What are Plus Fours Anyway?

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

Happy Birthday, Pablo Picasso!

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Today in Paris, the Musee Picasso reopens after five years of turmoil and $60 million in renovation. It’s the anniversary of the great artist’s birth in 1881. (He would be 133 today!) Francois Hollande, the French President, will attend. Throngs of art lovers will follow. I’ll be among them as soon as I can swing a trip to Paris. When I was last in Paris, last spring, I just missed the planned May opening; it was one of many, many dates that came and went with no opening after all.

“Hotel Sale,” photo by Beckstet, Creative Commons Share Alike 3.0

The project was overseen by a distinguished but idiosyncratic Picasso scholar, Anne Baldassari. Five years ago, she was given the responsibility of remodeling the 17th-century mansion in the Marais district of Paris. Her uncompromising vision for the renovation turned a planned two-year project into five long years. The old museum never seemed crowded to me. Not that many tourists made their way to its imposing gates. The museum always felt a little damp; after all the “Maris district was once a swamp. It was always a labyrinth of rooms clearly carved out of a very old space never meant for exhibiting art. But it was always one of my favorite museums. The space seemed appropriate; Picasso spent his entire career working in ancient spaces, both grand and humble. He spent the years of World War II working tirelessly in studios in Paris, even though he was forbidden to exhibit his work by the occupying Nazis.

Anne Baldassari was dismissed about a year ago, after acrimonious struggles with workers, other administrators, and Picasso heirs. But her scholarship is still respected; she was invited back to curate part of the hanging of the largest collection of Picasso paintings in the world. The museum houses about 5,000 works. In the old space, only a small fraction could be exhibited at a time. Picasso’s family donated most of these works to the French state after his death, in payment of death taxes.

ChildPicasso

One of my most unforgettable sights in a museum was not a work of great art; it was a young child crouched on the floor of the Musee Picasso in Paris. As her mother waited nearby, the little girl moved from one Picasso painting to another, intently drawing in a notebook. She was oblivious to anything around her, and people respectfully stood back to let her work. What she was doing WAS work, not play. Was she a budding genius, or just a kid going through a stage, as kids will? Hard to tell, but I admired her mother for patiently spending the day letting this child pursue her passion.

I think Pablo Picasso would approve. I hope he enjoys his birthday in his renovated museum!

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.

Thinking About “Columbus Day”

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Monday, October 13 is Columbus Day across the United States. However, not everyone feels like celebrating the “discovery” of continents where well-developed civilizations already existed. In Minneapolis, where I spend a lot of time, the City Council voted in April 2014 to substitute “Indigenous Peoples’ Day” for Columbus Day.

Thinking about controversies surrounding Christopher Columbus, I went back and watched a great film, The Mission. The British film was made in 1986 from a script by Robert Bold, directed by Roland Joffe. It won the Palme d’Or at Cannes and an Academy award for cinematography. It’s a somewhat-fictionalized version of events that actually took place in the 1750s, in the mountains of Paraguay. The story is taken from the book “The Lost Cities of Paraguay” by Father C. J. McNaspy, S.J., who was also a consultant on the film. For me, the story dramatizes some of the heartbreaking conflicts between missionaries and politicians in the colonial period. Conflicts surrounding the exploitation of native lands and peoples continue in our time.

The main character, Father Gabriel, is played by Jeremy Irons. The character is based on a real-life Paraguayan Jesuit, Father Roque Gonzalez de Santa Cruz, who became a saint. After a priest in his charge is martyred by a Guarani tribe above a perilous waterfall, Father Gabriel climbs up the steep stone face carrying nothing but a flute. Warriors surround him as he sits on a rock and plays. It turns out they love music; they let him stay, and he develops a mission that helps them in material as well as spiritual ways. They are not exploited. Instead, they prosper.

The outside world arrives in the form of a mercenary soldier played by Robert de Niro. He has a lucrative sideline in the slave trade. He sets a huge net as a trap in the jungle; soon he has a netful of tribe members, and he hauls them off like so many rabbits, to be sold into slavery. Soon afterward, he murders his brother in a jealous rage. Although he is acquitted, he experiences remorse for the first time in his life. Father Gabriel, on a visit to the city, challenges the mercenary to atone for his sins and change his life. As penance, the mercenary hauls his net, loaded with all his armor and possessions, tied to a rope and dragging behind him. He climbs up to the mission above the falls, fully expecting to be shunned or even killed. He is amazed and humbled when the tribe members forgive and welcome him; over time, he becomes a Jesuit himself. Liam Neeson is excellent as a young Jesuit, in one of his earliest roles.

The rest of the movie concerns further encroachments of the outside world. Father Gabriel’s mission–and six others like it–are under the protection of Spain, which outlaws slavery. In 1750, the Treaty of Madrid gives part of Paraguay to Portugal, which encourages slavery. Suddenly, the missions are ordered to close. The Church cannot risk allowing the Jesuits to violate the treaty; the Spanish could shut down their order entirely if they resist. Other religious orders could be barred from the colonies.

Father Gabriel and his Jesuits have to make agonizing choices. A joint army from Portugal and Spain is ordered to clear out the missions in Portuguese territory. Should the missionaries abandon their mission and the Guarani people they have come to love? Should they help the Guarani resist, using modern warfare techniques? Should they resort to peaceful resistance? Would peaceful resistance have any chance? If not, should they sacrifice themselves by trying peaceful resistance anyway?

“The Mission” poster

The film is available at Amazon. The story of the colonization of the “New World” is complex, The great colonial powers of England, Spain, France, and Portugal set out explicitly to exploit whatever they found in the “New World,” people and resources alike. But the members of the various religious orders set out for the colonies with a sincere desire to improve the lives of the people, however misguided their methods were at times. They were able to do a lot of good that remains to this day. A film like “The Mission” invites us to share in the moral quandaries of times past, and to think about those of the modern world.

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

My Own Private Odalisque

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“La Grande Odalisque,” Ingres, 1814, Public Domain

I have a special fondness for a particular painting in the Louvre Museum in Paris: “La Grande Odalisque,” painted by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres in 1814. The original painting was commissioned by Napoleon Bonaparte’s sister, Queen Caroline Murat of Naples. (Early Popes invented “nepotism,” installing their nephews as Cardinals. But Napoleon I took nepotism many steps further, installing family members on thrones all over Europe during the ten-year period when he was Emperor).

There is something a little off-kilter about this image. Scientific analysis provided the reason, shortly after the painting first appeared in public: too much backbone. The painter Ingres defied all the known laws of anatomy and classical beauty in order to create a romanticized exotic image from an imagined Sultan’s harem. In order to enhance the sensuous curves of the woman’s body, Ingres painted this lady with at least five extra vertebrae. I guess she is alluring, if a little disconcerting. If you ask me, she looks quite a bit like a weasel.

Photo by Keven Law, Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike2.0

I prefer my own Odalisque, a lady I rescued from a garage sale one fall afternoon.

The artist who painted this very good copy was one M. Feste, signed in red in the corner. The copy shows just the Odalisque’s head and shoulder. I found her canvas leaning against a wall, in danger of being stepped on. My private Odalisque doesn’t suffer the indignity of having a ridiculously elongated backside. Now she just gazes calmly back over her shoulder at anyone entering my bathroom, confident in her exotic beauty.

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

John Ruskin

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Brantwood, the home of English writer/critic/artist John Ruskin, is one of many enchanting sights in the Lake District of northern England. Ruskin bought this lakeshore home in 1872 and lived there for the rest of his life. I can see why.

The house and gardens are on the shore of beautiful Coniston Water.

The cafe is called the Jumping Jenny, after the boat Ruskin used to potter around the lake on. His boat probably looked like one of these.

Ruskin’s study is crammed with evidence of his wide and varied interests and expertise: in the natural world, scientific discoveries, literature, architecture, design, art, history, and any number of other fields. He had advanced social views for his time, too. One of his concerns was the plight of the worker in the industrial age. He felt that modern manufacturing demanded that workers give up their most human qualities, to everyone’s detriment.

This quotation, on a placard in Ruskin’s study, caught my eye: “You can teach a man to draw a straight line, and to cut one; to strike a curved line, and to carve it; and to copy and carve any number of given lines and forms, with admirable speed and precision, and you find his work is perfect of its kind; but if you ask him to think about any of those forms, to consider if he cannot find any better in his own head, he stops; his execution becomes hesitating…But you have made a man of him for all that. He was only a machine before, an animated tool.” The words are from Ruskins book “Stones of Venice.”

John Ruskin in 1863, photograph by William Downey, Public Domain

If I were given a chance to meet 10 people from the past, John Ruskin would be high on my list. And I’d make arrangements to meet him at his home in the Lake District!

Join me next time for more explorations in European history and art!

Why I Love England and Can’t Wait to Return

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I always have good intentions of posting almost daily while traveling, but I always end up rushing around seeing more things than I can record and think about. That comes later, when I have time to go through my pictures–not to mention the guidebooks that make my suitcase weigh a ton on the trip home. It’s time to sift through my memories of my last trip and begin planning another one.

I love the streams that meander through the English countryside. Estates fortunate enough to have a stream have ancient plantings and walkways, because generations have paused to listen to the rushing water. This stream is at Mottisfont.

A fence can become a work of art, when there’s a passionate gardener around. And England is full of passionate gardeners. This fence is at Uppark.

The British are thoughtful, and their memories are long. In this year of remembering those fallen in World War I, there are also memorials to the non-human victims. This wreath, found in the village of Arundel, honors the millions of innocent animals that suffered during the terrible war years. As in town and villages all over England, simple wooden crosses with poppies honor the local war dead. I thought it was nice to create a wreath of blue poppies to honor the animals.

The historical sights are making new efforts to attract visitors, and to explain their histories in engaging ways. At Blenheim Palace, there’s a series of rooms that dramatize important events in the palace’s history through the eyes of a lady’s maid. This (wax) woman was awakened in a bedroom where she wasn’t supposed to be, setting off a Marlborough family scandal that turned into a government crisis in days long past. I would rather read my history and see actual artifacts, but I appreciate the effort that goes into exhibits like this.

Antique shops are crammed with unusual and very British items, like this well-worn Art Deco chair.

And have I mentioned the flowers? These are at Avebury Manor. Well into the fall, the temperate climate of England keeps flowers blooming. Yes, I love England!

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

Sir Winston’s Cat

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When I was planning my trip to England, I read about the new kitten that recently took up residence at Chartwell, the country home of Sir Winston Churchill. When Churchill’s family gave the property to the National Trust to become a museum in 1966, they specified that there must always be on the property a marmalade cat with a white bib and white boots. Sir Winston had owned such a cat for many years. The Chartwell cat must always be named “Jock,” after the family’s beloved pet. Jock V recently retired to Scotland, and the perfect Jock VI was located in a local animal shelter. I wrote about Sir WInston’s unhappy childhood and his determination to create a happy home for his own children in a previous post, “The Bulldog and the Marmalade Cat” at https://castlesandcoffeehouses.com/2014/09/12/the-bulldog-an…-marmalade-cat/ ‎

When I visited Chartwell yesterday, I searched for Jock in the Rose Garden, the woodland walkways, beside the pond with the black swans, and in the flower beds beside Sir Winston’s painting studio. I was leaving, disappointed, when who should spring right into my path?

Jock had his eye on something in the shrubbery.

He perched on a branch, watching the ground intently and switching his orange-and-white-striped tail.

Then he turned around and very briefly glanced at me, the tourist excitedly taking his picture. Jock certainly has some of Sir WInston’s charisma and supreme self-confidence. I also think some of Sir Winston’s political acumen has already rubbed off on Jock. He is a busy cat with countless demands on his time. But like any good politician, he took a moment to pose for me. He showed off the “target” design on his side that marks him as a classic tabby.

Sir Winston Churchill was a soldier, a statesman, a Nobel prize-winning writer, and a great orator who led his country to victory over seemingly insurmountable odds. His childhood was lonely and unhappy; his father actively disliked him and never missed an opportunity to tell him that he would never amount to anything. His beautiful mother rarely paid him any attention. Young Winston was ambitious and ruthless in getting what he wanted, but he was also far more compassionate than either of his parents. He was a loving family man with a soft spot for a marmalade cat. I feel that I know Sir Winston better than I did before.

Maybe Jock wanted to get closer? Maybe he fancied being scratched behind his ears? No such luck. Jock was needed elsewhere. The entire estate is his responsibility. Off he went at a gallop. No matter. He made my day!