Long life
Open to the public
Nigel Nicolson
his is the season when houses and gar- dens re-open their doors and gates to the public after a winter of dusting and delving. I deplore the term 'stately homes', which started as a Noel Coward joke, since state- liness is the last quality one associates with houses built more for pleasure and comfort than for display. But it is true that most of them are still homes. Many of the greatest are in perfect condition and, more surpris- ingly, remain in the ownership of the fami- lies that built them. Although it will take up several lines of this column (no, because it will take up several lines), let me list a few:
Chatsworth, Penshurst, Hatfield, Althorp (one hopes), Wilton, Holkham, Houghton, Castle Howard, Blenheim, Woburn, Hare- wood (the best), Knebworth, Belvoir, Firle, Arundel, Boughton, Bowood (thanks), Alnwick, Weston, Stonor, Longleat, Syon, Stratfield Saye — and many others which have surrendered their titular ownership to the National Trust but are still occupied by their original families, like Icicworth, Kedleston, Scotney, 1Cnole, Plas Newydd, Antony and Shugborough. It is quite a record.
Every one of them is open to the public. This is nothing new. 'It ought to be acknowledged with gratitude', wrote Thomas Martyn in 1768, 'that many of the collections of the great are ever open to the inspection of the envious'; and an 18th century Curzon, having removed an entire village to improve the view from Kedle- ston, built an inn 'for the accommodation of such strangers as curiosity may lead to inspect his residence'. That was very nice of him. And let us remember the scene in
Pride and Prejudice when Elizabeth Bennet visits Pemberley in the belief that the hated
Darcy was away from home, only to con- front him in the park. Both kept their heads, and Elizabeth came to think that, after all, it might not be too unpleasant a fate to be chatelaine of such a place. But not all uninvited guests behaved with such decorum. In his book about country-house visiting, Adrian Tinniswood tells of a Lady Proctor who gaily admitted that at Wolter- ton she poked at some delicate frescoes with her parasol to make sure that they were not mere stucco-work, and at Blenheim the Dresden china had to be kept under lock and key. I myself, at Sis- singhurst, have strapped wires over the bookshelves to prevent pilfering, and I have seen, I think at Longleat, spoons sewn to the tablecloth for the same purpose.
Manners have greatly improved since then. Of course you will find some owners or curators who so much resent the intru- sion of the public that they will treasure and endlessly repeat awful examples of past vandalism. It is also true that through fear of theft, damage or prosecution, custodians will impose needless restrictions on visitors, like forbidding camera tripods in the gar- den (someone might trip over them) or swings for children in the park (they might fall off), and destroy the intimacy or splen- dour of a room by ropes and rails and angry notices, when all that is needed is a trusted volunteer to keep watch. But peo- ple who pay up to £5 a head to visit such places are not tempted to destroy them. They are more likely to pinch the Earl's toothbrush than his Rembrandt.
Let us take pride in the knowledge that our country houses dating from the 16th to the 18th centuries, and the gardens of the 19th and 20th, are our greatest achieve- ments in the visual arts; that more of them survive, and in better condition, than in France and Italy; that more are accessible to the public; and that visitors appreciate them more. That is quite a boast, but it was confirmed for me when an American lady of my acquaintance (admittedly she was very rich as well as cultured), finding a National Trust property in Dorset unex- pectedly closed, drove to London, hired a helicopter, returned to Dorset and viewed the house and garden from the air.
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