It must be tough being a duke. There’s the grand country house to call home, no end of properties to rent out to the peasantry, stunning artworks to hang from the walls, acres of land to farm and gardens to landscape.
Chatsworth, the spectacular Derbyshire estate of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, has all this and more. But the guidebook that accompanies the visit and the associated PR makes regular reference to how difficult it’s been for the Cavendish family over the years, and how 20th century death duties threatened the very existence of the estate. To ensure it survived, a trust took control, property was sold or handed to the National Trust. However, the Cavendish family still live there, leading a privileged existence, and I wouldn’t say no to swapping my Sydenham existence for it.
I imagine that without those hefty taxes and the need to find a new source of income, many such stately homes would never have been opened up for us mere plebs to visit and appreciate. Unlike some aristocratic families that didn’t survive the ravages of the old tax regimes and the decline in the value of land, the Devonshires have flourished and created a thriving enterprise with the famous house and garden at its heart.
Chatsworth lies a few miles outside Chesterfield, a Derbyshire town of little merit other than a parish church that boasts a famously twisted spire. Its town centre has that worn-out look, a victim of shortsighted council decisions to promote out of town shopping centres and the decline of traditional industries. While Chatsworth oozes wealth and power, Chesterfield drips despair and poverty.
It was pouring with rain as we drove out to Chatsworth, into the Peak District, through estate villages such as Baslow. These are uniformly unspoilt and picturesque, thanks to the care and attention of the family and the uniformity imposed by the use of local building stone – the greys of the limestone, the yellows and pinks of the sandstone known as gritstone.
Even in the rain, the approach to Chatsworth through the rolling countryside was impressive. Suddenly, turning a corner, we caught a glimpse of the golden-hued house sitting uphill from the River Derwent, surrounded by landscaped grounds and woods. There was the famous bridge across the river, a scene captured in numerous photos over the years. Even a good socialist like me couldn’t fail to be impressed. And as we parked the car I was grateful for the rain that had helped to keep the crowds and queues to a minimum.
But what about the tour? I suppose I’d been expecting a typical country house experience, with rooms stuck in the past, roped off, untouchable, mausoleum-like. But Chatsworth was surprisingly different and all the better for it. During our visit, it was hosting an exhibition of contemporary chairs and these were scattered around the rooms, signs encouraging visitors to try them out (yes it sounds dull but some of them were bizarre indeed). The family’s interest in modern art was also prominently on display.
Still, there’s lots of history at Chatsworth. The present house is a late 17th century confection that replaced the Tudor home of Bess of Hardwick. The Painted Hall celebrates Caesar and ponders the folly of supreme power, making for a colourful and imposing introduction to the house.
Beyond it is a string of rooms of varying styles. There’s the traditional grandeur of the library, the wooden gloominess of the Oak Room, the homeliness of the guest bedrooms and the airiness of the sketch room devoted to the memory of Duchess Georgiana – a woman made famous by a book and film that chronicled her life. I liked it because of the display of minerals that she’d collected over the years. Another room, a chapel, displayed Damien Hirst’s gruesome work Saint Bartholomew, Exquisite Pain, which shows his subject with his skin stripped off and hanging over one arm. Elsewhere were some fine works by Lucien Freud.
There’s a further nod to modernity in the DNA room, given over to a series of ceramic panels that represent the DNA strands of the Cavendish family. It was a surprising addition to Chatsworth and a welcome one for it.
Tour over, we devoured a cream tea and ventured into the grounds. The rain was moving away as we toured the vast kitchen garden, chock full of fruit, veg and flowers. Elsewhere were formal rose beds and a cottage garden, as well as less formal planting. We took plenty of photos of the famous cascade, which tumbles down the hill towards the house, and then followed a path alongside a trout stream that was the inspiration for Chatsworth’s award-winning 2015 Chelsea Flower Show entry.
Trees of all shapes and sizes provided cover, reflected in several ponds, and the planting everywhere was exceptional, even in the dismal light. A trough waterfall wound its way down the hill into a ravine.
We finished up at the Canal Pond, but its famous giant Emperor Fountain was sadly quiet – a victim, ironically, of water shortages. But there was no denying the majesty of the view back to the south front of the house.
We wandered down to the river, past the rather neglected structure that goes by the name of Queen Mary’s Bower – supposedly an exercise yard for the doomed Queen of the Scots. Sheep grazed around us and the landscape looked timeless and peaceful.
Yes. I could live at Chatsworth…