Set in the heart of London opposite the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey has a dead person to suit everyone's tastes.Read More
"Will you tell me how long you have loved him?"
"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."
The ancestral home of the Dukes of Devonshire, Chatsworth House inspires many questions. Chief among them probably concerns the name of its owners since the house is situated in Derbyshire, although this may be followed in short order by demands to know where Devonshire is even located, if Mr Darcy ever lived in the house and whether he has a great great great great grandson.
The short answer to the first query is that the residing family became the Dukes of Devonshire because they had previously been the Earls of Devonshire. The longer answer stems from the fact there was already an Earl of Derbyshire when the first Earl, one William Cavendish, was awarded the title in 1618. Despite the name sounding promisingly likely, Devonshire as a UK county does not exist, with the nearest match in the south west of the country known simply as 'Devon'.
The Cavendish family first reached notoriety in the history books when Sir William Cavendish (grandfather to the first Earl of Devonshire) married the social mountaineer and close associate of Queen Elizabeth I, Bess of Hardwick as his third wife and her second husband. It was here that Chatsworth House began its roller coaster existence on the whims of the monarchy, since Bess built the first house (later to be greatly restructured multiple times) on money made in the service of Henry VIII in the 1550s and 60s.
The 3rd Earl of Devonshire --perhaps remembering his abode's royal connections-- nearly lost Chatsworth by supporting the wrong side in the English Civil War. However, the family gained its dukedom only one generation later when the 4th Earl, another William, supported ousting the Catholic King James II from the throne in favour of William and Mary of Orange. He promptly rebuilt Chatsworth in celebration.
Since 2009, the peerage has been held by the 12th Duke of Devonshire, who somehow resisted being called William in favour of Peregrine Andrew Morny Cavendish; make of that what you will. The family continue to reside in Chatsworth House, although a large section is open to the public. Additional notable family members (and indeed, the reason I had first heard of the family name) are Henry Cavendish and another William, the 7th Duke of Devonshire, for these are for whom the Cavendish Physics Laboratory in Cambridge is named due to their financial contributions (in the latter's case) and scientific contributions (in the former).
Despite these notable achievements, the real question now is whether any of the Dukes of Devonshire bore a resemblance to Mr Darcy.
Situated in the correct area of the country for Austen's tale, Chatsworth House was chosen to represent Pemberley in the 2005 film adaption of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. In truth, Chatsworth is an ambitious property for Darcy who, with his £10,000 annual income, is short by a factor of 10 compared to the residing 6th Duke of the day, astoundingly named William. It is this fact that prevented the Duke marrying his own Lizzy Bennet while Darcy succeeded.
In an exhibition inside the house, a rather charming comparison is drawn between the standoffish Fitzwilliam Darcy and the 6th Duke of Devonshire. Both men were rich, orphaned at a young age and (slightly creepily) had a sister named Georgiana with a fortune of £30,000. They were also both raised alongside random boys taken in by their father and mentioned explicitly in said father's will. In Darcy's case, it was the irrepressible Wickham, his father's godson, while the 6th Duke was brought up with his half-brother, Augustus Clifford.
While the Duke won in the financial stakes department, his higher status meant that he was unable to marry his mistress, Elizabeth Warwick. Like her namesake, Elizabeth Bennet, Warwick's family connections were poor, leaving her to be the Duke's mistress for 10 years until he converted to Evangelicalism and left her to save his soul.
The most recognisable room inside Chatsworth from the movie is the hall of marble sculptures although the ceiling in the Painted Hall is also seen as Lizzy dawdles near the entrance.
The later Dukes of Devonshire were great collectors and their home is a mishmash of objects, including large amethyst geodes and an Egyptian figure of the goddess, Sekhmet. If I were honest, I'd say the clashing styles combined with the heavy Baroque artistry is slightly suffocating.
OK, I found it kind of hideous.
… and oddly facinating.
But mainly hideous.
That said, there are gems in the house including the room where Mary, Queen of Scots was held prisoner during Bess of Hardwick's time. There is also a door leading to what appears to be a second door, with a violin hanging from it by a hook. This is a painted illusion, however, and both the door and violin are flat. In another room, the ceiling painting depicts Atropos, the least favourite of the Three Fates in Greek mythology, who cuts the cord to end the life of a mortal. The story goes that the Fate resembles the housekeeper of the day, Mrs Hackett, who annoyed the artist, Antonio Verrio by not providing his demanded Italian food.
At the end of the visit, the only thing left to do is to standing in front of Chatsworth's newly gold gilded windows and announce:
"You are mistaken, Mr Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, that as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner."
Or decorated slightly differently.
One of the few times I have ever felt truly homesick in Japan was when visiting the Yoichi Distillery, the first home of Nikka Whisky. Situated about an hour's train ride from Sapporo in Hokkaido, Yoichi encompasses both the hoppy scents and the mountainous landscape of the Scottish Highland distilleries.
This combination is not coincidental; upon searching Japan for a location to practice the arts he had studied in Scotland, Masataka Taketsuru claimed no other place had the right climate and clear waters needed for serious whisky production. Since in the first half of the 1900s Hokkaido was considered a barren wasteland, this crazy talk almost cost Taketsuru his financial backers.
Nevertheless, Taketsuru was persuasive and in 1934, the production of one of Japan's finest whiskies began. Yet Taketsuru's own story does not begin here, but rather 16 years earlier when he left Japan for Scotland.
The third son of a sake brewer, Taketsuru's original ambition was to continue the family business. However, in sympathy with all those who have ever changed their major, Taketsuru's studies at (what is now) Osaka University, diverted him into the area of western drinks. This interest was shared by Settsu Shuzu, a liquor company who had plans to produce a Japanese whisky. To this end, they hired Taketsuru and --since the secrets of great Scotch were not something casually dispatched in a letter-- sent him to study at the University of Glasgow.
While Taketsuru evidently learned much about whisky production in Scotland, the museum at Yoichi Distillery dwells less on this and more on his relationship with his future wife, Jessie (Rita) Roberta Cowen.
Legend has it that love bloomed between the couple due to the great British tradition of burying chockable items in celebratory food. Taketsuru was sharing Christmas dinner with the Cowen family when he extracted a 6 pence from the Christmas pudding, traditionally foretelling a prosperous future to those who can avoid swallowing said item. Rita, meanwhile, found a silver thimble, declaring her a bride-to-be. Despite such omnipotence arising from their cooking, the Cowen family strongly opposed the match which caused Rita and Taketsuru to forfeit a church wedding in favour of a plainer registry signing. The newly wed couple then left Scotland to return to Japan.
Unfortunately, the intervening two years since Taketsuru's departure had not treated the Japanese economy kindly and he returned to find his country in recession. The resulting financial hardships crushed Settsu Shuzu's ambitious plans for branching out into a new liquor, causing Taketsuru to leave their employment and join the Kotobukiya company which would later become Suntory, Japan's first malt whisky producer.
Situated in the Osaka Prefecture in 1923, Kotobukiya built the Yamazaki Distillery to produce its malt whisky. Its owner, Shinjiro Torii, wished to produce a Scottish style of whisky that had a unique Japanese flavour. This didn't sit well with Taketsuru, who wanted to remain faithful to the Scottish techniques. Despite the success of the Yamazaki Distillery, the rift between Torii and Taketsuru caused Taketsuru to leave and begin his own whisky production in Yoichi.
During this time, Rita had taken up Japan's most popular job for foreigners in teaching English. It was her contacts through this work that made it possible for Taketsuru to gain the financial support needed to begin his own distillery. Even allowing for the importance of this act, Rita's prominence in the Yoichi Distillery museum and exhibits is surprising. Several information boards in the museum are devoted to her life and their married home (also on the same site) contains many pictures of her both with and without her husband. Perhaps this interest stems from the fact that while foreigners living in Japan are something of a novelty today, the appearance of a Scottish woman in Hokkaido in the first half of the 20th century is nothing short of astonishing.
That said, Rita's presence in Japan was not always warmly received. When war broke out, Rita became a target of suspicion and dislike, both from her neighbours and Japan's security departments. While her marriage and subsequent nationalisation allowed to remain in Japan, Rita was nevertheless frequently shadowed by Japan's special police even on such mundane errands as delivering her husband's lunch.
Despite this difficult period, Rita appears to have thrived in Hokkaido with photos showing her tumbling through the snow on skis, relaxing with her husband and meeting friends. There is little doubt that Rita was a woman of quite some spirit.
The success of any whisky is of course not in its history but in its tasting. Nestled among the buildings devoted to the various stages of whisky production on the Yoichi site, are several spots where the famous drink can be sampled. The most frequented of these would doubtless be the free taster bar, situated above the restaurant. This large sunny room offers a view over the surrounding landscape while providing visitors with a choice of whiskies, apple wine and juice.
However, to really sample Nikka's finest, it is worth stopping at the museum bar. It is here that shots can be purchased of the more specialised blends and malts. Nikka whisky has a strong peaty scent and a flavour that resembles the Islay malts of Scotland such as Lagavulin or Laphroaig. For those who appreciate the smokey taste, the first stop at this bar should be the 'Peaty and Salty' single malt. There are also the rarer 'single cask' malts available which consist not only of a single year, but are also drawn from a single barrel. Since every barrel lends a slightly different flavour to the drink, each single cask malt has its own unique flavour. As such, single cask malts are not easily found outside the distillery, since a more uniform taste is required for the Nikka label. Bottles of these whiskies are also available to purchase, with the distillery seeming to take a particular delight in packaging their most prized products in the plainest of bottles. Perhaps this is protection for the buyer who will not feel forced to share such an unassuming container with guests or maybe Nikka simply feels such drinks speak for their own quality.
Designated drivers are not forgotten at Yoichi. Juice and water is available at the taster bar and drivers are requested to adorn themselves with one of the 'designated driver' yellow stickers. This act is slightly amusing, not because drinking and driving should not be taken seriously, but because if a person is old enough to do the latter, a sticker probably isn't going to prevent him/her making an irresponsible decision.
For visitors thinking of Yoichi, it is worth considering the summer is a slightly better time to go. More of the buildings involved in the whisky production are open during the warmer months, although the museum, bar, restaurant and several other locations are open year round. The museum contains information both in Japanese and English and the restaurant serves good food which is reasonably priced.
I was about half-way through my large plate of rice and sea urchin when I did pause to note that in the food at least, Yoichi was not Scotland.
When Luitpold Emanuel Ludwig Maria, Duke in Bavaria, was orphaned the the age of 4, he was left a large amount of money and a desire to build a castle.
This doesn't strike me as remotely surprising since --had I been given a choice of abode at the age of 4-- I would also most certainly have picked a castle.
On the other hand, building a mediaeval castle in the early 20th century might be considered a little eccentric.
When building work began in 1914, the Duke was 24 and had plans to create the new family seat for his decedents. The personal importance of this project likely stemmed from the Duke's branch of the family being relatively young, beginning only at the start of the 1800s. Its creation was caused by a split in the Wittelsbach extended family with the purposeful desire to create a second, subsidiary family line. The main family were henceforth referred to as the 'Dukes OF Bavaria' while the new splinter group became the 'Dukes IN Bavaria'.
The resulting inferiority complex could have been the inspiration for the ancient castle theme, with the concept being that if the family seat looked mediaeval, people would be led to think that the family themselves had a similar depth of history.
However, the Duke forgot one key ingredient when creating a family heirloom; he never married nor sired any off-spring. Indeed, his family line failed entirely when his only other living relative, his cousin, Duke Ludwig Wilhelm, also failed to produce a child. Ludwig Wilhelm made a last ditch attempt to remedy this by adopting a boy from the other side of the family, Max of Bavaria. Duke Max is currently 76 years old and has 5 daughters. This sounds almost excessively prolific until the traditional primogeniture stance in the family is added into the calculation, which only allows boys to inherit, thereby discounting all of Duke Max's bedroom exertions.
Such a complete failing of the family line was rather spookily prophesied by a monk, who told the Duke's aunt, Queen Kaiserin (Empress) Elisabeth, that her line would die within 100 years; a forecast that is now most certainly to come true.
Ringberg castle, though, is not the story of one man, but two. While studying philosophy and the history of art at the Ludwig-Maximilian University in Munich, the Duke met Friedrich Attenhuber; an artist and interior designer. The pair travelled around Europe together, after which the Duke offered Attenhuber the job of personally designing every detail of the home he planned to build. For a man from a poor background, it was the chance of a lifetime. It was also the one that would ultimately lead to his death.
The construction of the castle continued for almost 60 years and was not even completed by the Duke's death in 1973. One of the reasons for such a prolonged building process was the indecision regarding the style of architecture. The Duke originally opted for a villa as the main house and the large painting in the castle hallway shows the Duke standing with his cousin in front of a single story version of the ultimate building. This then changed to a castle design, followed finally by the mediaeval bent. Even now, the castle is not one pure style throughout, but reflects the varied tastes of the Duke. Such alternations required as much deconstruction as construction and slowed the process down considerably.
Attenhuber's work as the designer stretched far beyond the formulation of room plans. His designs dictated every minute detail, from the custom made furniture, the lampshades and continued right down to the ash trays. What was more, every single painting in the castle was done by Attenhuber himself.
It is perhaps in the art work that Attenhuber's story begins to be revealed. Walking through the hallways, it would be easy to believe there were two independent artists employed, with markedly different styles. In fact, Attenhuber's work had two distinct periods; his impressionist time from 1904 - 1926 and his folk-style canvases from 1926 - 1947. The earlier impressionistic work is significantly superior and demonstrates Attenhuber's true gifts as a painter. Quite why he abandons this style is not certain, but it is likely to be to conform to the Duke's tastes.
His later style of art has the unfortunate association of being favoured by the Nazis, where it was known as 'Blut und Boden' (Blood and Soil). The landscapes are based on real scenes and frequently depict peasants working the land with their own hands. Due to lack of money, Attenhuber's models were normally people from the local village, some of whom are still alive today. This political association was however coincidental, since the Duke had no Nazi affiliation; he simply liked the style.
As time continued, Attenhuber's relationship with the Duke deteriorated. At first, the Duke was the student and Attenhuber the teacher, but as the Duke became older, he began to instruct his old friend as to how he wanted the work done. His high handedness stretched to all the castle workers, who were forced to address him as 'Sir Highness' or risk losing their jobs. When the recession struck in the 1920s, the Duke stopped paying Attenhuber for his work altogether. His argument was that the currency was worthless, but Attenhuber would get his bed and board in the castle and his art supplies. If the castle was then later sold, Attenhuber would also get 10%. All in all, it was not the most promising deal, but Attenhuber accepted. The reason he accepted was that he had become a prisoner to his own work.
With every inch of the castle so intimately designed, Attenhuber's life project was tied up inside the stone walls. What was more, the isolated nature of the castle had meant that he had cut himself off from almost all outside contact. He had invested too much and now he was a prisoner.
In the winter of 1947, Friedrich Attenhuber climbed the castle tower and jumped to his death.
The Duke never stopped building even after his friend had gone and he died with grand extension plans sitting in his desk drawer.
As his time drew near and it was apparent there would have no family to inherit his work, the Duke looked for options for what to do with the castle. His first choice was to donate it to the closest village that sat at the bottom of the hill. They however refused, since a small settlement did not have the funds to maintain such a huge property. The Duke next offered the castle to the City of Munich who also rejected it, perhaps because they already had too many castles.
Next, the Duke tried to sell the castle. He acquired one buyer: the German Trade Union, but rejected them. Lastly, the Duke looked for a scientific organisation to whom he could donate his property and he offered it to the Max Planck Society. The institute heads at that time told the Duke they would be prepared to take the castle ... so long as he also bequeathed them all his cash.
Really, that must be up there as one of the best bargaining strategies of all time.
The Duke accepted and upon his death 1973, Germany's most prestigious science institute came to own a castle.
Yet, the story does not end there since the castle was not finished. The main building had no second floor, the tower was just a facade and there was no central heating. The castle was heated via ceramic wood stoves that still sit in each room. Visiting groups of scientists staying in the castle had to shovel the wood themselves to provide heat.
When you consider this, it was a small miracle the castle survived such an experience.
In 1980, the Max Planck met with a second piece of luck in the form of a large donation from a Munich insurance company to mark their jubilee. They donated 6 million deutsche mark (3 million euros) which was able to modernise the castle. 14 new guest rooms were built on the second floor, the tower was completed, central heating was installed and lecture rooms were added. The new work was completed in 1983, producing a conference centre that is now booked up for two years in advance.
There was only one request the Munich insurance company placed on their donation; the painting of the Duke and his cousin in the hallway was too ugly and had to be covered. They paid for a tapestry to be hung over the image. While millions of deutsche marks tend to call the shots, the Max Planck was never happy with this situation. The Duke had been their principal benefactor and it seemed wrong that his portrait should be hidden. During an open day at the castle, the tapestry was removed for cleaning...
… and no one will confess to remembering where it was sent.
The painting now stands uncovered as a central piece. It is indeed quite ugly, but since there is a room down the hallway with a theme of witch paintings, it does not seem particularly inappropriate.
The popularity of the castle is essential for its continuing upkeep. Situated at an altitude of 1000m in the Alps, the castle burns 100,000 litres of oil per year. In addition, it is a modern historical monument, meaning the Max Planck are legally obliged to keep it in its current condition. This means that the wooden shingles on the roofs must be replaced every 15 - 20 years, at a cost of 150,000 - 200,000 euros each time. Energy saving is also a challenge, with the older first floor windows being made of thin glass.
That all said, the castle is an incredible heritage and I for one, was staggered to be able to attend a conference there and sleep in an ornate wooden bed.
THIS IS WHY I WENT INTO ASTROPHYSICS! TO BE A PRINCESS LIVING IN A CASTLE.
Although I admit, the route to that goal was a little unconventional but I never really fancied marrying into Royalty.
(Many thanks to Jochen Essl and Max Planck Society for the tour of the castle that provided the information for this post)