The Silent Banshee
In the late 20th century Cotswolds based neoclassical architect William Bertram converted one of England’s greatest country houses into a hotel and a pair of England’s greatest townhouses into a hotel. At one time, both were owned by Von Essen Hotels. Cliveden House Hotel, Berkshire, and The Royal Crescent Hotel, Bath. Two of the three centremost houses of Royal Crescent were combined and a Dower House built in the mews in the early 1980s. In his book Bath (1944), Tony Smith sums up the country’s most majestic concave semi elliptical piece of architecture: “The whole conception and plan of this dazzling achievement is eloquent of the halcyon days of Bath.” Professor David Watkin describes it in The Practice of Classical Architecture: Quinlan and Francis Terry (2015) as “a half crescent facing down a grassy slope”. In 2010, the Terrys even designed their own crescent of retirement homes in Danbury, Essex.
“As the black of a dinner jacket sets off the bright colours of a dress, so the squares, crescents, quadrangles and circles of bath provide a geometric stage for the flow of life,” reckons Jan Morris in the introduction to An Architectural Guide to Bath by Charles Robertson (1975). William Lowndes notes in The Royal Crescent in Bath, (1981), “The central house of the Crescent is Number 16. It is one of the largest houses, and the adjacent houses also come into this category. There are two distinguishing features about the façade of Number 16 which emphasise its commanding position at the apex of the great curve of the Crescent. Four columns are grouped in pairs, and there is an arched first floor window from which both arms of the Crescent can be viewed in all their elegant symmetry.” There is a third distinguishing feature: it is the only house with single pane wide hall windows flanking the entrance door.
The treatment of the centre of the Crescent has been the subject of much scholarly debate. Charles Robertson notes, “The colonnade is not perfectly continuous; in the middle there is the most unobtrusive of breaks, four of the columns being grouped in pairs with a round headed window in between. This method of marking the centre has been variously criticised as being either unnecessary or insufficient. The former view was voiced as early as 1773, as quoted by Walter Ison, ‘The wretched attempt to make a centre to the Crescent where none was necessary is absurd and preposterous, in a high degree. The pairing of the pillars is too small a difference to be noted in so large a building …’” This 18th century critic radically suggests a chapel should have been placed in the middle of the terrace.
“The houses have had some notable occupants,” opines William Lowndes, “particularly during the first 50 years of their history. Elizabeth Montagu, who rejoiced in the spaciousness of their rooms, entertained many of the outstanding literary figures of the late 18th century there … The first dramatic change for over 100 years came in 1950, when Number 16 became a guesthouse. In 1971, together with Number 15, the guesthouse designation was abandoned, and The Royal Crescent Hotel was launched.” He records the presence of a ghost in Number 15: a lady in a long blue silk dress at the top of the stairs. She graciously descends, bestowing a warm smile on guests and staff, before disappearing. He guesses it is the social reformer and patron of the arts Elizabeth Montagu still enjoying her home from beyond the grave. “I believe unique places and people are what give the fabric of our lives richness,” says Edward Gabbai, Founder and Director of the Boutique Hotel Awards.
A hotel is the perfect alternative use and does not require subdivision: these houses were built for entertaining. John Haddon frets in Portrait of Bath (1982), “Conversion is not easy and some of these flats are not particularly convenient, although others are rather splendid. After all, these houses were built without electricity or gas, upstairs piped water, bathrooms, or, in many cases WCs, and they were heated by coal fires, so that to provide separate entrances, kitchens, lavatories and bathrooms on each floor calls for a good deal of ingenuity, although more recent conversions to what the selling agents like to call ‘prestigious apartments’ is made easier by gutting the building and rebuilding behind the original façade. Moreover, subdivision of Georgian rooms destroys their proportions and creates units which tend to be too high for their width. On the other hand, if a room is left as originally built it is expensive to heat.”
John Wood the Younger employed several builders on the 30 houses. They were all constrained by defined dimensions and designs on the cut limestone ashlar façade while allowed to run amok inside and to the rear. Over the course of eight years starting in 1767, the 152 metre long 15 metre high 114 engaged six metre tall Roman Ionic columned terrace took shape in all its geometric sophistication. The columns support a continuous returned balustraded parapet, modillion cornice and frieze. The occasional plate glass window, blind box and metal balconette are almost the only later derivations from the architect’s original concept. One other variation counteracting the powerful elongated temple front is found in the fanlight glazing bars including single pane; three vertical panes; diamond, oval and fish eye patterns. The number of entrance door panels also varies. Clever maths is at play to allow a central door in a terrace of an even number of 30 houses: 95 windows are shared unevenly. Number 1 is three bays wide on the curve; Number 2 to 13 are each three bays wide; Numbers 14 to 16 are each four bays wide; Numbers 17 to 29 are each three bays wide; and Number 30 is four bays wide on the curve.
The architect stipulated that the exterior woodwork must be painted white in perpetuity. Two centuries later, Annabel Wellesley-Colley broke the covenant much to the horror of her neighbours. In 1972 she painted the front door of her house yellow, and to make matters even worse, hung yellow blinds either side of it. She then took to sunbathing on her balcony wearing a yellow bikini. Naturally, Annabel chose the same hue for the suit she wore to the consequent public inquiry at Bath’s Guildhall. She won. “I am a descendent of the Duke of Wellington whose favourite colour was yellow and I regard it as my duty to uphold the tradition!” declared Annabel Wellesley-Colley. The door of Number 22 is still yellow. Charles Robertson wasn’t impressed: “The yellow door and blinds demonstrate how idiosyncrasy can spill over into bad manners.”
Lunch in Montagu’s Mews overlooking the gardens is an incredibly stylish affair. The delicately decorated ground floor reception rooms of William Bertram’s building flow into each other with grace and charm. Elizabeth Montagu would approve if she ever ventures beyond the staircase hall of Number 15. After the geometric perfection of the famous façade, the rear elevations of the Crescent are a glorious asymmetric jumble best viewed over Cornish day boat fish. “A fascinating disharmony,” observes Richard Morriss (on the architecture not the food) in The Buildings of Bath (1993). “A hodge podge, job lot look, an enthralling muddle,” adds Jan Morris (still on the architecture).
Julia Kent provided a review for House and Garden in May 1987, “The restaurant at The Royal Crescent Hotel is an elegant setting for elegant food, the style of which is contemporary yet classic. First courses have recently included gâteaux of wild mushrooms (a crisp potato galette with creamed spinach and girolles) with timbale of trout with a ragout of shellfish and a rich langoustine butter sauce. For the main course, you might opt for fillet of salmon steamed with cucumber and chive cream sauce. A three course meal from the à la carte menu costs about £27.00.” Lunch is a trifle (or two) more expensive these days.
A lifetime ago, Min Hogg, Founding Editor of The World of Interiors, shared her thoughts that interiors can be classified as either cluttered, hot climate, designer decorated, minimal, ancestral, simple, shabby chic or eccentric. Her London home was definitely “shabby chic” (a term she’d invented) while her Canary Islands retreat was of course “hot climate”. Min did admit, “To subdivide all the glories of interior design into a mere eight categories is shockingly presumptuous but they are fundamental.” The original drawing room of Number 16 currently falls into “modern” unlike the “ancestral” interior of the great fun museum in Number 1 Royal Crescent, one of the two five bay fronted end houses. The middle bay of each of the two end houses is defined by a wider gap between the engaged Roman Ionic columns either side of the central first and second floor windows above a pedimented Doric doorcase. This could have been an alternative solution to the central treatment of the Crescent. The corners of the end houses are emphasised by paired engaged columns on the principal elevations.
Who could forget the cartoon amidst the ancestral decoration of Number 1 Royal Crescent sitting room of a gentleman performing the Dicky Dangle Dance? Back at The Royal Crescent Hotel, the modern art of the drawing room recalls The Snob Spotter’s Guide by Philippe Jullian (1958), “Molly was telling me that at the beginning of his career Picasso used a lot of blue in his pictures. She calls it his Blue Period.” Truer to form, Montagu’s Mews is subtly “designer decorated”. Min often commented, “Beautiful interior decoration will always be one of life’s greatest pleasures.”
