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An exterior view of English Heritage's Kenwood House on the
northern edge of Hampstead HeathPhotograph: Oli Scarff/Getty Images
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Kenwood House restored – one of the nation's greatest
art collections reopens
The refurbishment of Kenwood
House on Hampstead Heath is complete and its treasures are once again on show
to the public. Nicholas Lezard in praise of a stately pile we all own
Nicholas Lezard
Kenwood House, a classically styled Georgian villa perched
on top of a hill on the northern edge of Hampstead Heath, commanding a
spectacular view over the City of London, might have ceased to be in the early
years of the 20th century. In the place of the top-of-the-milk-coloured pile,
freely available to all to wander through, there'd be the kind of
proto-McMansions you see on the opposite side of Hampstead Lane, no access to
the grounds, and the open space of Hampstead Heath would be many acres smaller.
There's been a house on the location since the early 17th
century, but the form it now takes largely dates from the mid to late 18th
century. It's a familiar landmark to north Londoners who like pottering around
the Heath at weekends; familiar, you might say, almost to the point of
invisibility, and as a child I thought no more of it than that there was a
smooth hill down which you could roll almost to the lake at the bottom.
But the house, and the grounds, might all have been sold,
parcelled up into building plots in the early years of the 20th century. The
sixth Earl of Mansfield had had one of those fits of pique and panic that
affected the aristocracy and the gentry with the introduction of death duties,
and decided to sell off the lot. By then, Kenwood House had been let to a
series of tenants: Grand Duke Michael, Tsar Nicholas II's cousin, lived there
until a sudden reversal of his family's fortunes in 1917 obliged him to leave
early; the last sitting tenant was the millionaire widow of an American tin‑plate
manufacturer.
It is hard, from a contemporary view of the super-rich, for
us to understand what could possibly have motivated the Earl of Iveagh, Edward
Cecil Guinness, great-grandson of Arthur Guinness, to buy the house from the
Earl of Mansfield, fill it with one of the most valuable art collections in the
country, and then leave it for the free use of the public after his death. But
then philanthropy had always been a Guinness tradition; the Guinnesses looked
after their workers, and Edward Cecil – who bought out his two older brothers
and then multiplied the Guinness fortunes five-fold – became the first Earl of
Iveagh not just because he was so rich but because he had spent about a million
pounds in 19th‑century
money clearing slums and putting the poor into decent houses. You don't imagine
that kind of thing happening much now. And philanthropy is an integral part of
Kenwood's tradition: the first Earl of Mansfield, Kenwood's first significant
owner, was responsible for a landmark judgment in 1772 that was a step towards
the abolition of slavery; he also had a half-black great-niece, Dido Belle,
whose freedom he carefully emphasised in his will. (You will see a reproduction
of a portrait of her at Kenwood with her cousin, Elizabeth Murray, in which she
smilingly touches her cheek just in case you had missed the fact of her skin
colour.)
For the last year or so, though, Kenwood House has been
closed and under scaffolding: its slates cracked, its facade peeling. It had to
be patched up before things got any worse. But what is interesting is the way
it has been done: the restoration meant chipping through the layers of paint
and gilt accumulated over centuries, and bringing back the house as it would
have looked to the first earl. The surprise begins before you even enter: the
creamy facade is now a more austere sandstone (or, rather, sandstone effect).
The idea is to make visitors feel that they are entering a
home, and not a property from which yards of velvet ropes politely, but
unambiguously, exclude them. We are to experience the place as the gentlemen
and women of the 18th century would have; which was one of the ideals expressed
in Lord Iveagh's bequest. A fire burns in the grate at the entrance. A
welcoming hearth, what could be more homely? On closer inspection, though, you
will notice it is fuelled by gas.
We have an odd relationship with the stately pile. Almost
every other time you read a PG Wodehouse novel, you're in a country house; and
if you don't read Wodehouse, then there's a fair chance you've watched Downton
Abbey. These are deeply familiar places to us. And yet, at the same time, we
are excluded, unless we mix in these circles; and we tend not to.
Kenwood's collection of old masters is the largest single
private-to-public bequest of all time, but still, to walk through the place is
to succumb to a cumulative version of Stendhal syndrome, where one becomes
physically overwhelmed in the presence of Great Art. You might think this is a
bit of romantic nonsense, but wait until you go into the library, having
already been softened up in the corridor by Turner's A Coast Scene with
Fishermen Hauling a Boat Ashore, and turn to your right and see Rembrandt's greatest
self-portrait – imperious, indomitable, the brushstrokes so confident in places
that they look almost contemptuous. And it's not as if everything after that is
an anticlimax. Take in, for instance, Gainsborough's Portrait of Mary, Countess
Howe – a strikingly contemporary beauty, with nothing rococo or stylised about
her features. (As it happens, the most popular painting throughout Kenwood's
later history has been Joseph Wright's Two Girls Dressing a Kitten by
Candlelight, an image that can only be salvaged from extreme kitsch by
acknowledging it as a very creepy metaphor for nascent sexual cruelty.) You
cannot move, then, for Landseers, Gainsboroughs, Van Dycks, Guardis,
Reynoldses, Van de Veldes. There's a Vermeer, for goodness sake, The Guitar Player,
insouciantly displayed, in a setting whose ambience is far removed from that of
the museum. Here, the art is in a space both private and public, as if art's
two desires – to be kept in private, and to be seen by many – have been granted
at once.
It is of a parcel with the restoration's intent to restore
authenticity. An obsessiveness about tracking down period-era benches is
precisely what is needed for such work to have authority, and the idea of
scraping through the layers of paint to find out what originally was intended
is both symbolic and practical. What it feels like to be wandering around the
place almost as if you owned it, and owned it in 1770-odd, is down to the
individual. What are we, equals or inferiors? Is this place, are these places,
theirs, or ours?
Thinking about the Rembrandt later, I was reminded of the
moment in one of John Fowles's novels, where the painting is described as being
"uncomfortable in its eighteenth-century drawing room, telling a truth
such decors had been evolved to exclude". Well, yes, if you want to be
harsh. There was always something a little bogus or even sinister about the
piles of the wealthy, for those who cared to look for it – the dairies that
would be built to one side so that ladies could play at being milkmaids
(Kenwood has one, and it wouldn't take too much to make it functional again).
Here, the very name "Mansfield" will have set off a train of
association in anyone who remembers the source (slavery) of the family fortune
in Austen's Mansfield Park. That the real‑life Mansfields can have clear
consciences with regards to this is one of the things that makes a visit to
Kenwood a spotlessly pleasing experience, and the terms of the Iveagh bequest
are ones that the current custodians of our culture would do well to emulate.
Through a gap in the trees, you can see, in the misty
distance, the City, with its gherkin, towers, monuments to capitalist excess,
and all (tellingly, the view of St Paul's from the house has been blocked). You
can look down on it. As if it is art, and you own it.
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The library at Kenwood HousePhotograph: Steve Parsons/PA
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English Heritage curator Laura Houliston, replaces books in
the libraryPhotograph: Steve Parsons/PA
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Wendy Richardson, a member of the conservation team, cleans
the gilded surround of a mirrorPhotograph: Oli Scarff/Getty Images
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The decorated ceiling in the libraryPhotograph: Oli
Scarff/Getty Images
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The decorated ceiling in the libraryPhotograph: Oli
Scarff/Getty Images
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Dee Alston, a member of the conservation team, cleans a bust
in the entrance hall
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Johannes Vermeer's 'The Guitar Player', centre, in the
dining roomPhotograph: Oli Scarff/Getty Images
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Johannes Vermeer's 'The Guitar Player', centre, in the
dining roomPhotograph: Oli Scarff/Getty Images
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Cleaning the bust of Lord Mansfield in the libraryPhotograph:
Oli Scarff/Getty Images
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The decorated ceiling in the entrance hallPhotograph: Oli
Scarff/Getty Images
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Laura Houliston, a curator of collections for English
Heritage, admires the paintings in the dining roomPhotograph: Oli Scarff/Getty
Images
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An exterior view of the house from the front courtyard on
the northern edge of Hampstead HeathPhotograph: Oli Scarff/Getty Images
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Robert Adam (3 July 1728 – 3 March 1792) was a Scottish
neoclassical architect, interior designer and furniture designer. He was the
son of William Adam (1689–1748), the country's foremost architect of the time,
and trained under him. With his older brother John, Robert took on the family
business, which included lucrative work for the Board of Ordnance, after
William's death.
In 1754 he left for Rome, spending nearly five years on the
continent studying architecture under Charles-Louis Clérisseau and Giovanni
Battista Piranesi. On his return to Britain he established a practice in
London, where he was joined by his younger brother James. Here he developed the
"Adam Style", and his theory of "movement" in architecture,
based on his studies of antiquity and became one of the most successful and
fashionable architects in the country. Adam held the post of Architect of the
King's Works from 1761 to 1769.
Robert Adam was a leader of the first phase of the classical
revival in England and Scotland from around 1760 until his death. He influenced
the development of Western architecture, both in Europe and in North America.
Adam designed interiors and fittings as well as houses.
He served as the member of Parliament for Kinross-shire
(1768–74).
Adam was born on the 3 July 1728 at Gladney House in
Kirkcaldy, Fife, although the family moved to Edinburgh later that same year.
As a child he was noted as having a "feeble constitution". From 1734
at the age of six Adam attended the Royal High School, Edinburgh where he
learned Latin (from the second year lessons were conducted in Latin) until he
was fifteen, he was taught to read works by Virgil, Horace, Sallust and parts
of Cicero and in his final year Livy. In autumn 1743 he matriculated at
Edinburgh University,[8] and compulsory classes for all students were: the
Greek language, logic, metaphysics and Natural philosophy. Students could
choose three elective subjects, Adam attended classes in mathematics, taught by
Colin Maclaurin, and anatomy, taught by Alexander Monro primus. His studies
were interrupted by the arrival of Bonnie Prince Charlie and his Highlanders,
who occupied Edinburgh during the 1745 Jacobite rising. At the end of the year,
Robert fell seriously ill for some months, and it seems unlikely that he
returned to university, having completed only two years of study.
On his recovery from illness in 1746, he joined his elder
brother John as apprentice to his father. He assisted William Adam on projects
such as the building of Inveraray Castle and the continuing extensions of
Hopetoun House. William's position as Master Mason to the Board of Ordnance
also began to generate much work, as the Highlands were fortified following the
failed Jacobite revolt. Robert's early ambition was to be an artist rather than
architect, and the style of his early sketches in the manner of Salvator Rosa
are reflected in his earliest surviving architectural drawings, which show
picturesque gothic follies. William Adam died in June 1748, and left Dowhill, a
part of the Blair Adam estate which included a tower house, to Robert.
On William Adam's death, John Adam inherited both the family
business and the position of Master Mason to the Board of Ordnance. He
immediately took Robert into partnership, later to be joined by James Adam. The
Adam Brothers' first major commission was the decoration of the grand state
apartments on the first floor at Hopetoun House, followed by their first
"new build" at Dumfries House. For the Board of Ordnance, the
brothers were the main contractor at Fort George, a large modern fort near
Inverness designed by military engineer Colonel Skinner. Visits to this
project, begun in 1750, would occupy the brothers every summer for the next ten
years, and, along with works at many other barracks and forts, provided Robert
with a solid foundation in practical building.
In the winter of 1749–1750, Adam travelled to London with
his friend, the poet John Home. He took the opportunity for architectural
study, visiting Wilton, designed by Inigo Jones, and the Queens Hermitage in
Richmond by Roger Morris. His sketchbook of the trip also shows a continuing
interest in gothic architecture.
Among his friends at Edinburgh were the philosophers Adam
Ferguson and David Hume and the artist Paul Sandby whom he met in the
Highlands. Other Edinburgh acquaintances included Gilbert Elliot, William
Wilkie, John Home and Alexander Wedderburn.
On 3 October 1754, Robert Adam in the company of his brother
James (who went as far as Brussels) set off from Edinburgh for his Grand Tour,
stopping for a few days in London, where they visited the Mansion House, London,
St Stephen Walbrook, St Paul's Cathedral, Windsor, Berkshire, in the company of
Thomas Sandby who showed them his landscaping at Windsor Great Park and
Virginia Water Lake. They sailed from Dover arriving in Calais on28 October 1754.
He joined Charles Hope-Weir, brother of the Earl of Hopetoun in Brussels and
together they travelled to Rome. Hope agreed to take Adam on the tour at the
suggestion of his uncle, the Marquess of Annandale, who had undertaken the
Grand Tour himself. While in Brussels the pair attended a Play and Masquerade,
as well as visiting churches and palaces in the city. Travelling on to Tournai,
then Lille, where they visited the Citadal designed by Sébastien Le Prestre de
Vauban. By the 12 November 1754 Adam and Hope were in Paris where they took
lodgings in Hotel de Notre Dame.
Adam and Hope travelled on to Italy together, before falling
out in Rome over travelling expenses and accommodation. Robert Adam stayed on
in Rome until 1757, studying classical architecture and honing his drawing
skills. His tutors included the French architect and artist Charles-Louis
Clérisseau, and the Italian artist Giovanni Battista Piranesi. Here, he became
acquainted with the work of the pioneering classical archaeologist and art
historian, theorist Johann Joachim Winckelmann. On his return journey, Adam and
Clerisseau spent time intensively studying the ruins of Diocletian's Palace at
Spalato in Dalmatia (now known as Split, in modern Croatia). These studies were
later published as Ruins of the Palace of the Emperor Diocletian at Spalatro in
Dalmatia in 1764.
He returned to Great Britain in 1758 and set up in business
in London with his brother James Adam. They focused on designing complete
schemes for the decoration and furnishing of houses. Palladian design was
popular, and Robert designed a number of country houses in this style, but
Robert evolved a new, more flexible style incorporating elements of classical
Roman design alongside influences from Greek, Byzantine and Baroque styles. The
Adam brothers' success can also be attributed to a desire to design everything
down to the smallest detail, ensuring a sense of unity in their design.
Adam was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Arts in
1758 and of the Society of Antiquaries in 1761, the same year he was appointed
Architect of the King’s Works (jointly with Sir William Chambers). His younger
brother James succeeded him in this post when he relinquished the role in 1768 in order to devote
more time to his elected office as member of Parliament for Kinross-shire.
Robert Adam rejected the Palladian style, as introduced to
England by Inigo Jones, and advocated by Lord Burlington, as "ponderous"
and "disgustful". However, he continued their tradition of drawing
inspiration directly from classical antiquity, during his four-year stay in
Europe. Through the adoption of classical motifs, Adam developed a new style of
architectural decoration.
The Adam brothers' principle of "movement" was
largely Robert's conception, although the theory was first written down by
James. "Movement" relied on dramatic contrasts and diversity of form,
and drew on the picturesque aesthetic. The first volume of the Adam brother's
Works (1773) cited Kedleston Hall, designed by Robert in 1761, as an
outstanding example of movement in architecture.
By contrasting room sizes and decorative schemes, Adam
applied the concept of movement to his interiors also. His style of decoration,
described by Pevsner as "Classical Rococo", drew on Roman "grotesque"
stucco decoration.
Robert Adam's work had influenced the direction of
architecture across the western world. In North America, the Federal style owes
much to neoclassicism as practised by Adam. In Europe, Adam notably influenced
Charles Cameron, the Scotsman who designed Tsarskoye Selo and other Russian
palaces for Catherine the Great. However, by the time of his death, Adam's
neoclassicism was being superseded in Britain by a more severe, Greek phase of
the classical revival, as practiced by James "Athenian" Stuart. The
Adam brothers employed several draughtsmen who would go on to establish
themselves as architects, including George Richardson, and the Italian Joseph
Bonomi, who Robert originally hired in Rome.
During their lifetime Robert and James Adam published two
volumes of their designs, Works in Architecture of Robert and James Adam (in
1773-1778 and 1779; a third volume was published posthumously, in 1822).
Adam had long suffered from stomach and bowel problems,[29]
probably caused by a peptic ulcer and irritable bowel syndrome. While at home -
11 Albermarle Street, London - on 1 March 1792, one of the ulcers burst, and on
3 March Adam died.
The funeral was held on 10 March; he was buried in the south
aisle of Westminster Abbey. The pall-bearers were several of his clients: Henry
Scott, 3rd Duke of Buccleuch; George Coventry, 6th Earl of Coventry; James
Maitland, 8th Earl of Lauderdale; David Murray, 2nd Earl of Mansfield; Lord
Frederick Campbell and Sir William Pulteney, 5th Baronet.
Knowing he was dying, he drafted his will on 2 March 1792.
Having never married, Adam left his estate to his sisters Elizabeth Adam and
Margaret Adam.
His obituary appeared in the March 1792 edition of The Gentleman's
Magazine:
It is somewhat remarkable that the Arts should be deprived
at the same time of two of their greatest ornaments, Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr
Adam: and it is difficult to say which of them excelled most in his particular
profession... Mr Adam produced a total change in the architecture of this
country: and his fertile genius in elegant ornament was not confined to the
decoration of buildings, but has been diffused to every branch of manufacture.
His talents extend beyond the lie of his own profession: he displayed in his
numerous drawings in landscape a luxuriance of composition, and an effect of
light and shadow, which have scarcely been equalled...to the last period of his
life, Mr Adam displayed an increasing vigour of genius and refinement of taste:
for in the space of one year preceeding his death, he designed eight great
public works, besides twenty five private buildings, so various in their style,
and so beautiful in their composition, that they have been allowed by the best
judges, sufficient of themselves, to establish his fame unrivalled as an
artist.
He left nearly 9,000 drawings, 8,856 of which (by both
Robert and James Adam) were subsequently purchased in 1821 for £200 by the
architect John Soane and are now at the Soane Museum in London.
