

Consuelo did her duty, producing the required “heir and a spare.” By some accounts, she invented the famous expression. Predictably, the marriage ended in separation in 1906, divorce in 1921, and finally annullment in 1926, after Alva admitted that she had been wrong to force the marriage. Consuelo forgave her domineering mother and they developed a close relationship.

Consuelo with WInston Churchill at Blenheim, Public Domain

Consuelo became a close friend of Sir Winston Churchill, who was born at Blenheim in 1874 and remained a frequent visitor there all his life. While she was the Duchess, she worked to improve the lives of the poor around the estate and in the town of Woodstock. It appears she was universally adored. Later in life, she continued her good works, even as she took part in glittering society. Her second marriage was happy, and she lived out her days in contentment. She died in New York at age 87.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe and the British Isles!

What are Plus Fours Anyway?

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Photo from Daily Mail article cited below

The media coverage of the late 11th Duke of Marlborough’s death made much of the fact that his pallbearers were Palace gamekeepers, or maybe groundskeepers, dressed in “traditional plus fours.” I looked at the photos and all I saw was short pants worn with knee-high socks that seemed to slightly clash with the pants. It turns out “plus fours” have a very specific definition: pants that are carefully tailored exactly four inches below the knee.They’ve been worn by British sportsmen since about 1860. The Duke himself very likely wore them when out hunting on his lands.

During his visit to America in 1924, the raffish Edward, Prince of Wales, famously wore plus fours. (He later briefly became Kind Edward VIII, until he famously abdicated in order to marry the divorced American socialite Wallis Simpson). His short pants gave him a sort of free-wheeling look that fit right in with the Roaring Twenties. After Edward made his way back home across the pond, his stylish short pants caught on, especially with golfers and with anyone else who wanted to flout convention. (I can well imagine F. Scott Fitzgerald sporting a pair).

I generally expect pallbearers to be close friends or relatives of the deceased. It seems that having one’s groundskeepers perform the task must be a privilege and mark of very high status. After all, how many of us even have extensive grounds, let alone uniformed groundskeepers to tend them? There’s also the implication that the Duke’s relatives are above any sort of menial task.

I’m reminded of the custom that shocked Consuelo Vanderbilt when she arrived as a young American bride at Blenheim, freshly married to the 9th Duke of Marlborough. A carriage met the newlyweds’ train in Woodstock. Approaching Blenheim, men from the estate unhitched the horses and pulled the carriage through the grand palace gates. Things like that didn’t happen where Consuelo came from.

Photo from Daily Mail article cited below

Anyway, the Duke’s employees seem a very happy lot. When I was in Woodstock last month, all the palace employees I encountered seemed extremely cheerful–and that is not always the case with people who attend the high and mighty. I think the late Duke was a hands-on sort of man, genuinely loved by many.

As an American, I don’t suppose I’ll ever fully understand the subtleties of the British class system. I do appreciate certain little perks. For example, the late Duke’s name was John George Vanderbilt Henry Spencer-Churchill. But his title gave him the right to use a most elegant signature: he simply signed his name “Marlborough.” Now that’s class.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2806349/Flag-half-mast-Blenheim-Palace-Mourners-line-route-funeral-cortege-11th-Duke-Marlborough-died-aged-88.html

Farewell to the 11th Duke of Marlborough

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Each time I’ve visited Blenheim Palace in Woodstock, England, I’ve had at least a glimpse of the 11th Duke. Unlike many aristocrats, he made his very grand family seat his real home. Many owners of stately homes admit the public only grudgingly. But the 11th Duke really seemed to welcome the public with open arms, and he could regularly be seen striding through a courtyard or hurrying down a hallway. A ticket to Blenheim is good for a full year of visits, a real bargain for anyone who can visit the house and glorious grounds even twice in a year. Many Brits make it a regular stop.

Sadly, my last visit, in September, was the last time I would see the 11th Duke. He died less than a month later, on October 16 of this year. When I entered the palace, I asked whether a tour of the private quarters was available–I never miss a chance to get a glimpse at how “toffs” actually live. The private quarters of a stately home are usually the ultimate in Shabby Chic–the authentic variety. The guide said, “I’m terribly sorry, but His Grace has a lot of guests. His brother is getting married today in the chapel.” Very soon, I spotted His Grace, mingling with his guests outside the private chapel before and after the wedding. He was 88 and walked with a cane, but his tall figure was still elegant and he had the same gentle smile. His Duchess–his fourth Duchess, to be exact–is Lily, a Persian beauty about 30 years younger.

Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, photo from Daily Mail article cited below

The marriage, a few years ago, raised eyebrows, but Lily turned out to be a rousing success as a wife. Not only did she make the Duke extremely happy, but she quietly worked on a reconciliation between the Duke and his heir. The Duke actually had to disinherit his oldest son, Jamie Spencer-Churchill, who was generally known as Jamie Blandford. It was a step almost unheard of in aristocratic families. They had been estranged for almost 20 years, because the heir had serious drug problems and even served time in prison for crimes such as forging prescriptions and road rage incidents. With Lily fostering a reconciliation, the reformed heir was back in His Grace’s good graces. On the death of his father, he became the 12th Duke. It appears that he will also inherit the property, although there is talk of some supervision by a board of trustees.

For the wedding, the entire family was present and everyone seemed happy to be together. I took the opportunity to photo-bomb the occasion, which no one seemed to mind.

11th Duke’s funeral procession, photo from Daily Mail article cited below

Sadly, the elegant old Duke died in his sleep less than a month later. His son and heir, the 12th Duke, followed the solemn and affectionate funeral procession with Lily, now the Dowager Duchess, on his arm. May the old Duke rest in peace, and may the young Duke (now 58) do his father proud.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2806349/Flag-half-mast-Blenheim-Palace-Mourners-line-route-funeral-cortege-11th-Duke-Marlborough-died-aged-88.html

High Victorian Splendor at Tyntesfield

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On my last trip to England, I made my second visit to Tyntesfield, the glorious Victorian country home rescued by the National Trust of Great Britain in 2002. My first visit was just a couple of years after it opened to the public. It is now one of my very favorite National Trust properties in all of Great Britain.

Succeeding generations of the Gibbs family lived in it since it was built. As the family declined in numbers and in fortune, they simply closed up areas and lived in smaller and smaller parts of the mansion. The result is a time capsule. Tyntesfield and its entire contents were on the market by Sotheby’s when the National Trust managed to purchase it lock, stock and barrel. All the contents had already been tagged for separate auction.

National Trust Curators have carefully catalogued, cleaned and replaced thousands of items into their original places in the gorgeous home. They’ve left a few rooms as they found them with groups of housewares and furniture tagged and ready for the auction block.

By the time the 2nd Lord Wraxall, known as Richard, died in 2001, he was the only person living in the house. The house had been hit by bombs several times during the Bristol Blitz of World War II, and had never been properly repaired. Birds and bats took up residence in whole wings of the house. Tyntesfield was the last High Victorian house available for purchase in all of England.

The market value was about 20 million pounds, or about $31 million. In addition, double or triple the purchase amount was needed for repairs. Various gazillionaires were interested. (The press reported that Madonna, Kylie Minogue, and Andrew Lloyd Webber were looking). But the National Trust of Britain, one of the two main preservation societies, managed to raise the purchase money within a period of 50 days. (Controversy arose when a semi-secret deal with the National Lottery provided some of the money for this project that many considered “elitist”). The Trust took possession in July of 2002. This was the first new acquisition by the National Trust in many years, and the largest in its history. Today, over 800 paid and volunteer staff work on the estate, 3 times the number at any other National Trust property.

Dining Room

Tyntesfield is a breathtakingly beautiful place to spend a day.

Entry Hall

It is also a unique window into the glory days of the British Empire, when a businessman with no aristocratic background could amass a huge fortune and build a home to rival many royal palaces. I’ll be writing about how the Gibbs family managed to amass such a fortune. The large family gathered with their servants for prayers twice a day, had their own private chapel, and funded churches and charities all over England. However, their business and shipping interests were very likely tied up with the slave trade, a fact which must have caused this generous and devout family some feelings of remorse even as they spent their money.

Beauty and Sadness: the House of Camondo

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“Parc Monceau,” Gustave Caillebotte, 1877, Public Domain

The painting above is “Parc Monceau,” by Gustave Caillebotte, 1877. In 1911, Compte (Count) Moise de Camondo built his mansion on the edge of the very elegant Parc Monceau in Paris. The park still looks much the same as it did then, and the house is preserved as though the family had just left. But a visit to the Musee Nissim de Camondo in Paris ends with sobering realities. Newsreels show footage from the First and Second World War, plus some footage of the family members who were swept up in those wars, making this venerable family line extinct.

The Camondo family were prominent in Europe as merchants, bankers and philanthropists beginning in 15th century Spain. After all Jews were expelled from Spain in 1492, they settled in Venice, where they prospered. When Austria took over Venice in 1798, they were again forced to relocate. They went to Istanbul. Eventually, family members made their way to Paris where they already had business interests. By that time, they had acquired the hereditary title of “Count.”

Moise de Camondo built his dream home. His dream was to live as an aristocrat in the 18th century. His tranquil salons are hushed now; not too many tourists make their way to the Parc Monceau. In Moise’s day, his rooms were filled with friends, laughter, good conversation and music.

Moise filled his mansion with priceless art and furniture. He also had the very latest in plumbing and fixtures.

Moise’s state-of-the-art kitchen produced fabulous meals served on museum-quality china.

But this idyllic life did not last long. Moise’s only son, Nissim, volunteered as combat pilot when World War I broke out. He was killed in action. When Moise died in 1935, he named the mansion for his only son and left it to be opened as a museum of 18th century decorative arts.

There was still plenty of money left over after Moise’s death for his daughter, Beatrice de Camondo. She was a busy socialite. She saw no reason to change her life even as World War II began; like so many others, she apparently believed her family’s wealth and titled status would protect her. Sadly, Beatrice, her two children and her husband were deported to Auschwitz between 1943 and 1945. They were never seen again.

The mansion built in 1911 by Moise de Camondo still stands as he left it, a beautiful but melancholy sight in Paris.