In building Mentmore, Mayer had set a standard for the rest of the family. Aston Clinton, altered for Anthony between 1854 and 1855 by Paxton’s son-in-law George Henry Stokes, was a botched job by comparison. Attempting to enlarge the existing house, Stokes failed altogether to realise Louisa’s “dream,” though she hoped that “in time I may grow attached to this little place which I thought at first sight the ugliest on earth.” By contrast, James set out determinedly to trump Mentmore at Ferrières. To the chagrin of the French architectural profession, to say nothing of the local stonemasons, he called in Paxton and Myers. It was a commission they more than once regretted accepting, for James felt no compunction about rejecting Paxton’s first design after seeking a second opinion from the French architect Antoine-Julien Hénard; while friction between the English and French workers on the site led to a strike and finally violence over pay differentials. The final result—which was not completed until 1860—was an eclectic mixture of French, Italian and English styles. Sophisticates like the Goncourts loathed it: “Trees and waterworks created by spending millions, round a chateau costing eighteen millions, an idiotic and ridiculous extravagance, a pudding of every style, the fruit of a stupid ambition to have all monuments in one!” Bismarck thought it looked like “an overturned chest of drawers.” The poet and diplomat Wilfrid Scawen Blunt called it “a monstrous Pall Mall club decorated in the most outrageous Louis Philippe taste”; while the anti-Semite Edouard Drumont dismissed it as “an incredible bric-a-brac shop.”
It was nevertheless a state-of-the art affair: James famously moved the kitchens a hundred yards away from the house to prevent his guests from smelling the cooks at work, building a small underground railway to connect them with the basement beneath the dining room. And like Mentmore it was part advertisement (with Charles-Henri Cordier’s caryatids symbolising Rothschild dominance over the four quarters of the globe), part hotel (with over eighty rooms), and part gallery (with the great hall functioning as James’s increasingly cluttered “personal museum”). It was all on a hypertrophic scale—as Evelina said, “the place was too regal to be without sentinels”—yet it had an exotic, theatrical quality due largely to the interiors by the stage-designer Eugène Lami, who gave the smoking room its faintly kitsch Venetian frescoes. Château Pregny, built by Stokes for Adolph in 1858, was a modest affair in comparison. Overlooking Lake Geneva, this Louis XVI-style building was primarily intended as a show-case for Adolph’s collection of paintings and objets d‘art—exotic rock crystals, precious stones and wood carvings. The work done on the house at Boulogne by Armand-Auguste-Joseph Berthelin in 1855 was similar in quality, though Berthelin took his inspiration from the Versailles of Louis XIV
The 1850s and 1860s also saw substantial transformations in the gardens around the Rothschild houses. At Ferrières, under Paxton’s direction, there was a new pond with ornamental bridges, as well as elaborate greenhouses and winter gardens. Though her daughter Evelina preferred the grounds of Gunnersbury and Mentmore, Charlotte’s descriptions of Ferrières in this period gush with enthusiasm aboutthe shrubs and trees and flowers, hot houses and greenhouses, and ... the brilliant and excellent contents of the latter.—Ferrières is, in my opinion, fairyland, and lacks nothing but an extensive and picturesque view ... Uncle James collects ducks, swans and pheasants from all parts of the world ... [A]s an ensemble—with orangeries, conservatories, crystal palaces, vineries—hot and green houses, orchards, fruit and flower gardens, farms, zoological treasures—animals wild and tame ... Ferrières is unsurpassed ... [It is like] the Palace of Aladdin, [with] its fairy gardens, wondrous aviaries, marvellous carp streams and crystal palaces full of luscious fruit and glowing flowers.
At Boulogne the landscape gardener Poyre built an elaborate water garden with cascades and romantic rockeries, while James added “geese with curled feathers,” white ducks, Egyptian donkeys and a talking parrot to his collection of exotic fauna. At Pregny too there was a menagerie for Adolph’s collection of Patagonian hares, kangaroos and antelopes. Even the older houses had their gardens redesigned: though he rarely went there, Anselm turned the grounds of Schillersdorf into a Silesian version of Regent’s Park. He also added a lake to attract wild duck and a large number of English-style cottages for the estate workers—an early example of Rothschild paternalism in the country, just as the various animal and bird collections showed the first stirrings of the later Rothschilds’ passion for zoology.
Nor were the family’s residences in the great European cities neglected. Lionel acquired the house next door to 148 Piccadilly from the MP Fitzroy Kelly and commissioned Nelson & Innes to rebuild a new and :much larger house on the site of the two houses, moving to Kingston House in Knightsbridge while the work was in progress.32 To get an impression of the finished building (which was demolished a century later when Park Lane was widened for traffic), one need only walk into one of the grander London clubs: the basement was set aside for the male servants’ quarters and wine cellar, the ground floor was a spacious hall, the staircase a mass of marble leading to the huge reception rooms on the first floor, leaving the second floor for the private rooms and the garret for the maids. The kitchens were moved under the terrace in the garden. The various hotels in Paris were on a similar scale and shared the same basic structure.33
And of course the task of filling all these houses with appropriate furniture and ornaments was never complete. A not untypical shopping expedition by Charlotte in Paris yielded a list of possible purchases including a marble group for £2,000; four small statues; a crystal chandelier; four busts of Roman Emperors; “two marvellous vases of rosso antico, most beautifully carved, and exhibiting Neptune surrounded by tritons and sea-nymphs” for 5,000 guineas; and a table for £150. A year later the London art dealers were offering her, among other things, a painting by Rubens, “a wonderful chimney-piece by Inigo Jones, a beautiful Sir Joshua [Reynolds], representing a lovely woman ... and last though not least Mr. Russell’s long promised Japanese or Chinese collection.” Snobs like the Goncourts liked to sneer at the Rothschilds’ reliance on art dealers: one of their malicious stories describes Anselm offering an optician 36,000 francs if he could invent “a lorgnette which could give him the ability to see with the eyes of a man of taste”; another imagines James throwing in a dress for the dealer’s daughter to secure a Veronese at a good price. The reality was that the Rothschilds were now among the elite of art collectors ; perhaps even at its head. “A trumpery little Raphael [for] 150,000 f[ran]cs—the Cuyp 92.000 f[ran]cs,” reported Nat to his brothers from a Paris auction in 1869. “One must have plenty of money now to buy pictures”—or, as his cousin Gustave put it, “money to be spent in a moment.” But who had that kind of money if not the Rothschilds?
After all this, the rebuilding of the bank offices at New Court in the early 1860s seemed an afterthought. To be sure, Charlotte thought the new building “quite marvellous, and intended for magnificent business.” It remained to be seen how far politics—not to mention art and architecture—would henceforth distract the younger generation of Rothschilds from fulfilling that intention.
TWO
The Era of Mobility (1849-1858)
[Mjoi, je serais charmé de faire une niche à ce juif qui nous jugule.
CAVOUR
The 1850s were a difficult time for the Rothschilds: that, at least, is the traditional view. Firstly, Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, of whom James had always been suspicious, overthrew the republican constitution and proclaimed himself Emperor, his uncle’s lineal successor. Secondly, James’s financial rival Achille Fould—the younger brother of Benoît, Heine’s “chief rabbi of the Rive Gauche” railway—became Finance Minister. According to an often quoted account by the comte de Viel-Castel, Fould told Napoleon: “It is absolutely necessary that Your Majesty free yourself from the tutelage of Rothschild, who reigns in spite of you.” Thirdly, the formation of new “universal” banks like the Credit Mobilier—the brainchild of James’s former associates the P
ereires—threatened the dominant position of the Rothschilds not only in France, but throughout Europe. Finally, the 1850s were a time of international instability: for the first time since 1815 the Rothchilds’ nightmare of major wars between the great powers became a reality, first in the Crimea (Britain and France against Russia over Turkey) and then in Italy (France against Austria over Italy).
Yet this account is misleading in two respects. Because historians have relied too heavily on biased sources like the diaries of Count Hübner, Apponyi’s successor as Austrian ambassador, it overstates the difficulties which James experienced under Napoleon’s regime. Moreover, it is too Francocentric: such difficulties as James experienced should not be seen in isolation at a time when the other Rothschild houses were prospering.
Two Emperors
It was malice on Hübner’s part to portray Betty’s relationship with General Changarnier as a romantic one. In fact, her recently rediscovered letters to Alphonse during his absence in America reveal that her first impressions of him were less than favourable. The general struck her as a “thin, ugly man of medium height and with nothing military about him but his moustaches. At first sight he seems old and worn out.” When he dined with them in January 1849, he “was as good company as possible and most desirous to please,” but “in this respect he was only partly successful. I don’t find in him the spirit of openness and loyalty which I have so often heard him praised for; on the contrary, he gave the impression rather of being a two-faced man ...” Disraeli was told by Hannah that Changarnier was rather straitlaced: when invited to dine at the Rothschilds along with a celebrated opera singer, he refused and “lectured [Betty] for inviting a public singer to her table.” Nor by this stage had Betty ruled out some kind of accommodation with Louis Napoleon. The President, she told her son in April, was “doing well. Every day he gives certain proofs of [his belief in] the principle of order and legal authority.” So reassured was she that she “finally broke the ice and appeared in the President’s salons. Without appearing to affect to a political sulk, it would have been difficult for me to remain away any longer.”
On the other hand, there is no question that Changarnier said the right things to reassure a woman who, more than other members of the family, had reacted strongly against the revolution. “He is,” she wrote approvingly, “a reactionary of the right sort ... The other day he was talking about the symbol of the third virtue on our flags, and he said to me, ‘I hate fraternity so much that if I had a brother, I would call him my cousin.’ ” Soon she was assuring Alphonse, “My friend Changarnier will hold the madmen in check,” and adding that the family was “protected by our worthy Changarnier.” “In our excellent Changarnier,” she declared in June, “we have a sure friend, who is too well acquainted with what is going on not to let us know [of trouble] immediately. I would not be able to tell you how honourable this man is, what a noble heart and loyal soul he has, how open-minded he is, this former hero, uniting knightly courage that brings strength of purpose and resolve which must succeed.” If she said this sort of thing in public, it is perhaps not so surprising that Hübner detected an amorous as well as a political attraction. Her aunt Hannah herself commented discreetly that Changarnier was “much devoted to the family, thinks a great deal of the talent and abilities of Betty, appreciates the courage and manner of acting of the family during the time of the revolution and appears to study their welfare.” For his part, James commented—with a mixture of admiration and bemusement—that although Changarnier was willing to give him sensitive political information (for example, over French policy in the Don Pacifico affair), he would never speculate himself on such news: “Now Charganier has never got mixed up [in speculation] and he has never said to me that he wants to speculate. In fact I am sure that if I were to propose something to him or to his adjutant, he would no longer receive me nor accept my invitations. He is the most singular fellow I know!” Bonaparte, by contrast, was more than happy to speculate—but not with James.
Throughout 1850, James struggled to reconcile the two men, increasingly conscious that it was Napoleon who had the upper hand, and that this could spell trouble for him. “The President probably thinks that I have wronged him,” he reported in January 1850, “so it seems that I too do not stand very high in his regard, particularly as Fould will do me no favours. Thank God I have no need of him.” As this suggests, it is also true that he distrusted Fould (the fact that he had married a Gentile did not help). Still, the nature of their rivalry should not be misunderstood—they saw one another often, and one detects a grudging respect: to have one brother a banker and the other a Finance Minister was, as James acknowledged, no mean strategy. James plainly felt himself at a disadvantage in business and in politics: “Unfortunately,” he grumbled, “I see with annoyance that business is being taken away from us and we are not what we used to be.” But it is wrong to suggest that his failure to secure the issue of rentes which took place at the end of 1850 was a symptom of his waning financial influence. In fact, James had prepared a bid, but stayed away from the auction because of the death of Nat’s four-year-old son Mayer Albert, whose funeral coincided with the Finance Minister’s auction. Even as he mourned, James could not resist gloating that his absence would make Fould’s auction “a fiasco”: “Now they see that one cannot push Rothschild aside, as Fould wanted to do.”
In truth, James’s principal concern was more diplomatic than financial. He feared that the President’s erratic foreign policy might lead to friction, if not war, between France and the other powers, whether Britain (over the Don Pacifico affair) or Prussia (over Germany). Chirac’s story about James attempting to tone down French policy in late 1850 at a meeting with Napoleon and Changarnier has the ring of truth about it. “Come now, let’s see, vat is it about, this quarrel ofer Germany?” James allegedly said. “Let’s come to some arrenchment, for heafen’s sake, let’s come to some arrenchment.” Napoleon, so the story goes, merely turned his back on him. James did indeed see Napoleon on a number of occasions in 1850 and 1851; but he never claimed to have any success in influencing his policy. On the contrary, he grumbled that the President “like[d] nothing more than to play the little soldier”; he was “an ass ... who would end up turning the whole world against him.” In particular, the possibility of French meddling in the quarrel between Austria and Prussia which flared up in the second half of 1850 filled him with foreboding. Though he continued to dread ending up “in the hands of the reds,” James would not have been entirely sorry if Louis Napoleon had been “chased away like Louis Philippe” over his foreign policy blunders.
All this explains why, as the likelihood of a Bonapartist coup d‘état increased, James was nervous. As early as October 1850, he began to remit gold to the London house, explaining to his nephews that “I would rather have all my gold over there earning 3 per cent on deposit than put it in rentes or keep it in the cellar, when a man like that [Napoleon] might take my money away for being a friend of Changarnier’s. I’m not afraid but I like to be careful. Politically, this is a wretched country.” At the same time, James increased his political exposure by remaining in contact with Changarnier even after the latter’s dismissal from his army and National Guard commands. In October 1851 James told his nephews that “our General” had “great hopes.” “I suspect that before they are realised,” he added uneasily, “Paris may be bathed in blood. I have sold all my rentes.” It was thus not unreasonable for James to fear that he too might be arrested along with Changarnier and the other republican leaders when the coup was launched on the night of December 1-2. Symbolically, he had fallen downstairs and sprained his ankle a week before “Operation Rubicon” (as the coup was codenamed), so he was quite literally prostrate when the Bona partists struck. Small wonder his letters to London immediately after the coup say nothing about politics; as James explained, he had reason to fear that they were being intercepted. Fortunately for the historian, Betty was less discreet when she met Apponyi, so we have a good
idea of her furious reaction:She believes that the President has only succeeded in coming to the rescue of the reds, that he will be obliged to adopt a see-saw policy and that he will finally end up as the instrument of [their] demagogy. “In order to continue down the path the President has chosen, he is obliged to frighten us with demagogy [meaning the far left]; consequently he cannot destroy it completely; I therefore fear that, far from saving society, on the contrary, he will destroy it by applying his personal rule.”
Yet James was never a man to confuse his political preferences with his business interests. Beyond his liking for Changarnier, he felt no loyalty to the Republic, and accepted the new situation with (as Hübner put it) “great resignation.” Pereire brought a reassuring account of the situation to an impromptu gathering of bankers at the rue Laffitte. Those present did notexactly blame Louis Napoleon for having decided to have done with [the constitution] before 1852; the thing was regarded as more or less inevitable; it was only worrying that it was a dangerous gamble. The arrest of several generals was reported; there were fears that this might lead to divisions within the army, which, so it was said, would be the end of France, whoever was the victor. M. Pereire was bombarded with questions. He described what he had seen: the good humour of the officers ; the good spirit of the soldiers, the great development of the military forces, the indifference of those who read the proclamations, the tranquillity of Paris, despite the surprises of the morning. The great financiers listened with pleasure to this reassuring news.
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