The architecture of the house itself clearly indicates the taste and
training of its builder. Vanbrugh shared the enthusiasm of the day for
classical work, as understood and developed, whether well or ill, by the
Italians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; but with
characteristic disregard of law, he thought to combine classical severity
with the fancifulness natural in a northerner and a playwright. Thus,
while the general scheme of the south front, for instance, is distinctly
severe, the massive towers at its ends are surmounted by fantastic masses
of open stone-work, most quaintly finished off with arrangements of
cannon-balls and coronets. Throughout he repeatedly made use of classical
members with strange disregard to their structural intention. Silvester,
the French artist employed to make designs for the decoration of the
salon, sniffed contemptuously at Vanbrugh's Gothic tendencies. "I can not
approve of that double line of niches. It suggests the façade of a Gothic
church." And then with savage delight he announced his discovery that much
of the design was merely an unintelligent imitation of the Palazzo Farnese
at Florence.
Certainly, in spite of Vanbrugh's attempt to achieve at once dignity and
lightness, the probable impression made by the building on the casual
observer is, that it is ponderous without being stately, and irregular
without being tasteful. But the final feeling of any one whose fate it is
to study it at leisure will assuredly be one of respect, even of
enthusiasm, for the ability of Vanbrugh. It takes time to realize the
boldness of the general design and the solidity of the masonry. In many
parts there are about as many feet of solid stone as a modern architect
would put inches of lath and plaster. The negative qualities of integrity
and thoroughness are rare enough in work of the present day, now that the
architect has delegated to the contractor the execution of his design.
The interior proportions of the rooms are generally admirable, and so
perfectly was the work carried out that it is possible to look through the
keyholes of ten doors, and see daylight at the end, over three hundred
feet off. It is noticeable, further, that the whole was designed by a
single man, there being no subsequent additions, as there are, for
instance, at Chatsworth and Wentworth. Vanbrugh is responsible for good
and bad qualities alike. One would imagine a priori that he had everything
in his favor--unlimited money and a free hand. Far from this being the
case, the stupendous work was accomplished under difficulties greater than
any long-suffering architect ever had to contend with.
The beginning of the building was most auspicious. In 1705, the year after
Blenheim, Queen Anne, in accordance with an address of the Commons,
granted Marlborough the royal estate of which Woodstock was the center,
with moneys to build a suitable house. The nation was anxious to show its
gratitude to the General under whom English troops had won their first
considerable victory on foreign soil since Agincourt; the Queen was for
doing all in her power for her dear Mrs. Freeman; Marlborough saw in the
scheme a dignified and legitimate method of perpetuating his fame; and so
Vanbrugh was commissioned to build a house which should be worthy of all
three. The work was at once begun on the existing scale. Difficulties
sprang up when the Duchess began to lose, by her abuse of it, the power
which she had always possessed over the Queen; when, too, it was seen that
the architect's estimate bore no sort of relation to the actual cost.
Vanbrugh was often in the greatest straits for money, and wrote piteously
to the Duchess and the Lord Treasurer Godolphin without the slightest
effect. Things naturally grew worse when both the Duke and Duchess were
dismissed from all their posts, in 1711; and at last, in 1721, the
disputes culminated in a lawsuit successfully brought against the Duke by
the workmen for arrears of pay, the defendant's contention being that the
Treasury was liable for the whole expense. The Duchess vented her
displeasure on the unfortunate architect, whom she never credited with
doing anything right. She carefully kept his letters, and made spiteful
endorsements on them for the benefit of her counsel at the trial.
While Sarah was perpetually involving herself in quarrels with her
architect, the Duke was indirectly furthering the progress of the building
by a succession of victories abroad. Without taking an active part, he was
yet much interested in the house, always looking forward to the time when
he should live there in peace with his wife. When on a campaign he wrote
to her nearly every other day, and in almost every letter there is a
personal touch, showing his ever-present love for her, his keen anxiety to
keep her love, and to win her approval of everything he did.
The main interest of Marlborough's later life centered in Blenheim. The
Duchess had done the lion's share of the work of superintendence; it
remained for him to arrange the many works of art he had bought and had
been given during the war. There still exists an account of the prices he
paid for tapestries made in Brussels, most of which are now on the walls
of the house. Over the south front was placed a bust of Louis XIV., a
trophy taken from the gates of Tournay....
Changes of fashion and of taste have left their mark on Blenheim; and, as
the old oaks recall the joyousness of the Middle Ages, and the elms and
cedars have a certain air of eighteenth-century stateliness, so perhaps
the orchids, with their exotic delicacy, may be held typical of the
decadent present. From the house many treasures, once part of its
adornment, are now missed; and while books, pictures, and gems have
disappeared, modern ideas of comfort have suggested the insertion of
electric lights and telephones. To regret the treasures of the past is a
commonplace; it would seem fitter to make the best of the advantages of
the present.