Blenheim Palace

After a week chock-full of reading and studying, this morning I headed out with a group of other Stanford students for a well-deserved break - Blenheim Palace! This famous manor house (where Winston Churchill was born, among other things) is only half an hour's drive from Oxford, and is probably one of the most stunning estates I've seen so far in England.

The inventiveness of some of the exterior architecture, combined with the unique Baroque elements inside, all made Blenheim enthralling. The state rooms were very lavish, almost French. In particular, the grand library (thousands of bookshelves on two levels across a sprawling room with sofas and a piano) had me wringing my hands in longing. I only regret that Blenheim is one of those places that prohibits photography inside.

And - wow - the grounds were spectacular. Over three thousand acres in all, I think, all of it immaculately planned and groomed and manicured. The fall colors have gotten more and more gorgeous here, brilliant reds and oranges and yellows springing out from amidst the green. Our walk through the gardens and beside the lake was picturesque.

So am I tired of these English manors and estates yet? Nope!

York Part IV: Rievaulx

Our last stop on the Bing trip was Rievaulx Abbey, a stunning twelfth-century abbey that fell into ruin after Henry VIII dissolved it in 1538, upon becoming head of the English church and expelling all Catholic monks. Basically because he wanted to divorce his wives. (I keep seeing the physical consequences of the oddities of English history.)

So what's so special about a ruin? Well, let me tell you.

After only a 30-minute drive from Castle Howard, through which we saw some gorgeous English pastureland dotted with cows/sheep/horses, we arrived at a terrace where, after a short walk through some misty and beautiful woods, we could gaze down the hills and see the abbey's crumbling walls silhouetted against the countryside. This terrace was physically constructed as a manicured walk on which the gentry could look down at the abbey for inspiration. It was capped by two Ionic temples, both of which were used for (yet more) banqueting and guest-entertaining. Apparently the late 18th-century Brits liked to incorporate medieval ruins into their gardens, in order to capture a sense of the Gothic/picturesque/sublime. They'd even import ruins from another part of England, or reconstruct them, in order to attain the precise landscape they wanted.

Rievaulx, of course, is original (even if the garden high above it was contrived around its existence), and half an hour later we drove the short distance down to the abbey itself. There was no official tour, and so for an hour we were free to explore the crumbling walls, stunted pillars, and empty windowframes, climbing and snapping photos and feeling rather like kids on a giant stone playground. Many of the abbey walls were still intact, though in varying states of ruin, and some of the spectacular Gothic arches still stand, open to the heavens like an organic skeleton from the medieval world. A crowd of pigeons had nested atop the main framework of the cathedral, grass grew all around the ruins, some plants had poked out of cracks in high-up stone walls. Nature was taking back what man had made.

Especially after seeing York Minster, constructed in a similar style, I kept thinking of what the abbey must have looked like back before it was abandoned. It must have been spectacular. I felt it capturing my imagination and my wonder, as it must have done for the generations of British gentry that visited it. I found myself gazing up at its walls, pondering the ingenuity and the history of man, the forces of nature, and the inevitable march of time.

For this reason, in a way I found Rievaulx the most striking destination on our trip. I suddenly understand the Gothic and the picturesque (both of which have worked themselves into literary history) much more clearly...

York Part III: Castle Howard

On Saturday morning, after a hearty breakfast at the hotel (in which I thoroughly pigged out on sausages and ham), we set off a little northeast of York for Castle Howard. This magnificent palace, built for the prominent Howard family in the 18th century, is set between two lakes, both of them man-made, but still beautiful. As we entered the extensive grounds, gazing across the lake to the grand house on a hillside, I think we all had a feeling of "wow." The weather was overcast and a bit misty and cool - typical English weather - but that didn't stop the lawns from sparkling, stretching out all around us.

After a stroll around the house, during which we assessed its architecture and imposing exterior, we set off along the lake at its rear, strolling on a beautiful manicured path flanked by Greek statues. The water was still and dotted with ducks, and soon we reached a little hill capped by an Ionic temple, in which the estate occupants used to have a spot of tea after a brisk walk over the grounds - talk about lavish! The temple, stoic and beautifully proportioned, was surrounded by a field of grazing cows, beyond which was another hill on which stood the family mausoleum. Our professor explained that the 18th-century Europeans were captivated by the scenic picturesque, and indeed this was an idyllic scene: classical architecture, with pastoral cows nearby, a bridge arching across a winding river, the mausoleum lingering behind trees and towering against the sky. Basically, this was a form of living, breathing, outdoor artwork, intended to inspire certain feelings in anyone who witnessed it. There's a reason the estate was designed and laid out as it was: to promote a picturesque aesthetic. And indeed, it was stunning.

After tramping through wet grass, passing right by some cute woolly black cows, including a massive bull who paid us no mind, we found ourselves at the mausoleum, beyond which we could gaze and see, for the first time, the full stretch of the walk we'd just taken, from the cows and Greek temple, then across the lake and back to Castle Howard itself. The pictures don't do the impact of this place justice. It was a view I could have contemplated for a while, probably one of the most grand I've seen so far in England, but soon enough we took the walk back to explore the interior of the house.

Now, this house was the complete opposite of Hardwick Hall. Open, airy, and filled with classical marble busts and colorful portraits and fresher landscape artwork, it reminded several of us of Mr. Darcy's Pemberley estate in Pride and Prejudice. Indeed, this was my first impression upon entering the house (I know, total English-lit nerd), and I wandered its halls dwelling on the descriptions and incidents from that novel. The house was lavish, sure, but in a transfixing and well-considered way. Most stunning of all was the dome in its center, flanked with dozens of Corinthian columns and lined with windows through which we could look out at the lake, garden, and distant hills. I can't say how much I loved this house and its spacious interior, which made me want to sit and read a novel or perhaps sit down at the grand piano, or just gaze outside for hours. Much different than the stuffy claustrophobia I felt at Hardwick!

One last detail: inside the house we found a painting of the grounds almost as we'd seen them from the mausoleum, framed after the fashion of a neo-classical picturesque painting. Talk about being idealistic in designing your estate! (These old-time British lords had too much time and too much money.)