(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Quietly nestled along the Narraganset Bay, the Marble House was the first of the stone palaces to be built in Newport—transforming the quiet colony of wooden houses into a bastion of opulence. It would be called a “cottage,” in deference to the earlier shingle style summer residences. But in truth, this was a grand home “fit for a Queen.”
A French Affinity
Alva Erskine Smith was born in Mobile, Alabama, on January 17, 1853. She and her parents would spend summers in Newport, Rhode Island. During the Civil War, her family moved to Europe, and she attended a private boarding school in Neuilly-sur-Seine. Spending some of her formative years in the vicinity of Paris, young Alva became a Francophile (lover of all things French). She and her family eventually returned to America, living in New York. She married William Kissam Vanderbilt, a grandson of the patriarch Cornelius Vanderbilt Sr.
(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Alva had built her “Petit Château” in New York with the help of architect Richard Morris Hunt. Now she engaged his services once more to create a “summer cottage” that would emulate the fine Beaux-Arts classicism she had admired in France. It would be the first truly grand classical mansion of Newport, Rhode Island. Hunt created for Alva a grand “temple for the arts,” as she called it. The design of Marble House was inspired by the Petit Trianon in Paris, a neoclassical style château located on the grounds of the Palace of Versailles. Construction began on the house in 1888. It would be a present from her husband for her 39th birthday.
In the late 19th century, the estate reportedly cost $10–11 million to build. Seven million of that was for the marble—500,000 cubic feet of it.
The Gothic Room was designed to display Alva Vanderbilt’s collection of medieval and Renaissance decorative objects. The stone fireplace in the room was copied by Allard and Sons from a fireplace in the Jacques Coeur House in Bourges, France. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Of Marble and Gild
Alva was known as a great entertainer, and she sought to build her own social status. For that reason, Alva collaborated with Hunt to create what became recognized as “one of the grandest ballrooms ever to be built in Newport.” If ever there was a ballroom that epitomized the Gilded Age, it would have to be the ballroom at Marble House.
The Ballroom was literally gilded: The elaborate architectural details of the room, first drawn by Hunt, are all covered with gold. Elaborate cornices, pilasters, archways, and panels of bas relief illustrating classical mythology are all covered with 22 karat gold. Above the relief is a 19th-century painting, in the style of the Italian Baroque painter Pietro da Cortona, of the Greek goddess Minerva.
Jules Allard and Sons, the noted Paris design firm, created the interiors for the house. The Stair Hall and its grand staircase, constructed of yellow Sienna marble, features an intricate wrought iron and bronze railing covered with gold. Copied from a railing in the Palace of Versailles, the railing is signed by Allard.
Inspired by the Palace of Versailles, the grand staircase in the Foyer was constructed of yellow Sienna marble and features an intricate wrought iron and bronze railing covered with gold. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)The Dining Room features pink Numidian marble, architectural details of gilded bronze on the walls and ceiling, and furniture of velvet fabric laced with metallic threads. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
The opulent Dining Room is walled in pink Numidian marble with architectural details of gilded bronze. Its fireplace is a replica of the Salon d’Hercule (Hercules Drawing Room) in Versailles. The library is in the Rococo style and features carved walnut bookcases by furniture maker Gilbert Cuel, who worked with Allard to create the room.
Alva had a collection of Medieval and Renaissance objects and artwork, for which the Gothic Room was built. In contrast to the rest of the house’s Louis XIV and Louis XV décor, this Gothic-revival sitting room is modeled after the interior of a house in Bourges, France (built between 1443 and 1451 for Jacques Coer, a prosperous merchant). The room’s chimney piece, of Caen limestone, is modeled after the one in the Bourges house. The foliate (leafy) cornice was also inspired by the gothic French interior, but in deference to Rhode Island’s seaside location, crabs and lobsters are worked into the foliage.
The private quarters upstairs, where the family lived, are finished in the style of Louis XIV. William and Alva had three children. William K. Jr. is known for promoting the young sport of automobile racing. His brother Harold was a skilled yachtsman, successfully defending the America’s Cup on three occasions. Consuelo, the daughter, became the 9th Duchess of Marlborough, marrying Charles Spencer Churchill in 1895.
The Grand Salon (also called the Gold Room) served as a ballroom and was recognized as “one of the grandest ballrooms ever to be built in Newport.” The Gold Room features gold gilt paneling over wooden walls carved to represent scenes from classical mythology, inspired by the Apollo Gallery at the Louvre. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)(Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
A Stage for Suffrage
Alva divorced William in March of 1895. She already owned Marble House since William had presented it to her as a birthday present and the deed was in her name. The next year she married Oliver Hazard Perry Belmont, and she lived with him at Belcourt (another mansion designed by Richard Morris Hunt in Newport) until his death in 1908. She then returned to Marble House and added an ornate teahouse, modeled after a 12th-century Song Dynasty temple in China. It sits at the foot of the Marble House lawn, above the Cliff Walk overlooking the ocean. The design was created by the sons of Richard Morris Hunt, who by that time had taken over their father’s firm.
It was here, and on Marble House’s rear terrace, that Alva began to hold rallies for a new passion. The woman who so ardently strove to bring her family into the realm of nobility now became a champion of women’s suffrage. The Congressional Union for Woman Suffrage used Marble House as its headquarters. Alva lived to see the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment in 1920, which gave women the right to vote. Her daughter Consuelo had dissolved her marriage with the British Duke and was now living in Paris. Alva moved to France to be close to her and later died in Paris at the age of 80.
The Congressional Union for Woman Suffrage used Marble House as its headquarters. Picture of the National Woman’s Party at Mrs. Belmont’s house in Newport, R.I., 1914. Library of Congress. (Public domain)
The rugged coastline of Rocky Point at Big Sur. (Maria Coulson)
Big Sur is not so much a destination as a state of mind. The landscape and wildlife speak to the naturalist in every soul who visits there.
For decades, people have journeyed to Big Sur seeking inspiration and communion in this magnificent natural cathedral. Time spent exploring along the coast or trekking through the mountains or roaming among the redwoods or simply laying back in harmony with the surroundings is a sojourn for body, mind, and spirit.
Central California’s Big Sur region of wild and rugged coast and rough and tumble mountains stretches for 90 miles from Carmel to San Simeon, intersected only by iconic Highway 1. Big Sur is about the mountains and the ocean and the interface between the two. Early-20th-century resident poet Robinson Jeffers called it the “greatest meeting of land and sea in the world.”
An artist paints amid wildflowers at Garrapata State Park. (Maria Coulson)
Grandeur and Remoteness
Big Sur’s grandeur and remoteness have long made it a haven for literary luminaries. Author Henry Miller developed a strong relationship with the area, embracing it as his spiritual home for 18 years.
“Big Sur has a climate all its own and a character all its own,” he wrote in his mid-century memoir “Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch.” “Skies of pure azure and walls of fog moving in and out of the canyons with invisible feet, hills in winter of emerald green and in summer mountain upon mountain of pure gold. There was ever the unfathomable silence of the forest, the blazing immensity of the Pacific, days drenched with sun and nights spangled with stars.”
From his house set on a slope above Partington Canyon, Miller had imposing views of the ocean. But he chose to work in a small, wooden shed facing a wall, not to be distracted. “Big Sur is the California that men dreamed of years ago,” he wrote. “This is the Pacific that Balboa looked at from the Peak of Darien, this is the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look.”
A clear pool ensconced between the massive boulders of Big Sur River Gorge. (Maria Coulson)
Miller fretted that the unspoiled complexion of Big Sur would be lost to the “air-conditioned nightmare” of modern life. He needn’t have worried. It is much the same now as then. Admittedly, a procession of RVs does form in the summer. But only about 1,750 residents live there.
Other than the Native American Esselen tribe, followed by a few loggers, mountain men, and pioneer families in the late 19th century, Big Sur remained a fortress for solitude. Then, in 1937, came the completion of Highway 1, with the blasting of cliff faces and the erecting of bridges spanning cavernous canyons to create a tenuous, narrow strip along the coastline.
Drama and Adventure
“This was home, this rugged, lonely coast,” novelist Nora Roberts wrote in “Daring to Dream.” “He had tooled along the spectacular Amalfi Drive in Italy, sped through the fjords of Norway, but not even their heart-stopping beauty could match the sheer drama of Big Sur.”
Its breathtaking stretch of cliff-hugging, hairpin-turned highway is considered the quintessential scenic coastal route in North America. Even if you cruise the tight track in a humdrum Hyundai instead of a snazzy Mustang convertible with the wind in your hair and the sounds of the Beach Boys’ “California Saga” celebrating Big Sur in your ears, this drive uncorks clutch-the-edge-of-your-seat excitement.
California brown pelicans are often found on rocky or vegetated offshore islands. (Maria Coulson)
You never know what’s over the next rise or around the next bend. It might be mountains that plunge into the ocean, surf and wind that pound the rocky shore and contort the cypress trees into otherworldly shapes, or a sheltered cove that harbors a tranquil sea painted in shades of turquoise and sapphire.
A Haven
Big Sur is a hiker and naturalist’s delight with five state parks. The Ventana Wilderness of Los Padres National Forest encompasses a wide range of terrain and trails from casual to challenging and sea level to thousands of feet in elevation. Some of the shortest and easiest jaunts are among the most picturesque. Meadows and hillsides are awash with brilliant wildflowers such as lupines, goldfields, and paintbrush and Calla lilies. Old pirates’ haunt Partington Cove is where otters and seals frolic in the sea swells. McWay Falls plummets 80 feet onto a secluded beach.
In an enchanting forest canyon stroll among a mantle of lush mosses, five-fingered ferns, and delicately flowering sorrel, the only sound is a rippling creek. You will be walking in the footsteps of John Steinbeck; let him be your guide. “Soon the canyon sides became steep and the first giant sentinel redwoods guarded the trail, great round trunks bearing foliage as green and lacy as ferns. A perfumed and purple light lay in the pale green of the underbrush … and overhead the branches of the redwoods met and cut off the sky.”
At higher altitude, the redwoods give way to choked scrub and pungent sagebrush characteristic of an ascent to 3,709-foot Pico Blanco, “a steep sea wave of marble” in Jeffers’s words. Once atop, taking in the panorama, look for California condors with a wingspan of more than nine feet, soaring in bright, cloudless sky or amid fingers of fog.
Storm clouds gather over the 80-foot-tall McWay Falls. (Maria Coulson)
Many Big Sur beaches can only be admired from afar because of high cliffs. But there are accessible strands where you can wiggle your toes in white sand. Garrapata Beach’s long shore and thunderous waves are attractive to beachcombers and lollygaggers alike. The small cove at Garrapata Creek on one end and Dowd Creek spilling over the bluff onto the beach at the other serve as bookends.
Pfeiffer Beach is renowned for its lavender-tinted sand, and offshore Keyhole Arch is popular at sunset. It’s a prime location to sight migrating gray, humpback, and blue whales. Local winged residents living along the sweeping seascape include gulls, cormorants, pelicans, and snowy plovers.
Beyond Big Sur’s scenic splendor is its ecological diversity and importance as habitat for terrestrial and marine wildlife. Nowhere else will you find fog-nurtured redwoods thriving on one slope of a canyon and sun-worshiping yuccas on the other. Similarly, sea otters and cormorants live near dry-climate canyon wrens and whiptail lizards.
Richard Brautigan wrote in his novel “A Confederate General from Big Sur”: “This morning I saw a coyote walking through the sagebrush right at the very edge of the ocean―next stop China. The coyote was acting like he was in New Mexico or Wyoming, except that there were whales passing below. That’s what this country does for you. Come down to Big Sur and let your soul have some room to get outside its marrow.”
A 1960 Austin- Healey parked along California’s Highway 1, overlooking Bixby Bridge in the distance. (Maria Coulson)
The mountainous reaches of the Ventana Wilderness that extend inland for 30 miles are a tight jigsaw of ragged ridges impenetrable other than by mule or foot. Only the most intrepid venture to the headwaters of the Big Sur and Little Sur rivers tucked away high in the Santa Lucia range. The rushing, tumbling torrents cascade down through narrow, rock-walled canyons, spilling into crystalline pools canopied by stands of old-growth redwoods.
The cool marine layer does not extend past the coastal crest, leaving much of the Ventana Wilderness hot and dry during the summer and early fall. The rare, spire-like Santa Lucia fir is found only here on the windswept slopes and rocky outcrops.
Jeffers captured this desolate and hard-bitten terrain in early stanzas of “The Beaks of Eagles”:
“An eagle’s nest on the head of an old redwood on one of the precipice-footed ridges
Above Ventana Creek, that jagged country which nothing but a falling meteor will ever plow; no horseman
Will ever ride there, no hunter cross this ridge but the winged ones, no one will steal the eggs from this fortress.
The she-eagle is old, her mate was shot long ago, she is now mated
with a son of hers.
When lightning blasted her nest she built it again on the same tree, in the splinters of the thunderbolt.”
The poem embodies the timeless spirit of Big Sur. A pilgrimage there catches time in a bottle that lasts a lifetime.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
Located at 44 Ochre Point Avenue in Newport, R.I., this 70-room mansion sits beside oceanside cliffs, overlooking Easton Bay. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
In the autumn of 1885, Cornelius Vanderbilt II paid a little over $400,000 for a summer cottage in Newport, Rhode Island. The Queen Anne style house, built in 1878, was considered the “crown jewel” of Newport. It had been designed by the architectural firm of Peabody and Stearns for Pierre Lorillard IV, whose fortune came from the Lorillard Tobacco Company. He bred thoroughbred race horses and financed archaeological expeditions to South and Central America. He helped to make Rhode Island a yachting center as well. The house was situated along Cliff Walk in Newport, with an amazing view of the ocean.
When Cornelius Vanderbilt II acquired the “cottage,” he hired Peabody and Stearns to oversee $500,000 in renovations to it, but in 1892 a fire that started in the kitchen largely destroyed the house. Vanderbilt decided to demolish the ruined house, right down to its foundations, and build anew. He brought in architect Richard Morris Hunt, who had worked for the Vanderbilt family in New York, and expressed to him his great concern about the new house being fireproof. Hunt responded by creating a design that would cost $7 million to build—even in 1893.
The entrance gates, manufactured by the William H. Jackson Company of New York, rise 30 feet above the driveway and feature a monogram of Cornelius Vanderbilt’s initials as well as acorns and oak leaves— symbolic of the Vanderbilt family. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)Designed by Richard Morris in the style of ancient Rome, the walls of the Billiard Room are constructed from slabs of Italian cippolino marble with rose alabaster arches. Semi-precious stones create mosaics. The Billiard Room was featured in the second episode of “The Gilded Age” series on HBO. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
The bones of the estate would be steel, brick, and Indiana limestone. Rather than using wood framing, the architect created masonry arches on steel beams. The boiler room was in a detached building and connected to the main house by an underground steam tunnel. What rose from the original foundations was not simply a reconstruction of the old house, but a grand edifice in the style of the Italian Renaissance. It would be the grandest Gilded Age mansion of Newport. In fact, the new Breakers is much larger than the original house, of which the remaining foundations made up only part of the base of Hunt’s grand masterpiece. Hunt took his inspiration for The Breakers from Peter Paul Rubens’s book “Palazzi di Genova,” written in 1622. He acquired the book on a trip to Genoa and referred to its detailed illustrations as he created a Renaissance villa for the Vanderbilts.
Approaching the mansion from the street, it appears to be three stories high (it is actually five). As you enter the foyer, there is a gentleman’s reception room to the right and a ladies’ reception room to the left. Continuing straight, you step into the immense Great Hall. Rising 50 feet above with its great balconies, the Great Hall creates the illusion of an Italian open courtyard, or cortile. Hunt organized the rooms of the mansion around this central space, in the manner of the villas depicted in “Palazzi di Genova.” The firm of Allard and Sons of Paris created the interiors, importing the finest materials for its work. Austrian sculptor Karl Bitter created the relief sculpture in the estate. Ogden Codman, a Boston architect, oversaw the design of the family quarters.
Portrait hanging inside the Morning Room at The Breakers of Countess Laszlo Szechenyi (Gladys Moore Vanderbilt), the youngest child and daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt II, by Philip de Laszlo, 1921. (Public Domain)The Music Room showcases a gilt-coffered ceiling lined with silver and gold. This room was featured in the season finale of the HBO series “The Gilded Age.” (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
For the grand view of the ocean, Hunt created the double loggia (covered exterior galleries, one above the other, created primarily as a place for sitting). The lower loggia has a vaulted ceiling covered in mosaic, and the upper loggia is painted to resemble canopies against the sky. The spandrels (panels) of the loggia arches feature figures representing the four seasons of the year. The materials and the artisans were imported from overseas. Inspired by the palaces and villas of 16th-century Genoa, Hunt drew from classical Greek and Roman motifs to create the splendor of The Breakers. While the exterior is constructed of Indiana limestone, the walls of the Great Hall are made of carved Caen limestone imported from the coast of France. The walls are inset with plaques of rare marbles such as pink marble from Africa and green marble from Italy.
The Great Hall’s pilasters (embedded columns) and medallions (circular decorations) are decorated with acorns and oak leaves, representing strength and longevity, symbols of the Vanderbilt family. On top sits a massive cornice that frames a ceiling mural of a windswept sky. Hunt enclosed the space in consideration of Rhode Island’s New England climate, but he quite successfully retained the illusion of an open courtyard. The contrast of the elaborately detailed cornice against the painted sky reinforces that feeling, as does the large glass wall between the hall and the loggias.
Portrait of Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt II by Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta, 1880. (Public Domain)The Dining Room is the most lavish room inside The Breakers, featuring 12 rose alabaster Corinthian columns, a ceiling mural of the goddess Aurora bringing in the dawn on a four-horse chariot, and two Baccarat crystal chandeliers. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Projecting from the estate’s south wing is the oval Music Room. Richard Van der Boyen designed the intricate woodwork and furnishings. Jules Allard and Sons built all the woodwork in their shops in Paris and shipped it to America for installation. Used originally for recitals and dances, the Music Room was featured in an episode of Julian Fellowes’s HBO series “The Gilded Age.”
The gardens of the 70-room estate were designed by Boston engineer Ernest W. Bowdtich, who was a student of Frederick Law Olmsted. Trees were carefully placed to increase the sense of distance between The Breakers and the neighboring houses. The enormous gate of the property and the wrought iron fence are flanked with rhododendron, mountain laurel, and other flowering shrubs to create a secluded place. Footpaths wind around the tree-shaded grounds, all of which provide a very natural backdrop for the more formal terrace gardens.
Facing east to welcome the rising sun, the Morning Room is a communal sitting room designed by Allard & Sons in France, featuring platinum-leaf wall panels adorned with muses from Greek mythology. (Courtesy of The Preservation Society of Newport County)
Paying homage to the original Breakers, Robert Swain Peabody and John Goddard Stearns, who designed the original house, were commissioned to create The Playhouse in the garden. It was a small, Queen Anne Revival style cottage, reminiscent of their original design, which was used as a children’s playhouse.
Cornelius Vanderbilt II died in 1899. He was 56. Alice, his wife, outlived him by 35 years. Not unlike the fictional Crawley family of “Downton Abbey,” the Vanderbilts faced the reality that such an estate, with its army of servants, was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. Alice gave the mansion to her youngest daughter Gladys (Countess Széchenyi), who was an active supporter of the Preservation Society of Newport County. She opened the house for visitors in 1948, leasing it to the society for a dollar a year. The society eventually purchased The Breakers in 1972 for $365,000—slightly less than what Mr. Vanderbilt paid for the property almost a century before.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
Our house has brought together two people—my husband and myself—along with 17th-, 18th-, and early 19th-century hand-water-colored prints of flora and fauna from around the world, which decorate our walls today. They speak of the glory of God’s creation.
Gilbert and I met in Washington, D.C., during the Ronald Reagan administration. He was working on Capitol Hill as a legal aide to a friend elected to Congress, then later to an Alabama senator. I was working as deputy social secretary to the White House, where I would eventually become the social secretary during the final three-and-a-half years of Reagan’s administration.
Gilbert’s milieu, Capitol Hill, or “The Hill,” as it is called, will always hold a fascination for me because I never worked within those hallowed halls. What I knew was the White House. As Social Secretary, I was responsible for producing all events hosted by President Ronald Reagan and first lady Nancy Reagan—usually in the White House, but one was in New York, and one at the American embassy in Moscow. One fun memory was during a 1985 White House dinner to host Prince Charles and Princess Diana: I tapped John Travolta on the shoulder to ask him to cut in on the President and dance with the princess. An iconic photo ensued.
Faulkner Johnston (L) with First Lady Nancy Reagan. (White House staff photo)
Working in the White House
I greatly enjoyed working with Mrs. Reagan. She was the consummate hostess and a gift to our country. What fun we had deciding not only who would be invited to sumptuous state dinners, but who would sit next to whom. One of my favorite duties was advising Mrs. Reagan about entertainers at the White House, from the brilliant pianist Van Cliburn, who performed at a state dinner in honor of then-Soviet Union leader Mikhail Gorbachev and his wife, to the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, which performed at a Congressional picnic in 1986.
After the administration, Gilbert and I lost touch, he returning to Alabama and I to Texas. But years later, we eventually, and thankfully, reconnected—neither of us having married. When he began to talk about marriage, Gilbert secretly planned a destination event six months thence, at which he was planning to pop the question. He asked me, pre-proposal, where I would most like to live someday (he was still in Birmingham but liked smaller towns, and I was in Dallas), and the words “Terrell” flew out of my mouth.
“The Iceland Falcon,” a chromolithograph by John James Audubon, is displayed in the elegant dining room. (Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)
Annandale: Home Sweet Home
Terrell, Texas, is within commuting distance to Dallas, where I am vice president of communications and public relations for The Tradition, which develops and manages luxury rental retirement communities in Texas. I knew that this small town had a beautiful historic district with homes originally built with wealth from the cotton and cattle industries. The first automobile to be purchased in Texas was by a resident of Terrell.
Gilbert went online and found this exquisite Georgian revival home with a carriage entrance for sale in Terrell. The home had, however, a potential buyer on the brink of commitment. So, he quickly proposed over the telephone (who wanted to wait six months for a proposal, anyway?)—and we bought the house!
The displayed artwork is an ode to divine creation, including “The Philosopher’s Wood,” painted after Salvator Rosa. (Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)Gilbert Johnston and Linda Faulkner Johnston at the entry hall of their home, in front of decorative prints from “The Aurelian” by Moses Harris. ( Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)
Our house was built in 1917. It was historically a focus of entertainment, with its annual “silver charity teas”—where people would bring silver coins to donate to charity—and its third-floor ballroom, which hosted dances for Terrell young ladies and British cadets from the No. 1 British Flying Training School during World War II. The famous Texan and 20th-century speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives Sam Rayburn had been a guest here.
We call our stately home “Annandale,” for the Scottish location of Gilbert’s ancestors (who are related to Samuel Johnston, an 18th-century statesman who was a delegate to the U.S. Continental Congress). We love history and have honored it by highlighting the work of scientific artists who lived during the golden age of natural history and exploration. It was a time when educated, cultured Europeans and Americans—undergirded by the findings of early scientists such as Johannes Kepler, Isaac Newton, and John Ray—became consumed by the desire to discern the world around them. They were driven by a missionary zeal to understand God’s creation as completely as they could and spread that knowledge to others. They felt compelled to read “the unwritten book of nature,” i.e. the created world. The written Bible and the “book of nature,” a term used by Saint Augustine and early Christian theologians, were understood as the two ways to learn about the Creator.
A hand-colored etching of artichokes, from the work “Hortus Eystettensis” by Basilus Besler, published 1613. The work detailed the plants in the Prince Bishop of Eichstatt’s garden. (Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)“The Tropic Bird,” a hand- colored etching from John James Audubon’s “The Birds of America,” 1835, is mounted above the living room mantlepiece. (Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)
These natural history scientists and artists enjoyed a lifelong appreciation for God’s creation, which generated wonder, praise, and joy. As the great musical composers Bach and Handel dedicated their talents to God’s glory (soli Deo gloria), so did these men and women. In notable entomologist Maria Merian’s (1647–1717) first book on caterpillars and butterflies, she made beautiful drawings of plants and insects. She wrote: “Seek not in this to honor me but God alone, to praise him as the Creator of even the smallest and least of worms.” Beautiful, hand-painted prints by these artists were ultimately gathered in leather-bound books. In addition to Maria Merian, others such as Basilius Besler (1561–1629), Mark Catesby (1683–1749), George Edwards (1694–1773), Moses Harris (1730–1788), John James Audubon (1785–1851), and Sir William Jardine (1800–1874) are just a few of these important natural history artists and scientists.
The scientific art now hanging on our walls is set among the beauties of natural objects—minerals, shells, and butterflies—as well as among period English, American, and French furniture, some of which was passed down through our families. The art, furniture, and architecture recreate a Georgian period interior on a smaller scale, not unlike homes of earlier centuries that exhibited this “passion for natural history.” These iconic houses were filled with cabinets of curiosities—collections of striking birds, insects, minerals, and more—along with libraries stocked with exquisitely tooled, leather-bound, natural history color-plate books. The grounds and spectacular gardens of their homes were planted with the most recent botanical discoveries of the day.
Annandale’s second- floor gallery is filled with 18th- and 19th-century hand- colored etchings and lithographs of flora and fauna. (Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)George Edwards’s book “Natural History of Uncommon Birds,” 1743–1751. (J. Gilbert Johnston)
Gilbert has nurtured a love of nature throughout his life, and he has witnessed great nature sites on six continents. He has backpacked, canoed, and kayaked throughout North America.
He subsequently transformed our lot into a nature-friendly haven by planting flowers and shrubs that provide food for butterflies and birds, with many bird baths and feeders. We look forward to seasonal changes because of the different migratory birds that visit our yard. Gilbert has identified over 100 different bird species here over the years. And I can now identify a downy woodpecker!
(Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)
The Interiors
Today, almost eight years after our wedding, I walk through the rooms of our house and am grateful for our life together. When I was working in the White House, I was constantly surrounded by the beauty of Federal-style decor, very similar to its Georgian counterpart in England. And now, the beauty of the same period surrounds me. Natural light pours in from Palladian windows, filling the ground-floor rooms and illuminating our art.
Nothing is fully appreciated unless it is understood, and for that purpose, Gilbert has placed “museum-like” cards alongside each work of art in our home, explaining something about the artist and how the work was produced. We regularly open our house to others to share beauty and historical information.
However, do not let the word “museum” deceive—our home is anything but. Vibrantly colored walls, true to Georgian decor, warm up the rooms with rich yellow, apricot, and blue hues—which leads me to a word about the decorator. Having known my husband since the 1980s as a master of conservative public policy, an adventurer in the wilds, an art collector, a print dealer and owner of Antique Nature Prints, and a lecturer on the art of natural history (my Renaissance man), I had never known him as an interior decorator! And yet, he set about decorating our home with a sure hand—just as he landscaped our land—suggesting paint colors, purchasing furnishings at auction, and placing the art and furniture so happily together that they seemed made for each other.
Which is just what I feel about us—made for each other. And any beauty in our home is dedicated to the glory of the Author of beauty—the Lord of Creation.
A Georgian-style library cabinet. (Imaginary Lines, Mary Brandt Photography)
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
The façade of Fonthill Castle in Doylestown, Pa. (Kevin Crawford)
While from a distance Fonthill Castle does much to evoke its European counterparts—with its imposing, bulky countenance, its heavenward towers and spires, its parapets and chimneys—inside, and at its heart, it’s an altogether different creature. If the castles of yore across the Atlantic were meant to protect and deter, this is every bit the opposite: a castlemeant to nurture, inspire, and preserve.
This massive, medieval-like structure, even though cast in cold concrete, is pulsing with warmth, color, and vitality on its inside. Each of its utterly unique 44 rooms was meant to be both a home for its creator as well as a living museum of sorts. On display is its owner’s staggering collection of tileware and prints gathered over a lifetime of expeditions and research.
Fonthill was the brainchild—and life’s dream—of Henry Chapman Mercer, a Doylsetown, Pennsylvania, native who began planning its construction in 1908 at the age of 51.
The roof of the original farmhouse on the property was entirely encased in concrete once Mercer constructed the northern and southern sides of the castle. There are no roof tiles or shingles. (Kevin Crawford)
Part Renaissance man, part Indiana Jones, Mercer had by then transformed a childhood love of collecting into a career as an archaeologist (self-taught, it should be noted) that culminated with a distinguished post as curator at the University of Pennsylvania Museum.
Mercer fell in love with the human past and its physical legacy over the course of multiple trips and expeditions, beginning first with a “Grand Tour” (as they were then called) following his graduation from Harvard in 1879. Mercer’s travels included much of Europe, the Yucatan, and even the Middle East—when not excavating prehistoric sites along the Atlantic seaboard from Maine to Tennessee.
One encounter played a formative role in Fonthill’s conception. This was Mercer’s discovery of the nearly lost craft of pottery making among Pennsylvanian Germans. The colorful, playful nature of their ceramic ware struck a chord with the budding scholar. His determination to learn the elusive craft would eventually take him all the way to Germany’s Black Forest.
A weather vane dedicated to Lucy the horse, an animal laborer that helped hoist cement bags during the construction of Fonthill. (Kevin Crawford)
overwhelmingly at Fonthill. Whatever room you enter, nearly every swathe of wall, nook of floor, and vault of ceiling is adorned with custom tilework—the vast majority of it Mercer’s own creation.
He was so enamored with the old world craft that after his travels, he established his own pottery kiln, adjacent to Fonthill, where he fashioned many a design of his own. Some were reproductions of exquisite European designs he had seen in cloisters or fabled estates. Others were purely the product of his own imagination. Mercer’s tile creations bespeak his own colorful personality—reflecting a vast range of themes and interests, if not moods, from the playful to the sublime.
Some installments depict Biblical scenes, while others are taken from the pages of Charles Dickens. Chinese, Persian, Spanish, and Dutch tilework feature throughout.
An example of Brocade-style tiles. Fonthill Castle features Mercer’s handcrafted tiles, designed during the height of the Arts and Crafts movement in America. (Kevin Crawford)The Conservatory at Fonthill Castle. (Kevin Crawford)
The Columbus Room, the crowing jewel of Fonthill’s many rooms, is one charming example. It documents the explorer’s life and spirit of adventure, adoringly, in tiles of every imaginable hue. The room positively radiates with appreciation for a historical figure whose staggering achievements rightly deserve remembrance.
Tellingly, Mercer dedicated the room to the aunt who had enabled the building of Fonthill with her generous bequest to him. Mercer’s own sense of gratitude for the forces in his own life is on full display elsewhere, too. In the ceiling of one hallway, Mercer inscribed the names of all those who designed, built, and set the tiles.
One also sees Mercer’s faith woven into the very core of the building. Ascending the steps to the main entrance of the building, colorful tiles proclaim: “Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it.”
Fonthill Saloon is the largest room in the house, where Henry Mercer held occasional parties. (Kevin Crawford)The Mercer Museum is an encyclopedic collection of artifacts from 60 different crafts and trades including hand tools, horse-drawn carriages, whale boats, and clocks. (Kevin Crawford)
So adored were Mercer’s tiles that his kiln regularly shipped his designs throughout not only the United States but the world. His works became a major force in the American Arts and Crafts movement, and were, for all their influences, distinctly American. Fittingly, Mercer dubbed Fonthill itself “a castle for the New World.”
But perhaps most remarkable of all is the story of Mercer’s own derring-do. Incredibly, it was Mercer himself who designed the entire castle—down to every last tread of its 32 winding stairwells. This was a man with no formal architectural training, and he had not a single engineer on his team, never mind the assistance of modern CAD software!
Mercer eschewed the possibility of enlisting architects on his team, not for frugality’s sake, as one might imagine, but so that, it seemed, their self-limiting frameworks wouldn’t hem in his expansive imagination. He wanted to build in ways nobody had before, and darned be the expert who was going to tell him what was and wasn’t possible. (Indeed, one concrete expert who caught wind of Mercer’s ambitious plans laughed at the idea—until, that was, he saw it taking shape and experienced “a change in his attitude,” as Mercer generously put it.) At the time, nobody could be sure if the castle would even stand, let alone fulfill Mercer’s own exceptionally innovative conceptions.
The museum houses Mercer’s collection of over 50,000 man-made artifacts. (Kevin Crawford)
And innovate, he did. To get his dear tilework embedded solidly enough into the ceilings, Mercer had to invent a new form of temporary interior scaffolding, involving hundreds of pounds of sand filling, such that concrete could be poured over (and thus behind and above) the tile pieces, forming vaults. To everyone’s surprise, Mercer’s ceilings were a resounding success.
Equally exceptional was the fact that Mercer assembled a crew of unskilled day laborers—just 8 to 12 men small—to execute all aspects of construction, under Mercer’s watchful eye. With no big ideas of their own, and an unquestioning draft horse named Lucy to hoist cement bags up all those stories, Mercer’s dutiful crew would do little to curb his aspirations.
Mercer’s masterpiece is thus, at its heart, quintessentially American in its boldness of vision, its innovative spirit, and its unfailing individuality. “I haven’t any precedent for it,” Mercer told a reporter in 1908 as construction commenced. “I am simply following out my own ideas.”
Mercer’s castle is thus a triumph of the spirit as much as one of engineering, a reflection of a moment in American history when one could dream bigger than anyone had, without the burden of endless regulations nipping at one’s heels, dampening one’s enthusiasms for the possible.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
El Prado, an avenue leading to the restored
1915–1916 exposition complex with museums and gardens. (Jeff Perkin for American Essence)
“The magic garden has taken the place of the desert. He who saw the land three years ago and sees it again today, would think that some modern Aladdin had come this way and rubbed his lamp, or that Merlin had waved his magic wand and caused the Dream City to spring up.”
—National Magazine, 1915
Beginning with London’s Great Exhibition of 1851, international expositions showcased the power and cultural sophistication of the world’s leading cities. Immensely ambitious civic and landscape designs almost inexplicably transformed cities like Chicago around the end of the 19th century. Cities temporarily played host to these grandiose amusement parks and museum complexes with the might and prowess of classical antiquity. Strangely, these vast undertakings were by and large impermanent creations—strenuous efforts to be marveled at, then destroyed. In the early 1910s, California incredibly built two expositions that were underway at the same time only hundreds of miles apart.
Palms expand into the 60-foot dome of Balboa Park’s famous Botanical Building. They flourish in the partial shade environment. (Jeff Perkin for American Essence)
By far the larger of the two events, San Francisco was chosen as California’s official “international” exposition of 1915. To the south, San Diego created an exposition that was much more modest, yet was widely recognized as more original—authentic and cohesive in its vision, meaning, and execution. Celebrating the opening of the Panama Canal, San Diego held its exposition in honor of being America’s first port-of-call on new shipping routes that cut through Panama before heading north along the Pacific coast. In keeping with the Panama theme, the name Balboa Park was chosen in honor of Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, the first European to see the Pacific while exploring Panama.
Departing from the bulky, old-world designs of other expositions, San Diego opted for an innovative Spanish Colonial design that fit California’s rich history and scenery. The result was a beautiful “garden fair” that delighted visitors with its relevantly romantic theme, horticultural abundance, and ornamentally eccentric architecture. Paired with its impressive harbor and growing metropolis, the 1915 exposition paved the way for San Diego to become a powerful economic, cultural, and military center in the 20th century.
One of the official seals for the 1915 Panama–California Exposition. (Public Domain)
Design and Architecture of the Exposition
Bertram Goodhue, chief architect of the exposition, chose Spanish Colonial Revival architecture as the design theme for the first time in American exposition history. It is a delightfully ornate style that can still be seen on some of the permanent structures in Balboa Park. Goodhue intuitively felt that Greek architectural styles would not have correlated with the San Diego region, for it was the Spanish Empire that had a history of colonizing missions up and down California’s Pacific coast. Furthermore, San Diego was the first of these missions in 1769. Unlike San Francisco’s International Exposition, San Diego planned on using a smaller area, about which Goodhue wrote, “Within these confines was built a city-in-miniature wherein everything that met the eye and ear of the visitor were meant to recall to mind the glamour and mystery and poetry of the old Spanish days.”
The architecture of San Diego’s exposition was based more on the Baroque Period in Europe than the modest designs of the California missions. The 1915 issue of “The Architectural Record” detailed the architectural designs of the exposition as “the spirit of the Renaissance gone mad. It is a riot of motives, all related but apparently in a sort of architecturally crazy quilt. Columns and pilasters are diverted in a hundred different ways between base and capital, yet retain their character. Broken pediments, curves, twists, flutes, scallops; theoretically a sort of architectural buffoonery, yet actually a style of strange delight.”
The ornamental framing on the central, arched stage of the Spreckels Organ Pavilion. (Jeff Perkin for American Essence)
Goodhue had experience with Spanish Colonial architecture after having studied it extensively in Mexico. His architecture employed a combination of styles known as Churrigueresque and Plateresque: elaborate sculptural and architectural ornamentation that contrasts against a plain surface. The buildings are dressed up with the artistic sculptural details of vines, fruit, figures, and heraldry. The permanent structures of the exposition boldly stand on the landscape with their unique character, thoughtful design, and expert artisanship. Buildings were naturally accentuated by horticultural elements of blooming vines, flowers, and trees standing against the more simplified architectural facades, softening corners and enlivening the simpler aspects of the buildings with the organic flowing forms of nature. The result was a “dream city” that captured the hearts and minds of visitors and San Diegans alike.
The Structures Built To Survive
Unlike the larger international expositions held in Chicago and San Francisco, San Diego didn’t want to commit to such a monumental undertaking only to have it mostly disappear shortly after. Much of the work undertaken in Balboa Park was intended to be permanent, from streets such as El Prado with its Cabrillo Bridge, to structures like the California Building and the Botanical Building. Nevertheless, a great many structures were not built to last and either required rehabilitation or were destroyed for a variety of reasons in the years that followed. The following are structures that remain from the exposition or were built shortly after.
California Building
Perhaps the most iconic structure in Balboa Park, the California Building features the park’s iconic 208-foot-tall tower and colorfully tiled dome. It is perched on top of the park’s central mesa next to a valley, which the Cabrillo Bridge crosses over. The California Building, home to the Museum of Us (formerly the Museum of Man), was designed by Goodhue’s firm. Inspired by ornate churches in Mexico, the California Building is included in the National Register of Historic Places, and the Museum of Us still houses artifacts that were displayed during the exposition’s “The Story of Man Through the Ages” exhibit. The museum’s front entrance, windows, tower, and dome are all intricately detailed examples of this playfully decorative style of architecture. Large, weaving sculptural designs frame the museum’s front entrance and feature figures of missionaries, explorers, and kings—all part of the historic and thematic references to the building’s Spanish influences.
A 1915 postcard illustration of the Cabrillo Bridge entrance to the “magic city” of Balboa Park, in all its old Spanish glory. (Public Domain)
Cabrillo Bridge
The famed western entrance to Balboa Park is across the park’s massive, aqueduct-style Cabrillo Bridge. Made up of 4,050 tons of steel and 7,700 cubic yards of concrete, the quarter-mile-long, seven-arched bridge stands 120 feet over the canyon below. At the time of the exposition, the canyon peacefully featured a man-made lagoon, which beautifully reflected the bridge’s tall arches. Only three decades later, the lagoon was drained, making way for a four-lane highway that was built through the park’s canyon to help accommodate San Diego’s increased traffic demands. In the 1960s, an effort to double the freeway’s width to eight lanes was rejected by opponents, who stated, “We ask you not to sacrifice any more of the space, the clean air, or the greenery of Balboa Park to expediency.”
Botanical Building
One of Balboa Park’s most popular and highly photographed scenes is the Botanical Building. Sitting luxuriously in front of the Lily Pond and reflecting pool, the building appears to be woven with narrow strips of wood called lath. The 250-foot-long and 75-foot-wide building is one of the largest lath structures in the world. Designed by architect Carleton M. Winslow and built for the 1915 exposition, this unique, open-air structure houses over 2,100 permanent plants, including ferns, orchids, cycads, and palms. The name “garden exposition” was given, in part, for its assortment of tropical and semi-tropical plants found in the Botanical Building and throughout the park. In front of the building, the Lily Pond is also a horticultural feat that has been home to 24 varieties of water lilies and five varieties of lotus.
The park area beside the Administration Building. (Jeff Perkin for American Essence)
Spreckels Organ Pavilion
Built in 1914, the Spreckels Organ Pavilion of Balboa Park houses the world’s largest outdoor organ. John Spreckels, prominent San Diego businessman of old, and his brother Adolph gifted the pavilion to the city so that the people and visitors of San Diego could enjoy free outdoor music in Balboa Park. In addition to musical performances, the pavilion has historically received speakers such as former president Teddy Roosevelt, as well as other noteworthy figures including Albert Einstein. Today, the pavilion continues to be used as a civic gathering place, and free organ concerts are provided to the public every Sunday afternoon.
San Diego Museum of Art
The San Diego Museum of Art was built after the exposition in 1924. It took the place of the incredible temporary structure, the Sacramento Valley Building, in its prominent location at the end of the Plaza de Panama. As permanent as it appears in photographs and postcards, the Sacramento Valley Building was nonetheless demolished in 1924. Architect William Templeton Johnston continued in the exposition’s Spanish Colonial architectural style by employing Plateresque models from 16th-century Spanish Renaissance cathedrals in Spain. Life-sized sculptures of Spanish master painters, such as Diego Velázquez, were included in the front ornamental façade sculpted by Chris Mueller, who had also worked on the 1915 exposition. The museum opened its doors in February 1926 and was gifted to the city of San Diego thanks to the generous donations of Appleton S. Bridges and other prominent San Diego residents.
Night falls on one of the largest lath structures in the world. The one-of-a-kind Botanical Building sits in front of the Lily Pond, both of which date back to the 1915 exposition. (Jeff Perkin for American Essence)
San Diego’s Rise to Prominence
In “The American Review of Reviews,” Albert Shaw wrote: “For a city of some 70,000 people, San Diego has done one of the biggest and most wonderful things in the history of American cities. Her Exposition would be a distinct achievement for a world-metropolis.”
The 1915–16 Panama–California Exposition marked a monumental turning point in San Diego’s development. The city’s population doubled from 1909 to 1915 between the planning and the opening of the exposition while also attracting millions of tourists during its run. As part of the exhibition, U.S. Marines encamped for a year on exposition grounds. This led to the development of a greater military presence in San Diego, along with the creation of shipbuilding industries near San Diego’s harbor.
The Spanish Colonial style of the exposition influenced the course of architecture throughout California, and semi-tropical horticulture in the park’s landscape design further inspired people to plant more non-native plants in their yards and communities. The exposition demonstrated what a city could do to propel itself onto the world stage and beautify its public spaces. Balboa Park is a lasting testament to its builder’s commitment to vision, artistry, and hard work.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
Some 30 miles away from the hectic buzz of New York City, America’s wealthy elite once built luxurious mansions along Long Island’s North Shore, known as the Gold Coast. Many are no longer standing, but the Planting Fields Arboretum, one of a few that have remained, is a restful repose for admiring English-style architecture, open space, and lush flora.
(Tatsiana Moon for American Essence)(Tatsiana Moon for American Essence)
An estate of the Coe family—which made its fortune during the early 20th century on running a successful marine insurance company—the 409 acres contain several gardens and greenhouses filled with tree, flower, and plant species from around the world. The Coe family home, also open to the public, was built in the style of an English country manor. Its facade alone is filled with architectural details charming enough to observe up close or from afar. For a fee, visitors can also venture inside for a tour.
Every corner of the estate is well manicured, with stately European gardens that conjure scenes of medieval chivalry. Aside from the chance to enjoy nature amid sounds of talkative birds all around, there are lots of open fields ideal for picnicking with family and friends. Spend an afternoon or a day here—because time seems to slow down when you allow yourself to take the views in.
(Tatsiana Moon for American Essence)(Tatsiana Moon for American Essence)
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
The Second Bank of the United States, in Philadelphia. (Matt/Adobe stock)
In this series, master woodworker Brent Hull will introduce readers to the different architectural styles that were popularized throughout American history, explaining their significance and unique design features.
No architectural style has captured the imagination of an American era like Greek Revival. Lasting from 1820 to 1860, it was more than just a style; it was an ideal that expressed itself in the architecture of our young nation and as an ideological assurance that the democracy could and would survive. We forget that 200 years ago, the concept of a democratic rule, by the people and for the people, was a radical model and still an experiment. The American Revolution, and our breaking from European molds of government, was itself revolutionary. The popularity of the Greek Revival style coincided with the rise of America into a nation. This is a style that projects permanence and strength, traits our young country desired.
Front page of “The Antiquities of Athens” by James Stuart and Nicholas Revett, 1762. (Public Domain)
The Greek Revival style is most identifiable by its temple front, which is inspired by the Parthenon in Greece. This famous temple sits on the Acropolis in Athens—the tall rock formation that stands proudly over the city and was a place of worship to Athena, patron goddess of Athens. The Parthenon has been studied and revered for centuries because of its mathematical purity and design integrity. Though the Greek Revival era in America lasted from 1820 to 1860, the interest in Greek culture had been developing for some time in Europe. By 1750 in England, the ancient Roman world had been studied and extensively explored. It had been almost two centuries since Andrea Palladio, 16th-century Italian architect, wrote “I quattro libri dell’architettura” (“The Four Books of Architecture”) in 1570. This book was on the shelves of many prominent builders and architects and became the blueprint for design and construction based upon the classical characteristics.
Interestingly, Palladio had only ever studied ancient Rome. By 1750, it was well known that Greece had been the key influence on Roman architecture. The Romans had appropriated and adopted the ideas that the Greeks had perfected. Greece and ancient Greek culture were hidden and veiled by the Ottoman Turkish Empire (mid 15th century to early 19th century), which refused to let travelers into the country for fear of spying.
The ruins of a Greek temple at Paestum, Italy. (Antonio Sessa / Unsplash)
Travel to Greece in the 18th century was dangerous; thus, a secret mission was hatched by a spirited group of thinkers. Two Englishmen by the names of James Stuart (archaeologist, architect, and artist) and Nicholas Revett (architect) traveled to Athens in 1751, funded and organized by the Society of Dilettanti of London. Disguised as native Turks, they secretly drew and chronicled the ancient Greek ruins, making accurate measurements of the Acropolis of Athens and the Parthenon. This mission resulted in the seminal book, “The Antiquities of Athens,” which was written in three volumes over a 40-year period. After these discoveries were published in 1758, the work became a source book on ancient Greek architecture.
“The Antiquities of Athens” spurred great interest and encouraged architects to build in new forms and with fresh inspiration. The book highlighted how Greek designs were different from Roman temples and buildings. For instance, Greek architects did not use arches in their designs; the arch was a Roman improvement. Greek temples like the Parthenon were beautiful and admired for their near-mathematical perfection and symmetry. The proportions of the Parthenon match the proportions of the human body; the columns to beams have a proportional relationship much like the human form, where head to hand are proportional.
An engraving of the Greek temples at Paestum by Giovanni Battista Piranesi, 1778. (Public Domain)“William Strickland” by John Neagle, circa 1829. Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven. (Public Domain)
The interest in Greek culture continued to grow through the late 18th and early 19th centuries. The rediscovery of the Greek temples at Paestum (550 to 450 B.C.) in southern Italy, during the 18th century, was a marvel. The presence of the three well-preserved Greek temples, in the region of Italy (present day Calabria), reinforced the idea of original Greek dominance of the world under Alexander (356–323 B.C.). This temple was made more popular in 1778 after the well-known engraver Giovanni Battista Piranesi drew the temple and prints became readily accessible to the public.
Americans’ interest in the Greek Revival style benefited from the War of 1812 between Britain and America. These battles soured the nation’s interest in British design and culture. Naturally looking for inspiration from more remote places, the story of Greece as an original democracy was contagious. In the early 1820s, the war for Greek independence from the Ottoman Turkish Empire began, and it reminded Americans of their fight for independence. The Greek war for independence was front-page news, and it became more compelling as Lord Byron, the famous English poet, died in 1824 from a fever contracted while training Greek troops after the First and Second Siege of Missolonghi.
How much did all this excite the imagination of the American people? Maybe we need to look no further than the naming of many of our towns and cities from this period. Athens, Georgia, the college town famous for the Georgia Bulldogs, was given the name Athens in honor of Plato and Aristotle’s school of thought. The actual number of towns named after Greek cities and citizens is profound. Consider these names: Sparta, Athens, Ithaca, Syracuse, Alexandria, Akron, and Atlanta, from the Greek god Atlas. It is clear Greek culture and thinking inspired not just architecture but how Americans thought of themselves as a people.
A hand-drawn capital of the Doric order. (Marina Gorskaya/Adobestock)
Greek Revival architecture today is readily identifiable by several key attributes: a temple front, large Doric columns with no bases, and simple and bold stone-like ornamentation with a triangular pediment. The Second Bank of the United States, Philadelphia, is a wonderful example of the Greek Revival style. Now part of Independence Park in Philadelphia, the bank was built between 1818 and 1824 by William Strickland, noted Philadelphia architect and civil engineer. With strong fluted Doric columns that sit directly on the raised stylobate (raised platform), the Second Bank of the United States was clearly inspired by the Parthenon in Greece. The bank’s eight columns have no base, which is a unique style of ancient Greek detail. The building’s presence is commanding and bold in character with its wide, thick columns crowned by the signature Greek triangular pediment and simple ornaments and moldings around doors and windows.
Strickland was a former student of Benjamin Latrobe, the man who is regarded as the first professionally trained American architect. Both Latrobe and Strickland were disciples of the Greek Revival style and were credited with having helped establish the Greek Revival movement in America. Some of Strickland’s most accomplished building designs were in this style. During the 19th century, the Greek Revival style extended itself into the construction of newer small towns, banks, courthouses, and other civic buildings looking to establish an air of permanence and significance.
The Acropolis of Athens, with the Parthenon atop. (Constantinos Kollias / Unsplash)The mansion at Belle Meade Plantation in Tennessee.
Another prominent Strickland design was the Belle Meade plantation in Nashville, Tennessee. Formerly, the two-story plantation was built in the Federal style, but after William Giles Harding took over operations at Belle Meade in 1839, he employed Strickland to construct a two-story, 24-by-55-foot addition to the home. In keeping with the Greek Revival style, the new home was “bold in silhouette, broad in proportions, and simplified in detail,” with its six limestone, Doric pillars supporting the front porch and pedimented attic.
The Greek Revival era ended when the Civil War began in the 1860s. After the war, this style was forgotten and replaced by the decorative frills of the industrialized Victorian architecture. The style is still revered today for its simple, honest character and charm. These historic buildings with strong stoic porches still remind us of a simpler time when America, as a young nation, hoped to grow and prosper.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
The William K. Vanderbilt House, or “Petit Château,” as it was known, photographed in 1885. （Library of Congress / Public Domain）
In 1843, young Richard Morris Hunt and family traveled from America to Europe, where he gained his formal education. Initially, Hunt pursued training in art, but at the encouragement of his family, he took up architecture. Hunt studied under Geneva architect Samuel Darier and later joined the Paris studio of architect Hector Lefuel. In Paris, he studied for the entrance examinations of the École des Beaux-Arts and became the first American to be admitted to the prestigious school. In 1853, Hector Lefuel hired Hunt to help complete expansions to the famous art museum: the Nouveau Louvre. Although he worked in a primarily supervisory role, Hunt collaborated in the design of the Pavillon de la Bibliothèque. Thus, early in his career, he had the opportunity to work on a significant public project. Hunt returned to America in 1856 and took a position with architect Thomas Ustick Walter, who was working on the renovation and expansion of the U.S. Capitol. A year later, Hunt struck out on his own and moved to New York.
A half- length portrait of Richard Morris Hunt seated at a desk, 1894. (Library of Congress / Public Domain)The design for the supper room at 660 Fifth Avenue, New York City, by Richard Morris Hunt, circa 1880. Watercolor and graphite on cardboard. (Public Domain)
His first major project in New York was the 10th Street Studio Building. Hunt would establish his own practice there, and start a school of architecture as well. After a time of professional setback, however, Hunt found himself to be an architect desperately in need of a patron. At that time, Alva Vanderbilt (wife of William K. Vanderbilt) desperately wanted to make her mark on New York society. High society at the time was dominated by the Astors, who considered the Vanderbilts newcomers to wealth, and as such “second rate.” The Vanderbilts were shunned socially by the “society of 400,” which referred to the circle of polite society recognized by Caroline Schermerhorn Astor (and supposedly the maximum number of people she could host in her ballroom). Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt, however, refused to be denied her place in Gilded Age society. Alva, who loved French culture, and Hunt, with his Beaux-Arts background, collaborated to create a magical château amidst the brownstones of Fifth Avenue. Construction began in 1878 and was completed in 1882.
Lewis Mumford, American historian, described the years following the Civil War as a “buried Renaissance” and referred to that historic period as “The Brown Decades.”
The Civil War shook down the blossoms and blasted the promise of spring. The colours of American civilization abruptly changed. By the time the war was over, browns had spread everywhere: mediocre drabs, dingy chocolate browns, sooty browns that merged into black. Autumn had come.
The design for a bay window by Richard Morris Hunt, circa 1880. Graphite and ink on tracing paper. (Public Domain)
Even men of considerable means, such as J.P. Morgan, lived in unassuming homes. American novelist Edith Wharton described the city as “little, low studded rectangular New York with its universal chocolate-colored coating of the most hideous stone ever quarried,” lacking “towers, porticoes, fountains or perspectives.” Alva Vanderbilt, desiring a house that would lift her social standing, worked with Hunt to create a bit of French Neo-Renaissance whimsy in the midst of the staid brown buildings. Hunt began with a beautifully rendered building that was asymmetrical, with towers and turrets and architectural detail placed for aesthetic joy. Constructed at 660 Fifth Avenue, it was the first of many châteaux that would be built in the Gilded Age of New York.
The house would be a work of art, intricately carved. Hunt chose Indiana Limestone for the exterior walls—a stone that worked beautifully and when smoothly finished glowed in the sunlight. It required an army of skilled artisans to build. The firm of Ellin & Kitson employed 40 stonemasons in the project. The personable Hunt not only worked well with his high-strung clients, but it seems he developed quite a rapport with his artisans as well. A story is told that when Hunt came to the house for the final walk-through, he discovered a large tent in one of the ballrooms. Inside, he found a life-sized statue of himself, dressed in stonecutter’s clothes. It had been carved in secret by the stonemasons as a tribute to the admired architect. William Vanderbilt had the statue placed upon the roof above the front door.
The salon inside 660 Fifth Avenue. (Public Domain)
In March 1883, Alva hosted a dress ball for 1,200 people that captured the public’s attention. The affair is said to have cost $3 million. From Fifth Avenue, guests would enter the 60-foot-long grand hall, walled with stone, and were entertained in the grand home’s formal rooms. Just off of the hall was the library with its French Renaissance paneling. There was the salon, designed and built in Paris by Jules Allard and featuring a secretary-style desk previously owned by Marie Antoinette. At the end of the grand hall was a Gothic 50-by-30-foot banquet room. Austrian sculptor Karl Bitter carved the mantle details for the room’s massive double fireplace. The house was a fitting showcase for Gilded Age opulence and excess, and of course it inspired the building of many more. Not to be outdone, Caroline Astor commissioned Hunt to build the J.J. Astor château at 34th Street and Fifth Avenue.
The great urban châteaux enjoyed but a fleeting moment in the sun. Had they been anywhere but New York, the great metropolis that continually reinvents itself, these magnificent houses might have found another life—perhaps as offices for charitable foundations. After New York recast itself as a hub of railroads, during the turn of the century, rising real estate values would doom them. In less than 50 years, the grand homes were torn down to allow greater density construction on their sites. Alva’s “Petit Château” was sold to a real estate developer in 1926 and demolished the next year. Though the beautiful buildings of Indiana Limestone may no longer be seen in New York, George Vanderbilt’s mansion, “Biltmore,” in Asheville, North Carolina, remains as a monument to the era.
The design for double fireplaces and their overmantels by Richard Morris Hunt, circa 1880. Watercolor and graphite. (Public Domain)
Richard Morris Hunt became a member of influential society with his distinguished career in design. He went on to design great public buildings that are still erect today, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the pedestal for the Statue of Liberty, and the New York Tribune Building. Later in his life, Hunt designed the Administration Building for the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago. In this great collaboration with Frederick Law Olmstead, he gave America the richness of Beaux-Arts design. Today, the site of Alva’s château is occupied by a 39-story building constructed in 1957. Extensive renovations in 2022 will create a bright commercial and office space with 11-by-19-foot, single-pane glass windows. The architecture of New York has continued its reinventions through the decades.
Bob Kirchman is an architectural illustrator who lives in Augusta County, Virginia, with his wife Pam. He teaches studio art to students in the Augusta Christian Educators Homeschool Co-op.
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
Looking up at the Capitol Rotunda. (Architect of the Capitol)
The U.S. Capitol Rotunda is one of the most iconic spaces in the nation. High above its well-trod floors, the dome features a glorious fresco painting, replete with symbols of American democracy. Suspended 180 feet in the air, “The Apotheosis of Washington” is the master work of American artist Constantino Brumidi. The fresco was completed in 1865, commemorating the end of the Civil War. The painting depicts George Washington, flanked by female figures representing Liberty and Victory, ascending to the heavens. Appropriately, the term apotheosis means the glorification and deification of an individual, and Washington was just as revered in the 19th century as he is today.
Washington wears a presidential suit while he is draped in a purple fabric. Brumidi subtly connected the president to Roman generals, who wore purple cloaks when they returned victorious from battle. The rainbow arch at Washington’s feet is also a Classical symbol of peace and victory. Liberty wears a Phrygian cap, an ancient Roman symbol of freedom. Throughout the fresco, the artist meticulously created an intricate iconographical scheme connecting the United States to the immortal values of freedom and democracy through ancient Greek and Roman aesthetics.
“The Apotheosis of Washington” by Constantino Brumidi, 1865. Fresco. (Architect of the Capitol)
The artist, Constantino Brumidi, was an apt choice of painter: He was an immigrant of both Greek and Italian descent, and he served as a cultural conduit between the antique cradle of democracy and the New World. A master of the classical style of painting, Brumidi helped bring this important symbolism to the United States. Well-versed in Italian Renaissance art, he also modeled many of his figures on examples created by Raphael centuries prior.
The artist masterfully connected Washington and American values to these timeless visual motifs. The significance of “The Apotheosis of Washington,” despite its title, extends well beyond the esteemed first president—it exalts values that are significant to the United States and to the American way of life. The six scenes that complete the fresco are Freedom (War), Science, Marine, Commerce, Mechanics, and Agriculture, which are detailed below. The fresco also pays homage to the country’s origins and history: Thirteen young women, each with a star atop her head, encircle Washington, Liberty, and Victory. Notably, several figures turn their backs to Washington, symbolizing the states that seceded from the union. Two figures brandish a banner that reads “E Pluribus Unum” (meaning “out of many, one”), which is the motto of the United States. The motto appears on the Great Seal and has appeared on U.S. currency since 1795.
Constantino Brumidi, the artist who painted the murals and frescoes in the U.S. Capitol building. (Public Domain)
Freedom
Lining the perimeter of the fresco are the six aforementioned concepts, represented allegorically. Freedom is featured directly below Washington, reminding viewers of his role in securing the nation’s independence. Freedom is portrayed as a woman, specifically Columbia, who is the female personification of the United States (hence the capital, District of Columbia). Columbia wields a sword and a red, white, and blue shield as she vanquishes tyranny and kingly rule (symbolized by the red mantle famously donned by monarchs and emperors). A bald eagle carrying arrows and thunderbolts assists Freedom in her triumph.
Detail of “War,” with an armed figure representing Freedom. (Architect of the Capitol)
Science
Science is symbolized by Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom. A profound deity, she also represents crafts, the arts, technology, and inspiration. In this scene, she is joined by several prominent American scientists and inventors, including Benjamin Franklin, Samuel Morse, and Robert Fulton. She gestures toward an electrical generator, and several children—the next generation of scientists—look on. Brumidi emphasized that innovation is an integral part of the American spirit.
Detail of “Science.” (Architect of the Capitol)
Marine
The next scene, Marine, celebrates the importance of maritime trade and the ocean itself. Neptune, Roman god of the sea, is identified by his trident and crown of seaweed. He rides a sea chariot, alluding to oceanic crossings. Venus, the Roman goddess of love who was born from the sea, holds and helps lay the transatlantic telegraph cables that were being laid at the time of the fresco’s completion. These cables revolutionized intercontinental communications between the United States and Europe.
Detail of “Marine.” (Architect of the Capitol)
Commerce
Marine gives way to the next scene: Commerce. Brumidi strategically placed these two scenes side-by-side as they are inextricably linked. Mercury symbolizes commerce, and he wears his iconic winged petasus (brimmed hat) and shoes and carries his caduceus. The caduceus represents trade, negotiations, and communications—all necessary tenets of commerce. On the right, the anchor and sailors lead into Marine, highlighting the growing importance of international trade as part of American commerce.
Detail of “Commerce.” (Architect of the Capitol)
Mechanics
Vulcan, Roman god of fire, the forge, and smithery, presides over the scene Mechanics. He holds a blacksmith’s hammer and stands at an anvil; his right foot rests upon a cannon situated near a pile of cannonballs. Behind Vulcan, there is a steam engine—one of the most significant mechanical innovations of the 18th century, which was indispensable to life and industry in the 19th century. Brumidi again created thoughtful continuity, as mechanics—and with it, industry—is connected to commerce.
Detail of “Mechanics.” (Architect of the Capitol)
Agriculture
Lastly, Ceres, Roman goddess of agriculture, graces the scene of the same name, Agriculture. She holds a wreath of wheat (as she is also the goddess of grain crops) and a cornucopia, symbol of abundance. Ceres sits atop a McCormick mechanical reaper, connecting agriculture to mechanical innovation. A figure personifying Young America wears a liberty cap and holds the reins of the horses. Flora, Roman goddess of nature, flowers, and the springtime, picks flowers in the foreground. Her inclusion is a nod toward fecundity and renewed life.
This vibrant, intense, and complex composition establishes a profound connection between Classical aesthetics and the newly emerging American style. Brumidi created a reflective synthesis between the Classical and the American, an ingenious manifestation of the international Neoclassical style that is sometimes referred to as the Federal style in the United States. Notable examples of Neoclassical architecture in the United States include the White House and Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello estate. In American painting, ancient Greek and Roman motifs were reinterpreted for the dawning of a new era. American artists, philosophers, and political theorists revered the democratic values that flourished in antiquity and sought to emulate the artwork of the period as a way to affirm the visuals and ideals of American democracy.
Detail of “Agriculture.” (Architect of the Capitol)
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
The east entrance to the Senate wing of the Capitol building features modified Corinthian columns and a carved pediment detailing the “Progress of Civilization.” The pediment was designed by Thomas Crawford and erected in 1863. (Rudy Sulgan/The Image Bank/Getty Images)
“The Capitol ought to be upon a scale far superior to anything in this Country.” —George Washington to Thomas Jefferson in 1792
James Hoban was born in 1762, in Callan, Ireland. As a boy, he was an apprentice to a carpenter and a wheelwright. He later trained in the neoclassical style of architecture at the Dublin Society School. Just after the Revolutionary War, Hoban immigrated to South Carolina. There, he designed the old state Capitol building in Columbia. At the suggestion of George Washington, Hoban entered the competition for the design of the President’s House in 1792. Not only did he win the design competition, but he received the commission to build the house as well.
The Capitol dome at dusk. （Architect of the Capitol）The architectural design for the White House by Benjamin Henry Latrobe, 1807.（Public Domain)
The President’s House in America was inspired by Leinster House in Dublin, where the Irish Parliament meets, as well as by James Gibbs’s “Book of Architecture” (published in 1728). The presidential mansion would be constructed between 1793 and 1801. At the same time, James Hoban was also enlisted as one of the supervisors of the construction of the United States Capitol.
A drawing of the dome with elevation markers by Thomas U. Walter, 1859. Pen, ink, and watercolor. (Architect of the Capitol)Cross section of the revised dome design for the Capitol building by Thomas U. Walter, 1859. Pen, ink, and watercolor. (Architect of the Capitol)The design for the Corinthian columns by Thomas U. Walter, 1859. Pen, ink, and watercolor. (Architect of the Capitol)
The Capitol was the design of physician and amateur architect Dr. William Thornton. He won the design competition in 1793. The prize was $500 and a building lot in the new federal city. Thornton had been born in the British West Indies and studied medicine at the University of Aberdeen. He became a United States citizen in 1787, moved to Washington in 1794, and was later appointed head of the Patent Office by Thomas Jefferson.
The north wing of the Capitol was constructed first. The Capitol and the President’s House were both built of Aquia Creek sandstone, quarried near Stafford, Virginia. The government-owned quarry provided most of the stone for the early construction in Washington. Though the soft, porous rock was not ideal for constructing great public buildings, it was a wise and economical choice at the time. Rising above a pastoral landscape, the President’s House and the Capitol represented the promise of the new republic.
The original design for the “Washington Monument” by Robert Mills, 1846. (Public Domain)
On August 24, 1814, British troops marched into Washington and set fire to both the President’s House and the Capitol Building. Fortunately, Benjamin Henry Latrobe, who actually supervised the building of the Capitol, had specified fireproof materials inside. Though ravaged by fire, the structure remained—”
The “Peace Monument” was erected in 1878 by Franklin Simmons to commemorate naval deaths during the Civil War. The personification of Grief mourns on the shoulder of History, with Victory standing beneath. (dkfielding/iStock/Getty Images Plus 119)An architectural stone design on the grounds of the Capitol, by landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted. (Architect of the Capitol)
This article was originally published in American Essence magazine.
Chicago World's Columbian Exposition 1893, with The Republic statue and Richard Morris Hunt's Administration Building. (Public Domain)
Truesdale Marshall, in Henry Blake Fuller’s 1895 novel, “With the Procession,” had this to say about Chicago: A “hideous monster, a piteous, floundering monster too. It almost called for tears. Nowhere a more tireless activity, yet nowhere a result so pitifully grotesque, gruesome, appalling.” This was the assessment of the great city that had risen so rapidly in the plains of America’s Midwest. The young nation had barely survived its civil war just decades before. Chicago was still recovering from its great fire. Railroads rushed to cross and crisscross the fruited plain, building quickly. There was no time for building beautiful arched bridges. Wooden trestles were thrown up in a matter of weeks. Track was measured in miles laid per day. “Hell on Wheels” was the order of the day. Midwestern cities were ugly, smelly, and chaotic.
But then, in the summer of 1893, a gleaming city appeared on the shores of Lake Michigan, something that didn’t seem to belong to this boisterous time. It only stood for a brief season, but it would change the course of a nation’s development. Massive Classical buildings rose majestically above a series of great lagoons. Beauty rose from the chaos of unbridled growth as a swamp along the shore of Lake Michigan became the site of the World’s Columbian Exposition—the Chicago World’s Fair.
Swamp transformed. “Bird’s eye view of the World’s Columbian Exposition Chicago,” 1893, by Rand McNally and Company. (US-PD)
It was inspired by the Exposition Universelle of 1889 in Paris and was conceived to honor the 400th anniversary of Columbus’ discovery of America. Chicago had beat out established cities like New York and now set to work to build a great international fair in the heartland of America. Daniel Hudson Burnham, of Burnham and Root, was selected as Director of Works for the fair. He was an accomplished architect and urban planner and a strong advocate of the Beaux-Arts movement. He would go on to design the magnificent Union Station of Washington, D.C. Now, he had a fair to create.
Architect, urban planner and the Chicago Fair’s Director of Works. (US-PD)
Enlisting some of the finest minds in architecture, Burnham struggled to create a unique site for his fair. Frederick Law Olmsted, the great landscape designer, envisioned a series of lagoons and canals, creating a modern-day Venice. The signature building of the fair, the Administration Building, was awarded to Richard Morris Hunt, a fine Beaux-Arts architect who had designed the pedestal for the Statue of Liberty. Hunt had done numerous commissions for the Vanderbilt family, including working with Frederick Law Olmsted to create Biltmore Estate, the largest private home in America.
Hunt’s rendered elevation for the Administration Building is a beautiful watercolor in the finest Beaux-Arts manner, rich in layers of Classical detail. Burnham, Hunt, and Olmsted clearly laid forth a vision for something timeless, a vision of what a city should be, but time was of the essence. An entire city would have to be built in less than two years. It would already open a year late for the 400th anniversary celebration. It was also temporary. The fair would only operate for six months and then be torn down, so the builders did not use carved stone at all. Instead, they built an enormous stage set! The large buildings of the Court of Honor were hastily built on steel and wood frameworks that were covered with lath and a fibrous plaster-cement mixture called “staff.” Details were molded out of plaster.
Each building would need to be painted to protect it from the elements. Brushing would take too much time, so the builders developed an efficient method of spray-painting everything white. The result was a series of huge buildings that were bright in the summer sun. The press dubbed it the “White City.” Black-and-white photographs of the fair add to this impression. Though George Westinghouse’s electric illumination of the fair included colored lights, the impression guests received by day, and that of newspaper readers, was monochromatic. The technology that would propel America into the 20th century was proudly displayed on a Neoclassical stage. Over 27 million visitors would come to the fair.
Chicago’s Art Institute, circa 1907 postcard. Originally a building built for the World’s Columbian Exposition. (Public Domain)
There were some who wished that the fair’s Classical architecture could be preserved, but that was not possible. The staff-covered buildings were simply not durable enough. They were also firetraps. During the fair, the innovative Cold Storage Building had burned to the ground, claiming 17 lives. The Peristyle, a massive colonnade facing Lake Michigan, burned down right after the fair, killing two more people. Only the Palace of Fine Arts, built more substantially to meet insurance requirements for the artwork displayed there, would survive. Today, it houses the Field Museum, but it has been substantially rebuilt. The World Congress Building, built just outside the fairgrounds, remains today and houses the Art Institute of Chicago. It was built for the fair but was not actually an exhibition building. The Pabst (beer) Pavilion, the Pavilion of Norway, and a few state pavilions were moved elsewhere.
The Beaux-Arts Classicism the fair inspired would endure, however, as a series of international expositions continuing into the early 20th century and built in the same theme. San Francisco, Atlanta, Nashville, Omaha, Buffalo, Charleston, St. Louis, Portland, Seattle, and even little Jamestown, Virginia, would host fairs. The resurgence of Classicism would inspire many important civic buildings and institutions, ushering in a new wave of American architecture. But already, there was a disagreement over the future of America’s public architecture. Louis Sullivan’s Transportation Building at the 1893 fair was a substantial departure from Classical forms. Sullivan and his apprentice, Frank Lloyd Wright, would seek to create a distinctive American architecture apart from European Classical forms. Wright’s work would find inspiration in the Chicago fair’s Japanese Pavilion.
Daniel Burnham went on to lay out new urban planning for Chicago and would go on to serve with Charles McKim (of McKim, Mead, and White), Fredrick Law Olmsted, and sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens in creating the 1901 McMillan Plan to redesign the monumental core of Washington, D.C. The plan would define the National Mall we know today, a great avenue and green-space flanked by classical museums. In smaller cities and towns across the nation, Neoclassical courthouses and banks would also rise to underscore a new sense of national identity.
Bob Kirchman is an architectural illustrator who lives in Augusta County, Virginia, with his wife, Pam. He teaches studio art (with a good deal of art history thrown in) to students in the Augusta Christian Educators Homeschool Coop. Kirchman is an avid hiker and loves exploring the hidden wonders of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
