Radziwill—Princes sans frontières

Sometimes one single prominent marriage can bring an entire family lineage back into the popular consciousness, even if the details of the who, what, where remain fuzzy. Such is the case for His Serene Highness Prince Stanisław ‘Stas’ Radziwiłł, whose celebrated marriage to Lee Bouvier in March 1959 propelled him into the limelight as part of the world of ‘Camelot’ and the American Kennedys.

Prince and Princess Stanislaus Radziwill

Although before the second World War Prince Stanisław worked for the Polish delegation to the League of Nations and for the Polish Red Cross, the question of his ‘national identity’ is an interesting one. Was he a Pole? When he was born in 1914, at the Radziwill Palace of Szpanów, in Volhynia, he was a subject of the Russian Empire. This region became part of Poland when it regained its independence, then in 1939 it was incorporated into the Soviet Union as part of the Ukrainian SSR. But it had changed times several times even before that: joined to Lithuania in the 14th century, then transferred to Poland in the 16th, and from Poland to Russia at the end of the 18th century. Today most of the grandest former Radziwill properties are in Ukraine and Belarus, but in the past the family were usually considered Polish aristocrats—yet at the very start they were a Lithuanian noble family. While the world’s media focuses this month on the volatile Russo-Ukrainian border, a look at the fascinating history of the princely Radziwill clan can help us understand some of the quite fluid history of this region of the world.

To start with Ukraine, one of the challenges in establishing a national identity in the past hundred years has been a lack of a clearly identifiable historical ruling dynasty, around which most, with few exceptions, European countries were constructed in the medieval and early modern periods. Nationalist state builders of the late 19th and early 20th centuries knew this, hence the establishment of ‘imported’ royal families on the thrones of newly independent states from Greece to Romania, and the plan to do the same for countries emerging from the collapse of the Russian Empire in 1917-18, like Finland or Lithuania, and for Ukraine too: Archduke Wilhelm of Austria was briefly considered for the throne of an independent kingdom, according to the fascinating book by Timothy Snyder, The Red Prince. But centuries before, when this area of what is now Belarus and western Ukraine was part of the federated state of Poland-Lithuania, there was a saying: “There is a king in Warsaw, and a Radziwiłł in Nesvizh”.

Nesvizh, today’s Niasviž in Belarus, was for centuries the centre of a private princely estate that rivalled in size and wealth many western sovereign states. At their height, the aristocratic owners of this estate possessed 23 castles, 426 towns, 2,000 manors and 10,000 villages. They had a private army, which, by the 18th century, could muster 6,000 men. They had townhouses in most important cities in Poland and Lithuania (Warsaw, Lublin, Vilnius), and other regional centres further east (Minsk, Lviv), as well as the major European capitals, Paris, Vienna and Berlin. One of the most prominent in this last category was the Radziwill Palace in Berlin, on Wilhelmstraße near Potsdamer Platz, an 18th-century palais which was acquired by the Prussian government in 1869, and soon after became the seat of the Imperial Chancellor, and was the residence of Adolf Hitler before the building of the New Chancellery in 1939, and was mostly destroyed in World War II.

Palais Radziwill in Berlin before it became the Imperial Chancellery

The Radziwiłł family (properly spelled with two ł’s, which makes a w sound, but usually anglicised simply to Radziwill) were major landowners in what is now Ukraine, but they could never be seen as ‘Ukrainian’ princes, in part due to religion: throughout their history they were strong proponents of Catholicism or Calvinism, never Orthodoxy. Moreover, they were just one of several great princely families whose landholdings in this region were on a truly epic scale.

The lands of Radziwills (blue) and other eastern magnates

Instead, we need to see the Radziwills as representatives of an earlier, pre-nationalist, view of the world, a Lithuanian noble house who rose to power through merging its interests with the Polish monarchy (though sometimes strongly opposing it), and eventually asserting its own independent links to the other dominant powers in the region, Prussia and Russia. There are literally dozens of eminent members of this family, male and female, so this post will offer highlights, and as usual, will focus on dynastic links and built heritage—and there’s a lot of it, and much of it hidden from Western tourists for decades behind the Iron Curtain. So here we can do some virtual tourism thanks to the internet. I will start in Lithuania, then look at the two main branches of the family: the Biržai (Birże in Polish) line and the Nezvizh (Nieśwież) line. Though the latter is the senior branch, it’s the only one to continue into the present, so it makes more sense to finish with it. Across its history, the dynasty—raised to the level of princes in 1518—produced three bishops, two cardinals and one queen, plus eight grand chancellors and seven holders of the post of grand hetman (the highest military commander) of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania.

So let’s start with Lithuania. The Lithuanians are a Baltic people—they are not Slavs like their neighbours to the east and south. They were amongst the last group of Europeans to convert to Christianity, in the late 14th century, but in the two centuries leading up to this the threat of Orthodox Slavic principalities to the east and crusading Catholic warriors from the west forced the Lithuanian nobles to consolidate tribal rule into a unified state, a Grand Duchy. One of the greatest of these Grand Dukes was Jogaila, who not only converted to Christianity, in 1386, but also married the young female ruler of Poland, Jadwiga, joining together the two principalities into one mega-state, Poland-Lithuania, which would stick together until the partitions of these lands between Russia, Prussia and Austria in the 1790s. As part of the dynastic merger agreements of the 1380s, many of the Lithuanian noble families were admitted to the Polish system of ‘heraldic families’, in which clusters of noble houses bore the same or similar coats of arms. The Radziwills’ arms would henceforth bear three horns (‘trąby’).

Poland (red) and Lithuania (pink) joined together in 1386

Grand Duke Jogaila changed his name to the Christian name Vladislav. At the same time, his greatest Lithuanian noble supporters did the same. One of these, Astikas, took the name Christian (or Kristinas). He was said to have descended from a younger brother of one of the early Lithuanian rulers. His son bore the name Radvila (and doesn’t seem to have used his baptised name, Nicholas), which, according to legend refers to a semi-mythical Lithuanian ancestor who was raised by wolves (rado vilko), the pagan high priest Lizdeika who went on to found the city of Vilnius (in an echo of the traditional founding of Rome story by Romulus and Remus). Another idea suggests that the name derives from an ancient Slavic name Radzivon, from the old Greek word for ‘pink’, linking the family to the earlier Slavic rulers of the area, and Greek Orthodoxy. These two contrasting ideas come from Lithuanian sources or Polish sources, so, as always, nationalism plays its part in the creation of history!

Radvila, a 19th-century imagined portrait

In any case, Radvila’s son, Nicholas (Mikalojus in Lithuanian or Mikołaj in Polish) adopted the name Radvilaitisas a surname, later polonised to Radziwiłł. All three of these founders were great landowners in the area of central Lithuania, including Musninkai, to the northwest of the Grand Ducal capital, Vilnius. In 1447, the Grand Duke Casimir granted Radvila the much larger town and estates of Kėdainiai (Kiejdany in Polish), further to the northwest, in a separate region of Lithuania known as Samogitia. This town would remain one of the main bases of the family in the centuries to come. They developed it into a commercial hub, with good water links to the Baltic Sea and to the Hanseatic League, and built one of the first Calvinist (ie, Evangelical Reformed) churches in the region at Kėdainiai, which still retains a family mausoleum.

The Evangelical Church in Kedainiai
The Radziwill palace at Kedainiai in the 19th century

But this extraordinary Protestant activity—one of the most interesting aspects of the Radziwill story—in mostly Catholic Lithuania is in the future. For now, Radvila and his son Mikalojus built up their dynastic power in the region by service to the Grand Duke: the father was Marshal of the Court from 1440, governor of Trakai (one of Lithuania’s former capitals), then castellan of Vilnius, in 1475; he served also as an envoy to the neighbouring Teutonic Order (Germans) and to the Golden Horde (Mongols). The son was also castellan of Trakai, governor of Vilnius, and rose to the post of Grand Chancellor of Lithuania (the top official after the Grand Duke) in 1492. The family would be governors (vaivada) of Vilnius for over 150 years, and one of their major urban palaces still stands in that city, whose history they dominated for so long. Originally a wooden house, then replaced with a baroque structure in the 1630s, Radvilas Palace was mostly unloved in the 18th and 19th centuries. Today it houses an art museum, and although when I visited a couple years ago it looked quite dilapidated, it is undergoing major renovations and has big plans for the future.

Vilnius Palace, my photo of the renovated and unrenovated wings

Mikalojus ‘the Old’ (d. 1509) had four sons, Mikalojus II, Vaitiekus, Jonas (John) and Jergis (George), and a daughter, Anna, who married a Polish prince (from a junior line of the former ruling house), showing how far the family had advanced in just a few generations. Of these sons, the second became Bishop of Vilnius (taking the name Albert), while the others each founded a branch of the family. The eldest son was given lands confiscated by a Lithuanian rebel, Prince Glinski, in 1509, notably Goniądz in the historic region of Podlachia or Podlasie in eastern Poland. Nothing remains of the castle here, but its name became prominent briefly in 1518 as part of the princely title created for Mikalojus II by the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian I, as recognition for his part in the King-Grand Duke Sigismund I’s visit to Vienna a few years before. He also still owned the family’s dynastic patrimony in central Lithuania, and acquired another property through marriage, Medilas, to the east (Medele in Polish, now Miadziel in Belarus). He took over his father’s post as Grand Chancellor of Lithuania in 1510, and was a key proponent of forging tighter political links between Poland and Lithuania (and was thus given the nickname ‘Amor Poloniae’).

Mikalojus, first Prince Radziwill

The title ‘Prince Radziwill of Goniądz and Medilas’ did not survive very long, however, as Mikalojus and his three sons were all dead by the 1540s. One son, Jonas, the 2nd Prince Radziwill, was ducal governor of the Duchy of Samogitia, while the other was the Bishop of Samogitia—a pretty good monopoly on local power, secular and sacred. Jonas had three daughters, who took with them the lands of the senior branch into other noble houses—each of these sons-in-law was a voivode or governor of one of the key provinces of Lithuania’s great eastern expansion (done mostly in the 14th and 15th centuries, but a source of enduring tension with Muscovy): Polotsk, Vitebsk and Ruthenia. These lands form today the nation known as Belarus, so it is here where we will ultimately shift our attention for the second branch (Nesvizh). But it’s also worth noting that at least one of these three daughters, Anna (d. 1600), converted to Calvinism, and later Unitarianism, and became known as a religious writer and supporter of the Polish Brethren.

Princess Anna Radziwillowna

Although Anna and her cousins in both the second and third branches of the Radziwill family initially joined the evangelical reform movement sweeping across Europe in the 1530s-40s, only the third branch, Biržai, retained it. This branch, at first known for its earlier seat of Dubingiai (Dubinki in Polish), was founded by Jurgis (Jerzy, or George), known as ‘Hercules’ for his great prowess in battle against the traditional enemies of the Grand Duchy to the east: Muscovy, the Cossacks and the Tatars. He was at various points governor of the Kiev province, as well as castellan of Trakai and Vilnius, and in 1531 was named Grand Hetman of Lithuania. The term ‘hetman’ is a curious title used in various states of Eastern Europe to denote a military commander; it was also used by the Cossacks to denote the leader of the tribes. It seems to come either from German Hauptmann, ‘captain’, or Turkic ataman, ‘father of men’. As leader of the Polish-Lithuanian armies, and in conjunction with the rising political power of his son Mikolaj the Red and his nephew Mikolaj the Black, the Radziwills dominated the Grand Duchy in almost every aspect.

Mikolaj ‘the Red’

Mikolaj II ‘the Red’ forged an alliance with his cousin Mikolaj ‘the Black’ (see below). Both were strong proponents of greater autonomy for Lithuania, within the dual Polish-Lithuanian monarchy, though the family itself was increasingly Polish in language and customs (and I’ll switch to Polish spellings for their names from here on). When the senior princely line of the family became extinct in 1542, the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, extended this great honour by making both cousins princes of the Empire, in 1547 (confirmed by the Polish king in 1549).

Emperor Charles V grants the princely title and arms to the Radziwills

This was a good move on the Emperor’s part and would secure a Habsburg ally—as we shall see—within Poland-Lithuania for years to come. The title of ‘imperial prince’ given to nobles who resided outside of the Empire was purely honorary and brought with it no legal rights within the Empire, such as a vote in the Imperial Diet. To mark their honour, both new princes were permitted to place their three-horned trąby arms onto a black eagle symbolising the Holy Roman Empire; the modern Radziwill coat-of-arms was born.

The full princely arms of the Radziwills

But another key element that propelled the Radziwills into the category of European princes was the fact that by 1547, Mikolaj’s sister Barbara was secretly married to a royal prince, who succeeded his father as King Sigismund II August of Poland (and Grand Duke of Lithuania) the next year, making Barbara Radziwillówna a queen. There was great opposition amongst the Polish nobility to allow her to be formally recognised, and some accused her of seducing the King or worse of bewitching him with spells or poisons. But through the great power of the two Radziwill cousins, Red and Black, she was crowned in Krakow in December 1550. She died only five months later, and her story soon evolved into one of true love and devotion triumphing over diversity, revived especially in the Romantic 19th century, as the subject of paintings, plays and novels, and again today (there have been two recent musicals based on her story).

Queen Barbara Radziwillowna

By this point Barbara’s brother Mikolaj the Red was the virtual ruler of Lithuania, second only to the King, as Grand Chancellor from 1566. After King Sigismund II died in 1572, the last of the House of Jagiello, the Radziwill princes demonstrated their loyalty to the Habsburgs by supporting a Habsburg candidate in the royal elections that followed (from 1573 onwards the Polish throne was elective, all the way into the 18th century). But the Radziwill-Habsburg alliance was unusual given that both of the new imperial princes had embraced the Evangelical Reform movement (the branch of Protestantism started by John Calvin) in the 1560s, and actively built Protestant schools and churches in their estates and towns. Mikolaj the Red was based at Dubingiai, in the forested area just north of Vilnius. The castle there had been built by the Lithuanian grand dukes in the early 15th century, and was rebuilt by the Radziwills in the early 16th. At its height it was the largest castle in Lithuania, and became an important centre for Calvinism. The family moved to Biržai early in the 17th century (below), and Dubingiai fell into ruin, but many of the members of this branch were buried in the Reformed church there, whose remains have recently been excavated.

the ruins of Dubingiai in the 19th century

The two sons of Mikolaj the Red (d. 1584) were Prince Mikolaj III (d. 1589) and Prince Krzysztof (d. 1603)—both are called ‘prince’ since the title ‘prince of the Empire’ extends to all sons and daughters (and all subsequent male descendants) of the original bearer, not just the eldest son. The elder brother, Mikolaj, followed his father’s footsteps and supported the establishment of Calvinist schools and churches in Lithuania, as well as the Habsburg candidates for the Polish throne (unsuccessfully). His son, Jerzy (d. 1613), castellan of Trakai, did much the same, but began to see his family’s influence decline as their clear lack of support for the new royal family, the Vasas, brought them increasingly into disfavour at court in Krakow. Krzysztof, on the other hand, made a great name for himself as one of the most celebrated military commanders of the era, in seemingly endless wars against Muscovy to the east and Sweden to the north, earning him the nickname ‘Piorun’, Polish for ‘thunderbolt’. Like his father and grandfather, he was also Grand Hetman of Lithuania.

Thunderbolt’s sons continued this military tradition, but also continued the Radziwill family’s trend to establish its own foreign policy, at the expense of its relationship with the ruling house of Poland. Prince Janusz (d. 1620) was part of a rebellion against King Sigismund III Vasa in 1606, which was badly defeated. He also grew the family’s reputation as ‘princely’ not merely noble, through two marriages: first to the heiress of one of the ancient Russian principalities, Slutsk (or Słuck in Polish); and second to a daughter of the Elector of Brandenburg. Religiously, these were interesting marriages, since Zofia Olelkowicz of Slutsk was Orthodox (and would be canonised by the Belarusian Orthodox Church in 1983) and Elisabeth Sophie von Hohenzollern was Calvinist. Slutsk brought with it 7 castles and 32 villages, now in south-central Belarus. Like the other Radziwill properties, it became a major centre for Calvinism, but also attracted large amounts of Jewish settlers (50% of the population by the late 19th century). The marriage with the Elector’s daughter brought with it closer ties to the emerging Duchy of Prussia, the secularised properties of the Teutonic Order (in 1525), wedged in between Poland and Lithuania.

The religious situation in Poland-Lithuania, 1573, with Calvinists in purple and Orthodox in green (and this map helpfully locates Nesvizh, Slutsk, Kletsk, Olyka and Kėdainiai (NB: Kijow is Polish for Kyiv)

Janusz’s brother, Prince Krzysztof II (d. 1640), also established his name fighting against the Russians and the Swedes, and like others in his family, became increasingly opposed to the rule of King Sigismund III. Alienated from the court, he established himself at this branch’s new seat, Biržai (Birże in Polish—both accent marks indicate a ‘zh’ sound), located in the northern regions of Lithuania. His residence was a new building, from the 1580s, in Renaissance style, with an artificial lake. Krzysztof renovated it again in the 1630s, along Italianate lines, and filled it with treasures and curiosities from all over the world. He developed his stables into one of the largest and most famous in Europe. Unfortunately Biržai was almost completely destroyed by Swedish armies in 1704, but it was reconstructed from the ruins in the 1980s and today houses a regional history museum.

The fortress of Birzai and its town in the 17th century
The ruins of Birzai in 1926
reconstructed Birzai today

The sons of Janusz and Krzysztof, Prince Bogusław and Prince Janusz II, took the family’s international reputation to new heights, very nearly achieved sovereignty of a sort, but then came crashing down again, and this branch itself became extinct by the end of the century. After studies in Leiden and stints as ambassador to Holland and England, the older (but junior) cousin, Janusz, rose to prominence first, as Chamberlain of Lithuania (1633), then Field Hetman (1646), Voivode of Vilnius (1653) and finally Grand Hetman (1654). His first marriage was to a prominent Polish noblewoman, but his second marriage, to the daughter of the Hospodar (‘prince’) of Moldavia, signified that he had higher ambitions. He assumed his family’s now traditional position as protector of Protestants throughout the Commonwealth, which may have led him towards closer association with the traditional enemy, Lutheran Sweden. In one of the episodes of the Northern Wars, Sweden defeated and occupied much of Lithuania, and in August 1655, Janusz signed a peace treaty with Sweden—unsanctioned by his sovereign the Grand Duke of Lithuania (King John II Casimir)—at his family’s residence at Kedainiai. This was followed by the ‘Union of Kedainiai’ in October, which proposed to create a semi-sovereign Radziwill duchy within the Swedish Empire. But the ink was barely dry before Janusz, already seriously ill, died and the Swedes were chased out of Lithuania. The Prince was regarded by the rest of the Polish and Lithuanian nobility as the grandest traitor that had ever been seen.

Prince Janusz, 1634

Prince Boguslaw (d. 1669) had supported his cousin’s ambitions, led a Swedish-backed army against the royalist forces of Poland-Lithuania, and shared his cousin’s downfall and shame in 1655. He retreated to the Prussian capital of his cousin, the Elector of Brandenburg. He set up residence in Königsberg, and was soon named Governor of Prussia (1657).

Prince Bogulaw

Before he left Lithuania, he had renovated yet another major palace in the region, this time in Poland (east-central): Starawieś, acquired by marriage in the 16th century. Boguslaw added towers and cupolas before he sold it in 1664. The palace passed through many noble hands before it was re-purchased by a Radziwill in 1912 (having been renovated again in the 1840s in neo-gothic style). Starawieś Palace was nationalised in 1945, and used as a school and a summer camp, before being bought and renovated by the National Bank of Poland in the 1960s, and used today as a training centre.

Starawies Palace

In 1665, Boguslaw married his cousin’s daughter and heir, Princess Maria Anna, to keep all the other titles and estates in the family. By now they were using the titles Prince of Slutsk and Duke of Biržai and Dubingiai. These were passed to his only child, Princess Ludowika Karolina, who spent most of her short life (1667-95) in Königsberg and Berlin, but took an active interest in maintaining ‘her’ Calvinists back in Lithuania and Slutsk.

Princess Ludowika Karolina
Slutsk Calvinist church

Princess Ludowika Karolina married two times, first to a younger son of the Elector of Brandenburg (Prince Ludwig), and then in 1688, to Karl Philipp, Count Palatine of Neuburg, who would later succeed to the title Elector Palatine. She had a daughter from this latter marriage, and the succession would be contested between different Polish families (supported by the Polish Crown), and the Neuburg family for many years. Princess Ludowika Karolina’s much later descendant, the Duke of Urach, used this link to advance his candidacy as king of an independent Lithuania in 1918 (see my blog on Teck and Urach). Much of the Neuburg succession, notably the Lithuanian lands of Biržai and Dubingiai, was re-acquired by the Nesvizh line of the Radziwills in the mid-18th century, but was later seized by the Russian authorities in 1811and sold to another noble family. This brings the story of the Biržai and Dubingiai branch to an end, and links us to the other main branch, that of Nesvizh, and the descendants of Prince Mikolaj the Black.

Nesvizh Castle is, by western European standards, a princely palace on an epic scale. But it is only one of the many stately homes built by the Radziwills in the 16th century in what is now southern Belarus (Polotsk) and northwest Ukraine (Volhynia). Nesvizh (Nieśwież in Polish, Niasviž in Belarusian, Nesvyžiaus in Lithuanian) was a large estate owned by Mikolaj the Black from 1533. Its importance was recognised in 1551 when it became one of the repositories for the state archives of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. This region had been known in the middle ages as the Principality of Polotsk, a vassal state of the princes of Rus’ in Kiev, but annexed by the Lithuanian dukes in the 13th century. By the 16th century, with these territories being so far from the royal court in Krakow, it was important to have powerful loyal families stationed here, particularly to defend the frontier in frequent wars with the rising power of Muscovy to the east. The castle of Nesvizh was largely rebuilt in the 1580s, on an immense scale, with an entire town attached. It was sacked by the Swedes in 1706, then refurbished and enlarged, with three separate buildings joined together around a courtyard. In 1792, it was seized by the Russians, its precious archive taken to St Petersburg and its massive art collection dispersed. It was abandoned by the family until a renewed interest in the late 19th century (and given an English style park). It became part of Poland again in 1920, then part of Soviet Union in 1939 and the family were expelled.

Nesvizh, central courtyard
Nesvizh from the lake

Back in the 16th century, the owner of Nesvizh, Mikolaj the Black, was not entirely subservient to the policies of the ruling Jagiellonian dynasty. As we have seen above, he and his cousin, Mikolaj the Red were elevated to the rank of imperial princes in 1547, and were also amongst the most prominent converts to Calvinism in this region. Prince Mikolaj the Black notably provided funds for the printing of the first complete translation of the Bible into Polish in 1563, and founded a Reformed church and college in Vilnius. He increased the power of the grand dukes of Lithuania (remember, these are also the kings of Poland) in the Baltic by acting as chief negotiator with the Grand Master of the Livonian Order to oversee its dissolution and transformation into a vassal state (Courland, now Latvia) in 1562. And he was one of the chief proponents of the increased polonisation of the area, in culture and language (it is noted that by now the family spoke Polish, not Lithuanian, or Ruthenian, the language of the elites in the Grand Duchy). He was a strong supporter of the Crown as Grand Marshal of Lithuania (1544), Grand Chancellor (1550), and Voivode of Vilnius (1551). But he was also a leader of the movement to strengthen the position of Lithuania relative to Poland within the dual monarchy.

Mikolaj ‘the Black’ (a mid-18th-century portrait)

Nevertheless, this branch of the family diverged from the Biržai branch, in returning to a mostly loyal position towards the Polish Crown, and indeed to a firm loyalty to the Catholic Church. Mikolaj the Black had four sons. Three of them became in turn Grand Marshal of Lithuania. A fourth, Jerzy (d. 1600), renounced Protestantism in 1572, studied abroad with the Jesuits, and became bishop of Vilnius (1580), cardinal (1584), and bishop of Krakow (1593). As one of the strong proponents of the Catholic Reformation, he created a seminary in Vilnius and helped gain university status for the Jesuit academy in that city (today’s Vilnius University, the oldest in the Baltics). As bishop of Krakow, he became one of the key advisors to King Sigismund III. He was even considered at one point as a candidate to become pope.

Cardinal Radziwill

Cardinal Radziwill’s ally in the importation of the Jesuit Order into Lithuania was his older brother, Mikolaj Sierotka (or ‘the Orphan’, so called by King Sigismund August who found him ‘abandoned’ and crying as a child and tried to hush him). He founded a printing press for the Jesuits in Vilnius, and built a large Jesuit church in Nesvizh, which became the family mausoleum for the next 250 years. He decided to make Nesvizh his permanent base, and built roads, hospitals and schools there. He also created what was called an ‘ordinat’ (ordynacja in Polish), or entail, in 1586, a legal framework adopted by many magnate families that ensured their estates would stay together and pass from generation to generation, rather than be divided amongst all the sons as was tradition. From this point, the head of the ordinat would usually use the title ‘duke’, with the princely qualifiers of ‘illustrious’ and even Dei gratia (‘by the grace of God’), something usually reserved only for sovereigns. Like others of his family, Mikolaj Sierotka had a semi-independent foreign policy, supporting the Habsburgs in several royal elections in Poland-Lithuania, and pressing the King to forge ahead with his plans to reunify the Catholic and Orthodox churches—resulting in the Union of Brest, 1596, which created the ‘Uniate Ruthenian Church’, whose members survive today as Belarusian Greek Catholics and Ukrainian Greek Catholics. These are churches that are still Orthodox in theology and ritual, but are in full communion with Rome.

Mikolaij ‘Sierotka’

Mikolaj Sierotka was also a scholar and a traveller: he had taken a pilgrimage to the Holy Land and Egypt in 1583-84, and converted in Rome on the journey. He then published a travel narrative in Latin in 1601. He was also a keen supporter of the emerging field of cartography and imported designers and architects to redesign his palace in Nesvizh in the 1580s, but also the nearby palace of Mir, about 18 miles to the northwest. The Radziwills had acquired this palace from the Ilyinich family in 1568, and Mikolaj transformed the old castle into a magnificent Renaissance palace. Famous for its five towers, it is (along with Nesvizh) a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Mir Palace

Ordinats were also created in 1586 for Sierotka’s younger brothers, one at Kletsk for Albrycht, and one at Olyka for Stanislaw. Mikolaj the Black had created a Calvinist church in Kletsk, but his son handed it back to the Catholic Church and founded a number of convents in his estates. The castle there was destroyed by the Russians in 1660, and again by Swedes in 1706, and never rebuilt. The Radziwills are remembered visually, however, in the coat of arms of the town, which still bears a curved black horn.

the arms of the town of of Kletsk today
Kletsk in the 17th century

Olyka was located further to the south, in the province of Volhynia, now in Ukraine. Like Polotsk, Volhynia had been an independent principality in the Middle Ages, then annexed by Lithuania in the 1300s. The town and castle of Olyka became Radziwill property in the 1560s, and Mikolaj the Black built a grand new palace there. It became one of the largest aristocratic residences in Ukraine. As a centre of revived Catholicism, a Collegiate Church was added later in the century, a replica of the Gesú church in Rome.

Olyka Castle
Olyka in the 19th century

The lines of Kletsk and Olyka both continued into the 17th century, but were both extinct by 1690, meaning their estates passed back to the main branch. Although the main line was based mostly in Nesvizh, they also naturally established bases further west in Poland, as they were frequently needed in Krakow or Warsaw to participate in assemblies of the nobles or elections of kings. The castle of Szydłowiec, a short distance southeast of Warsaw (which became the royal capital in the early 17th century with the permanent transferral of the royal court from Krakow), served as one of these. Brought in to the family by marriage in 1548, it was redeveloped as a baroque palace in the 1620s. It also became a key economic centre for the family’s interests, attracting numerous Jewish settlers in the 18th century, before passing out of Radziwill hands in the 19th. Disused until the 1960s, today Szydłowiec Castle houses a cultural centre and a museum of folk musical instruments.

Szydłowiec Castle

Not too far away from Szydłowiec was Biała Podlaska. Acquired in the 1560s, the castle here was rebuilt in the 1620s by Sierotka’s son Prince Aleksander Ludwik (d. 1654). This prince, a contemporary of the great hero/traitors Janusz and Boguslaw, stayed mostly out of politics. He developed Biała Podlaska (or ‘white town in Podlasie’) in part to stay safe when his eastern estates were under threat from Russian or Cossack invasions. He built an academy there—one of the oldest high schools in Poland still in existence—alongside hospitals and almshouses for the poor. A grand white tower was added in 1720. Most of this was pulled down in the 1880s and it became a Russian garrison.

Biała Podlaska Castle and Radziwill Square

Aleksander Ludwik’s son, Prince Michal Kazimierz (d. 1680), also brought this branch of the family into closer contact with the Polish court and the growing royal city of Warsaw. He married a sister of the King, Jan III Sobieski, and acquired a huge palace right in the centre of town, on the ‘Royal Avenue’ (aka Krawkowskie Przedmieście, or ‘Krakow Suburb’). This magnificent residence, built in the 1640s in Italian baroque style, was purchased from the Lubomirski family in 1674. A century later it was at the centre of Polish politics hosting meetings for a group that drew up Poland’s revolutionary constitution in May 1791. This branch became extinct in 1813, as we shall see, and by 1818 the building was confiscated by the new Russian rulers of Poland, and a viceroy was installed in the former Radziwill Palace. It was rebuilt in a Classical style (burned then restored in the 1850s), and became the seat of the Polish Prime Minister when independence was restored in 1918. Since 1994 it has been the seat of the President of Poland. It is fascinating to consider that between 1918 and 1939, the heads of government of both Germany and Poland resided in former Radziwill palaces!

Radziwill Palace in Warsaw in the 1760s
The Presidential Palace today

Prince Michal Kazimierz, duke of Nesvizh, was succeeded by his sons Prince Jerzy (d. 1689), then Prince Karol Stanislaw (d. 1719), who became yet another Radziwill Grand Chancellor of Lithuania. He had two sons, Michal Kazimierz ‘Rybenko’ and Hieronim Florian, who continued to amass an ever greater fortune for the dynasty. Rybenko (‘fish’, a term he liked to call people as a term of endearment, like ‘pet’, so it became his nickname) was not a great general or politician, but was known as a courtier, a great supporter of the new Saxon dynasty ruling Poland-Lithuania from the early 18th century. The younger brother, Prince Hieronim (d. 1760), managed to reacquire by mid-century the great lost succession of the Biržai-Dubingiai line, located mostly in Lithuania proper, but also including the principality of Slutsk in Belarus. Here he opened a factory to mass produce the famous ‘Slutsk sash’, by now the must-have element of a nobleman’s traditional attire and the symbol of the Polish, Lithuanian and Ruthenian nobilities.

A Slutsk sash from the 18th century

Hieronim is remembered as an eccentric, creating a large private army and a cadet school to train it, a ballet school, an Italian theatre, but also, supposedly, cruel torture chambers at Biała, and a prison for a mentally ill cousin. He has an amazing portrait, and you can see why there was a rumour that he was Peter the Great’s illegitimate son.

Prince Hieronim–maybe a monster, but had great style

When Prince Hieronim died his properties passed to his nephew Karol Stanislaw II (d. 1790), who became the richest magnate in Poland-Lithuania, and indeed possibly in Europe. He was known as ‘Panie Kochanku’ or ‘Beloved Sir’, apparently due to his reputation as a true gentleman of the old school, a noble patriot ready to defend Poland’s honour. Though he was a leader of the opposition to reform in the 1770s-80s (and thus against King Stanislas Poniatowski), he was also an ardent opponent of partition, and had to leave the country for a spell after several of his estates in the east became subject to Russia at the First Partition in 1772 and he refused to swear loyalty to Catherine the Great. His palace in Warsaw was ever a hub of political activity, and as a cosmopolitan prince, he also maintained a residence in Paris, the centre of the civilised world, on a street not too far from the Louvre, today called rue Radziwill.

Panie Kochanku

Both Panie Kochanku and his brother Hieronim Wincenty died before the partitions could really make their full impact and destroy the independence of Poland-Lithuania for the next century. The latter’s son, Dominik Hieronim, was very young when the Second and Third Partitions happened (1793, 1795), making most of Lithuania, Polotsk and Volhynia part of the Russian Empire. Properties closer to Warsaw, notably Biała, became part of the Austrian Empire. Prince Dominik (b. 1786), the 11th ‘ordinat’ or ‘duke’ of Nesvizh and Olyka, and the 8th lord of Biała, prince of Slutsk, count of Szydłowiec, etc, at first embraced the new situation, re-established himself in Nesvizh, and became a chamberlain in the household of Tsar Alexander in 1804. But by 1807 he became disaffected and returned to Warsaw where he joined the movement allied with Napoleon to push for restored Polish independence. He joined the French-Polish army in 1810, his estates were confiscated by the Tsar in 1811, and he took part in the invasion of Russia of 1812, as part of the Polish Regiment in the Imperial Guard. He was wounded the next year in battle near Hanau in Germany, and died.

Dominik Hieronim

Dominik left behind a contested succession. His son, Alexander, was born in the midst of a divorce from his first wife and before the marriage to his second wife took place. He was thus excluded from the succession, which fell entirely to his daughter (born after the second marriage) Stefania. Alexander was recognised as a prince and heir to the Radziwill properties by the Austrian Emperor, but not by the Tsar. There is much less biographical information on Alexander’s descendants, who lived in Austria and the now Austrian parts of Poland—the newly formed Kingdom of Galicia. They established themselves at a castle near Krakow called Grójec. The last, Princess Maria Maximiliana, was forcibly evicted from there in 1945, and died in 1981.

Grojec Palace

Princess Stefania, though barred from inheriting much of the estates by the terms of the entail, was nevertheless still heiress of over a million hectares, mostly in Lithuania and Ruthenia. She was married by the Tsar in 1828 to a German princeling who was also a Russian general, Ludwig of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg, but the lawsuits dragged on and on, and were not finally resolved until they belonged to her daughter, married to the Prince of Hohenlohe. By this point the family resided in Germany, where Hohenlohe was a rising politician (he would later become Chancellor of the Empire), and as non-nationals they were declared unable to possess property in Russia, and forced to sell it in 1893.

Princess Stefania

With the passing of the main line of the Nesvizh Branch in 1813, leadership of the family fell to a cadet line founded in the late 17th century by Prince Dominik Mikolaj, another Radziwill who served as Grand Chancellor of Lithuania (1690-97). This branch was based in Kletsk, one of the three ordinats set up in 1586. Dominik was succeeded by Prince Jan (d. 1729) then Prince Marcin (d. 1782) who was, like his cousin Hieronim Florian, quite the eccentric, and in the end was the one referred to above as being imprisoned by Hieronim due to his mental instability. The stories about his behaviour range quite widely, including imprisoning his wife and sons for many years, creating a harem for slave girls, acting as a local highway robber and arsonist, and getting involved in cultish study of the more mystical parts of Judaism.

Prince Marcin

Marcin’s son Prince Mikolaj Jozef of Kletsk (d. 1813) weathered the storms of the three partitions of Poland. Finding his lands now in the Russian Empire, he began to focus his line’s activities instead in a new estate acquired by the family in the 18th century, Przygodzice, in ‘Great Poland’ in the southwest near the border with Silesia and the city of Breslau (Wrocław). The real leader of the family at this time however was his youngest brother (and ultimate successor), Michal Hieronim (d. 1831), who was the last ever voivode of Vilnius—a title which became defunct after the third partition, 1795.

Prince Michal Hieronim

But he cannot be seen as a victim here—indications as early as the 1770s were that he was seen as a ‘reliable’ ally for Russian interests in the Polish Sejm (parliament), and is accused of receiving large sums from them in 1773 with which he acquired a major new estate, Nieborów, to the west of Warsaw. Nieborów was a baroque palace built in the 1690s by the Archbishop of Gniezno, with a French-style park. It had passed through several aristocratic hands in the 18th century, before being purchased by Michal Hieronim Radziwill. He and his wife, Helena, filled it with vast art collections, and built a much-admired garden feature, ‘Arkadia’. These passed to various family members in the 19th and 20th centuries, until taken over by the state in 1945. Today Nieborów Palace houses a museum of interior design and 18th-century furniture.

Nieborow Palace
Arkadia in the 19th century

Whatever the truth of his Russian secret connections, Prince Michal Hieronim did vote in favour of the 2nd Partition of 1793, and signed the document making it legal, as a representative of Lithuania. After 1813, he not only succeeded to his branch’s ordinat of Kletsk, but also managed to acquire the two ordinats of the main branch, Nesvizh and Olyka, all now situated in the Russian Empire. This huge windfall was granted by the Tsar not just due to his past loyalty to Russian, but also in part due to his second son’s increased favour with the Prussian royal family.

In 1796, Prince Antoni Henryk (d. 1833) had married Princess Luise of Prussia, daughter of Prince Ferdinand (younger brother of Frederick the Great) and thus first cousin of the King of Prussia (Frederick William III). The Radziwill lands in the west of Poland, notably Przygodzice, were now part of Prussia, and so Antoni founded the more ‘German’ branch of the Radziwill family.

Prince Antoni and Louise of Prussia

His elder brother, Ludwik, in contrast, moved further into Russian orbit, and based himself in Kletsk and the other territories in what was increasingly being called ‘White Russia’ (hence today’s Belarus, from ‘biela’ or ‘white’). Ludwik’s son in particular, Prince Leon (or Lev) (d. 1885) became a Russian diplomat and cavalry general, and was close to Tsar Nicolas I in particular, as his wife, Princess Sofia, was rumoured to be the Tsar’s mistress. As a Russian military commander, Leon helped put down the ‘November Uprising’ of 1830-31, in which Poles attempted to free themselves of Russian rule.

Prince Leon in the 1860s

In stark contrast, his uncle, the youngest brother of Ludwik and Antoni, Prince Michal Gedeon (d. 1850), was the commander-in-chief of the November Uprising. He had earned his stripes earlier in his career as a commander in the Polish army assembled by Napoleon in his fight against Russia. For his part in the Uprising he was imprisoned for five years in Russia, then retired from active service.

Prince Michal Gedeon

Michal Gedeon had acquired yet another new residence, through marriage in 1815: Szpanów, in Volhynia (today’s Shpaniv in Ukraine). This estate, near the town of Rivne (formerly Rovno), was not far from the family’s major estate of Olyka, and like it, was one of the grandest aristocratic estates in Volhynia. The Radziwills rebuilt it in the 19th century, and developed its park and gardens. It became part of Poland again after the First World War, then the estate was taken over by the Soviet army during the Second World War, and nothing remains of the buildings.

Returning to Prince Antoni Henryk, his Prussian connections were encouraged. He was appointed in 1815 as the first and only Statthalter (autonomous governor) of the Grand Duchy of Poznań (Posen in German), the new Prussian province acquired in the Third Partition of Poland and erected as a Grand Duchy after the Congress of Vienna. Fifteen years later he removed from this position when the Grand Duchy lost its autonomy after the November Uprising (which many of the Poles in Poznań had supported). Shifting his interests to Berlin, Antoni’s palace there became a major centre of art and culture, a representative space for Polishness within the Prussian capital. Himself a talented musician and composer, he entertained many prominent musicians here, like Beethoven and Mendelssohn, and had several compositions dedicated to him, notably by Polish composer Fryderyk Chopin, who also gave lessons to his daughter, Princess Wanda.

Chopin performs for the Radziwills

Chopin also stayed at Prince Antoni’s new country residence near the family estates at Przygodzice, a small hunting lodge made of wood, built in 1822-24 and named after its builder: Antonin. This would be the home base for this branch of the family into the mid-20th century, and still today hosts one of the major Chopin festivals in Poland.

Antonin

The Prussian connections remained in the next generation: Antoni’s other daughter, Princess Elisa, was ardently desired in marriage by the Crown Prince (the future Kaiser Wilhelm I), but was deemed of insufficient rank. Elisa’s two brothers, Wilhelm and Boguslas, were both Prussian generals, sat in the Prussian House of Lords, and tried to oppose as best they could Bismarck’s anti-Catholic and anti-Polish policies in the 1860s-70s. The successive princes of this branch continued to act as representatives of Poles within the German Empire, but also maintained the presence of the family in Russia—Nesvizh remained the preferred burial site well into the 20th century. Many were quick to support the re-emergence of an independent Polish state in 1918, though they were mostly advocates of the more conservative approach to re-forming a government, perhaps preferring a monarchy (and in fact their names were even suggested as potential kings of either Poland or Lithuania).

Nesvizh once again became an outpost in the eastern borderlands of Polish politics, particularly under Prince Antoni Albrecht, known as ‘Aba’ (d. 1935) who re-established it as his base. The Prince had social connections with the West, and in 1910 married an Anglo-American socialite, Dorothy Deacon, the sister of the scandalous Gladys, Duchess of Marlborough (the marriage ended soon after). He also maintained a residence in Warsaw. His uncle, Stanisław, pushed for Polish independence from the other side, as an officer of the Russian army and a founder of the ‘National and Preservation Party’ in 1917 in St Petersburg, and an early ally of Marshal Piłsudski, one of the founders of the newly independent Polish state in 1918.

Prince Antoni Albrecht
Dorothy, Princess Radziwill, 1913

In 1922, Prince Antoni Albrecht still owned about 80,000 hectares, while his brother Karol owned over 150,000 in the eastern reaches of Poland (now a borderland with the new Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic). The youngest brother, Prince Leon Władisław, was the last ordinat of Nesvizh (the 17th) and also of Kletsk (the 14th). When this part of Poland was annexed by Belarus in 1939, he moved abroad. His last male descendant, the lineal head of the House of Radziwill, Prince Jerzy, died in 2007.

The junior line of this branch, the branch of Przygodzice (a fourth ordinat, created formally in 1873)—or we might call them the ‘Prussian branch’—also took over one of the more ancient ordinats, that of Olyka. Prince Ferdynand (d. 1926) was the 12th ordinat of Olyka, and owned about 43,000 hectares in Western Poland and Volhynia in 1922. As a former long-term member of the Prussian Parliament, his reputation as an elder statesman was drawn on to help set up the new Polish Parliament in 1919. His eldest son Michal ‘the Red’ (d. 1955) was not so revered: his vocally pro-German views led even to him offering his residence of Antonin to Hitler as a form of appeasement; while his scandalous personal life led him to be ostracised by society and most of his family. Instead of thanked, Prince Michal’s ordinat of Przygodzice was nationalised by the Germans, and he ended up leaving very little to his heir, his nephew, also called Michal (d. 1974), whose grandson Marcin (b. 1965) is since 2007 the lineal head of the Radziwill family, though keeps a very low profile in the world of modern princes.

One ordinat remained, Olyka, which was given to the third son of Prince Ferdynand, Prince Janusz (d. 1967). He also owned Nieborów and Szpanów and a palace in Warsaw—these given by a cousin from another branch who had no heir (this Radziwill Palace, on Bielańska street, is now the Museum of Independence), and, unlike his older brother Michal, became one of the leading politicians of the new Polish republic in the 1920s, in particular as a leader of the aristocratic conservative movement, which considered possibly restoring a monarchy of some sort (perhaps even with himself as monarch). In the very early days of Polish independence, he acted as director of the new State Department, creating a revived diplomatic service.

Prince Janusz

In 1939, Prince Janusz attempted to use his international connections to soften the German occupation, but he was imprisoned by the Nazis in 1944, then briefly imprisoned by the Soviets in 1945. Olyka and his other estates in Volhynia (including Szpanów) had been transferred to the Soviet Union in 1939 and thus nationalised, as was Nieborów in Poland, in 1945. Janusz’s elder son, Edmund (d. 1971), was also imprisoned in Russia, for two years (1945-47), while his younger son was Stanisłas (d. 1976), with whom we began this post—in later life he resided in London where he set up a school for Polish refugees and a centre for Polish historical research.

There are in fact many more junior branches, following literally an explosion of Radziwill princes and princesses in the 18th and 19th centuries. One of these was called the line of Szydłowiec, named for the property the family had held south of Warsaw since the mid-16th century, though it was mostly administered from afar, until its own branch was formed in the early 18th century. Prince Maciej (d. 1800) was the last Grand Chancellor of Lithuania (from 1786) and the last Castellan of Vilnius under the old Polish-Lithuanian union (1790-95). He was part of the group trying to save Polish independence through the creation of a modern constitution, and was a hero of the military action against partition in 1792. Partition occurred nevertheless, and he found that his estates now were part of Austria, and their new province of Galicia. When he died, due to serious financial difficulties, much of the inheritance that should have passed to his underage son, including Szydłowiec, was instead auctioned by the Austrian government and purchased by another magnate family, the Sapieha.

Prince Maciej

The many descendants of this underage son Konstanty Mikołaj (d. 1863) can thus be considered the ‘Austrian branch’, and they maintained their main sphere of interest in Krakow, the capital of Galicia after 1849. In the 1880s, his 5th son, Prince Dominik, purchased Balice Palace, on the outskirts of Krakow, which became one of the main residences of this branch until it was nationalised in 1945—it is now part of the Jagiellonian University of Krakow.

Balice Palace

They also held Sichów Palace, to the northeast of the city. None are very prominent in the history of Austria or Galicia, though one, Prince Dominik’s son Hieronim, married into the Imperial family itself in 1909, the Archduchess Renata, a cousin of the Emperor. Their son, another Dominik, married in 1938 Princess Eugénie of Greece (a cousin of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh), but the family’s fortunes came to a halt when Hieronim was sent to a gulag in Russia where he died in 1945, and Dominik and his family moved abroad.

Prince Hieronim and Archduchess Renata

In contrast, another member of this family embraced the new communist regime in Poland: Prince Krzysztof (d. 1986), known as ‘The Red Prince’ who had been in a German concentration camp during the war, and later served as a member of Parliament in the Polish People’s Republic. His daughter, Dr Anna Radziwiłł (d. 2009), was not so convinced, and as a specialist in the teaching of history, published textbooks in an ‘underground library’ to try to ensure that Polish children learned about truth, not propaganda. In the new regime following the fall of Communism, she twice served as under-secretary of state in the Ministry of Education, 1989-92 and 2004-05.

Radziwills still operate in the government of Poland: Dr Konstanty Radziwiłł (b. 1958), a physician, was a senator, and Minister of Health, 2015-18, and currently is a Voivode of the Province of Masovia; his cousin Dr Artur Radziwiłł (b. 1974), an economist, was under-secretary of state in the Ministry of Finance, 2014-15, and tasked with introducing the Euro to Poland (which did not succeed), and for advancing financial reforms in Ukraine, emphasizing once more the ongoing Radziwill ties between Poland and the lands to the east—Lithuania, Belarus and Ukraine—and thus a fitting place to end this piece.

List of castles ‘visited’ in this post:

in Lithuania:

  • Kėdainiai
  • Dubingiai
  • Biržai

in Poland:

  • Goniądz
  • Starawieś
  • Szydłowiec
  • Biała Podlaska
  • Grójec
  • Przygodzice
  • Nieborów
  • Antonin
  • Balice

in Belarus:

  • Miadziel (Medilas, Medele)
  • Slutsk (Słuck)
  • Niasviž or Nesvizh (Nieśwież, Nesvyžiaus)
  • Mir
  • Kletsk (Kleck)

in Ukraine:

  • Olyka (Ołyka)
  • Shpaniv (Szpanów)

Special thanks to Dr Anna Kalinowska for reading through this very long and complicated post! Historical errors and opinions of course remain my own!

(images from Wikimedia Commons)

Seventy Years on the Throne—Europe’s Longest Reigns as Benefit or Burden?

On the 6th of February, 1952, in a treehouse in Kenya, Queen Elizabeth II formally began her long reign, in Britain, in Canada, in Australia, and so on. Few monarchs in world history have reigned for seventy years, and it is interesting to consider whether such long reigns in history have served as beneficial or burdensome. Different examples demonstrate that a long reign can be tremendous anchors for stability, as a kingdom passes through a turbulent or otherwise transformative time in its history. But other examples can be found where an overly long reign can stifle change when change is needed. I think most would agree, in this Jubilee year, even staunch republicans, that the long reign of Elizabeth II has provided useful continuity in a period that otherwise offered swift, and to many frightening, change, from technology to inflation to decolonisation to a deconstruction of the class system as it existed in 1952. Through it all, and in spite of dynastic tribulations—such as the annus horribilis of 1992—there has been a constant presence on the British throne, benevolent and apolitical. This blog never aims to be political, but to reflect on historical precedences and interesting stories, so I won’t say more than that. I was lucky to be in London for the Golden Jubilee in 2002, and enjoyed a rooftop party with friends where we witnessed the Royal Air Force flyover and the sky streaked with red, white and blue. Twenty years later, here’s hoping we can enjoy another uplifting celebration without the divisive intervention of politics.

Elizabeth II after her coronation in 1953, by Cecil Beaton

Several of the longest reigns in British history have been those of its regnant queens: Elizabeth I, 44 years, and Victoria, for nearly 64. Historians of both the Elizabethan Age and the Victorian Age would both argue that the stability offered by these long reigns was of great value to the nation, in both cases overseeing peace and stability in politics and society that translated into great expansion of wealth and economic power. This colonial and imperial expansion is now of course seen more critically as not necessarily something to be celebrated, particularly by those whose lands were being colonised. Domestically, however, the long reigns of Elizabeth and Victoria provided continuity in an era when ordinary people were tired of endless religious upheaval, fear, and even violence in one period, and revolutionary and military disruption and destruction in the other. Rightly or wrongly, the constant presence of Victoria (and her reluctance to meddle overtly in parliamentary politics) meant that British cities could concentrate on industrialisation while much of Europe went from revolution to revolution in the same time period, often leaving destruction and chaos in their wake. The benefits of liberty and equality are of course laudable, and are the highlights of our modern age, but from the perspective of ordinary people living through these tumultuous times, many felt they would rather run their shops and plow their fields without disruption and feed their children in peace.

young Victoria

Long reigns are not an exclusively female prerogative. One of the earliest examples is the Emperor Augustus. His presence at the helm of the Roman state for over forty years allowed it to move out of the turbulent period of civil wars and avoid the disintegration of its empire. Other long and stable reigns from English kings can be seen in Henry III (56 years) in the 13th century, and Edward III (50 years) in the 14th. Long reigns avoid the unpredictability and sometimes violence of a regime change when one monarch dies and another takes his or her place. The transition for Empress Elizabeth to Peter III to Catherine II is a good case study, as Russia careened from one diplomatic alliance to another and back in the space of a few years. And long stable reigns do not always of course mean permanence–the death of Edward III’s first and second sons before his long reign ended in 1377 had long-term effects in the quarrels of the next generation, and ultimately the Wars of the Roses the generation after that.

Edward III as an old man

In the 18th and early 19th centuries, George III reigned for a historic 59 years, and although of course for much of it he was not mentally sound enough to participate in government, it is probably exactly this distance from government, as with Victoria above, and his presence a non-changing, constant representational figurehead, that allowed the British government to weather the storms of the revolutionary era without descending into popular violence or civil war, as happened across the Channel in France.

Young George III

It is in France where we see counter-examples, where long reigns are not necessarily beneficial to the state or to its people. Most people remember that the majority of French kings are named Louis. In a sense, this is itself the idea of continuity—to many people, most unable to read, the fact that the king was always named Louis (regardless of the actual number) was a comfort, much like the unchanging rituals of religion, or the repetition of the seasons. And there was a remarkable continuity of the reigns of Louis XIV and Louis XV, just two reigns, stretching from 1643 to 1774. This hides of course much of the turbulent political struggles and foreign wars that damaged the Kingdom, and in many ways led France directly to revolution in 1789. And this love of continuity by much of the ruling classes in some sense also stifled necessary development and change. If we look at the reign of Louis XIV in particular, his 72 year reign witnessed the coming and going of two complete generations, and the birth of a third, where political and military figures eager for change and improvement were never given their chance, as the old king preferred to rule through people  and methods that he knew. Commentators at the time recognised this: writers like the Duke of Saint-Simon and the Archbishop Fénelon both noted that Louis XIV preferred to govern with men he had been raised with in the 1640s-50s, or their offspring and protégés: the Colberts, the Le Telliers, the Phélypeaux, the family of the duke of Villeroy (see my blog post on the Villeroy) and so on. By the turn of the 18th century, there were already two generations waiting in the wings: those born in the 1650s-60s, the generation of the King’s son, the Dauphin Louis, who never got his chance to rule (which included Fénelon); and those born in the 1670s-80s, the young guns who formed a cabale around the King’s grandsons, the dukes of Burgundy, Anjou and Berry, and to which Saint-Simon himself belonged. There was palpable relief when Louis XIV finally died, aged 76, in 1715. The new king, Louis XV, was a child, so Saint-Simon’s generation eagerly seized the moment under the command of one of their own, the Duke of Orléans (b. 1674), who acted as Regent of France, and ushered in a new age of Enlightenment.

Louis XIV and three generations of heirs

A similar scenario can be seen in Austria-Hungary, where by 1916, two generations of political leaders were anxious to modernise the Empire, and perhaps prevent its destruction. Emperor Franz Joseph had been ruling since December 1848. At the time, he was seen as a breath of fresh air, a handsome youth to rescue Austria from the chaos of the revolutions of 1848; someone who could sweep away the memory of the oppressive anti-revolutionary regime of old men like Prince Metternich and other ancient survivors of the Napoleonic age, half a century before. He married a beautiful Bavarian princess, ‘Sisi’, who even charmed the Hungarians and learned their language, thus facilitating in a small way the transformation of the Austrian Monarchy into the dual monarchy of Austria-Hungary. But it was not enough for this multi-ethnic state in an era of ever-increasing nationalism: the Poles, the Serbs, the Croats, all wanted their status in the Empire recognised on equal footing too. Franz Joseph did not see it that way. His generation still believed that the power of dynasticism was stronger than the power of nationalism. To him, the Habsburg dynasty was the only thing needed to form the nucleus of the state. Crown Prince Rudolf and others of the generation born in the 1850s, had more liberal ideas, and were drawn to the idea of a more loosely confederated empire, but they were kept away from power and turned instead into bored rich playboys. The equivalent can be seen in the eldest son and eldest grandson of Queen Victoria, ‘Bertie’ and ‘Eddie’. Rudolf had no children, and died of suicide, so the heirs of the increasingly elderly Franz Joseph became his nephews.

Franz Joseph in 1851

Archduke Franz Ferdinand is not remembered today as a liberal reformer, and he did push for an increasingly centralised military force, but he did indeed support plans for federalising the Empire and giving increasing devolved powers to the Croats, Serbs, Czechs and so on. It is ironic therefore that Serb nationalists brought about his death, and of course with it, World War I and the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy and over 600 years of Habsburg rule. But old Franz Joseph soldiered on, pursuing the war no one wanted and which could probably have been prevented. He and his elderly advisors were unable to see that an ultimatum versus a small state like Serbia would bring the full weight of the Russian Empire down upon them. With Franz Ferdinand dead, the heir became the Emperor’s great-nephew, from the next generation, Carl (b. 1887). Carl and his generation also saw federalisation as the way forward, but were even stronger advocates of peace over sabre-rattling. When Carl finally succeeded as emperor in 1916, he tried at once to make peace, particularly with France, but it was too late, and his dynasty lost everything in November 1918. There are those who still believe today that a pan-Danubian federated state would be much more beneficial to the people of this region than fragmented states governed along ethnic and nationalist lines—and with nationalism ever on the rise in this region today, there is certainly nostalgia for a period when prime loyalties were to a dynasty that floated above ethnic division.

Franz Joseph at his desk, 1912, an untiring toiler

In 2022, the age of any monarchy in Europe wielding more than just symbolic power is past. Yet people from Denmark to the Netherlands do enjoy raising a glass to celebrate those figures who are always there in the national consciousness, when ministers and policies come and go. Today, many of the monarchs on European thrones are relatively young, and grew up in a modern media age. We shall see what the long-term legacy is from people like Felipe VI or Willem-Alexander (both born in the late 60s), or those who will take over in the coming years, like Victoria or Sweden or Haakon of Norway (both born in the 70s).

Crown Princess Victoria

(images Wikimedia Commons)

Dukes of Fife: heirs to Macduff

“Lay on, Macduff”, cries Macbeth as he challenges him towards the end of Shakespeare’s historical ‘Tragedie’ set in Scotland in the 11th century. By murdering the usurping tyrant Macbeth and restoring the proper royal line in the person of King Malcolm III, Macduff is the hero of the piece. 800 years later, if following a romanticised arc of the story, Macduff’s descendant, Alexander, Earl Macduff, was finally rewarded: with a dukedom and a royal bride, Princess Louise, the eldest daughter of the Prince of Wales.

The joining of the ducal arms of Duff of Fife and the royal arms of Saxe-Coburg: the Fife Arms Hotel, Braemar

But there’s more complexity to this story, both in the 11th century and in the 19th. By helping to place Malcolm, son of King Duncan, on the throne in place of his cousin Macbeth, Macduff, the Thane of Fife, was aiding in the process by which traditional Celtic practices of tanistry—by which the throne passed back and forth between different branches of the royal line—were abandoned in favour of primogeniture, the system favoured by the Normans then amassing power across the border in England. So it’s likely Macduff was within spitting distance of the throne himself, and willingly ‘demoted’ his lineage for the sake of greater unity within the Kingdom. At the other end of the story, the dukedom of Fife, created in 1889, is the last non-royal dukedom created in the United Kingdom. But since its creation, the descent of this title has been anything but straightforward, first passing to one woman then to the son of another, so that today its holder is from an altogether different Scottish family, Carnegie.

John Pritchard as Macduff, 1838

That the real Macduff of the 11th century was himself of royal blood can be inferred from the royal names borne by later members of his family: Kenneth, Duncan, Malcolm. His own name isn’t certain, but he was probably a son or grandson of King Dubh, meaning ‘the black’, anglicised as ‘Duff’ (d. 967). The ‘sons of Duff’ (ie, Mac Duff) were given the important region on the east coast of Scotland, Fife, to rule (as a ‘mormaer’ the Celtic term similar to ‘earl’), as well as the nearby abbacy of Abernethy, in Perthshire, as a hereditary position. Abernethy was an important ceremonial centre of medieval Scotland: it had once been a capital of the Pictish people and was an early Christian bishopric. And so, with its lands, came also the ceremonial honour of bearing the crown of Scotland at the royal coronation. Clan Macduff’s position as premier noble family amongst the Gaelic nobility, and its blood proximity to the royal line itself, can also be detected in the coat of arms attributed to them, a simpler version of the arms of Scotland itself, with a red rampant lion on gold.

Not much evidence remains of the rule of the Clan MacDuff in Fife and Perthshire. There is a ‘Cross of MacDuff’ on the north coast of Fife, the remains of an ancient monument (possibly mid-11th century) which supposedly served as the traditional place of refuge for anyone in the clan; some suggest this was Macduff’s castle as ‘thane’ (or king’s official) of Fife. On the south coast of Fife is ‘Macduff’s Castle’, also possibly from the 11th century, but remodelled in the 16th century by the Wemyss family, and now a ruin.

Cross of Macduff
Macduff’s Castle

During the wars of independence in the late 13th and early 14th centuries, the Macduff lords therefore saw themselves as potential contenders for the throne, and while the Bruce family were championing Scottish independence, Alexander, Lord of Abernethy, swore fealty to Edward I of England in 1291 and was given positions of authority in English-held Scotland. Meanwhile, his kinsman, Duncan IV, Earl of Fife, supported Robert the Bruce, who ultimately prevailed; his cousin Isabella married Bruce’s brother, Edward, and was thus nominally Queen of Ireland during his short reign there, 1315-18. The lines of both Fife and Abernethy died out later in that century, with both titles passing ultimately to the Stewarts. The hereditary honour of bearing the royal crown passed through them to the Douglas family who still hold it today in the person of the Duke of Hamilton. But the earldom of Fife remained extinct until it was revived in the mid-18th century—sort of.

In the 1750s, a man named William Duff put forward claims to be descended from one of the junior branches of the house of MacDuff of Fife. And although the Lord Lyon ruled in 1757 that the senior representative of the line of the ancient earls of Fife was the Wemyss family, who owned Macduff’s Castle (above) and lots of land in the area, nevertheless, Duff was rich and powerful enough to get himself a revived Fife earldom, in 1759—but with a twist: not wishing perhaps to offend the ancient nobility of the county of Fife (of which Duff was not a recognised member and where he owned little if any land), nor to give him a seat in the Parliament of Great Britain, his peerage was created in Ireland.

William Duff, 1st Earl Fife

The first Earl Fife (no ‘of’) had in fact already been created Baron Braco (of Kilbryde, in County Cavan—though Braco itself is a village in Perthshire), in 1735, but his chief landholdings were in the far northeast of Scotland, in Banffshire and Morayshire, notably the small estate at Dipple on the River Spey. The Earl’s father, William Duff of Dipple, was a very wealthy merchant, who built his business on the import and export trade in Aberdeen. They were nonetheless members of the old local gentry, with previous marriages within local powerful families, the Gordons, Ogilvies, Grants and Forbes. In the early 18th century, family lawyers worked out the means to acquire the feudal barony of Balvenie in Banffshire, with its medieval castle, to give the family greater polish in polite society. They were able to trace their lineage back to a certain John Duff, who had acquired land in the counties of Banff and Moray and around the river Spey in the early 15th century, but any real connection between John Duff and the early Clan Macduff is unprovable.

Balvenie Castle

The wealthy William Duff went into politics, and represented Banffshire in Parliament, 1727-34. He built a grand house for his burgeoning dynasty, Duff House, in 1740. Designed by William Adam, the family lived here until 1903, when it was given to the local town of Banff—it was subsequently used as a hotel, a sanatorium, a POW camp and barracks, and since 1995 forms part of the National Galleries of Scotland, in the care of Historic Environment Scotland.

Duff House, Banff

As Earl Fife (no ‘of’), and Viscount Macduff, William Duff added the ancient arms of the earls of Fife (the red lion on gold) to his own family’s mostly green coat of arms. He died only a few years later, and was succeeded by his son, James, who also had a long career as an MP—as an Irish peer, he could still sit in the British House of Commons, until he was made a member of the House of Lords with a British peerage (Baron Fife, in the County of Fife) in 1790. The second Earl was a man of his times and thus very interested in improving his estates. He rebuilt the harbour of a town on the north coast of Banffshire, across the bay from Banff town (and Duff House), and changed its name to Macduff (1783). In London, he lived at Fife House, in Whitehall, built in the 1760s, but this was sold on his death in 1809 to the Earl of Liverpool (the future Prime Minister), and demolished later in the century.

The new arms of Duff of Fife (incorporating the ancient Fife lions)

It was his nephew, the 4th Earl, who really struck gold—in liquid form—with the family’s lands in northeast Scotland. His father, the 3rd earl, had only held the titles for two years. James, 4th Earl Fife, followed in his uncle’s footsteps in founding a new town, Dufftown, on the lands of his barony of Balvenie, situated on a tributary (the Fiddich) that feeds into the river Spey, in 1817. This was a ‘planned town’, designed to give employment to soldiers returning from the Napoleonic Wars and to develop his estates into one of centres of whiskey production—today Glenfiddich is only one of the world-famous distilleries based in this town.

Dufftown

The 4th Earl himself had been a soldier in the wars, as a volunteer and later a commissioned officer in the Spanish armies fighting against Napoleon. Upon his return to Britain, he became an MP and a Lord-in-Waiting to King George IV, and was re-created Baron Fife (1827) since his uncle’s British peerage had expired with him. He retired to his Scottish estates in his later years, and continued to develop them, in part by selling off some of the estates further to the south, including Balmoral, which he sold to Prince Albert in 1852. The 4th Earl too died without children, in 1857, and the earlier (Irish) titles passed to his nephew, another James.

James, 4th Earl Fife, by Raeburn

James, 5th Earl Fife, was the son of a general, and had served as an MP for two decades before succeeding to the family titles. Yet another barony was created within the UK peerage, Baron Skene of Skene, at the same time, to allow him to sit in the House of Lords. The Skene estates, in Aberdeeenshire, had been inherited earlier in the century, and included a castle with a 12th-century core and 17th-century extensions. It was later sold to the Hamiltons.

The 5th Earl married higher into the Scottish nobility than his predecessors—Lady Agnes Hay was the daughter of the 18th Earl of Erroll and Lady Elizabeth FitzClarence. The latter was one of the many daughters of King William IV and Dorothea Jordan, thus bringing the Duff family closer in to the orbit of the royal family itself. It is through Lady Agnes that a great number of currently living British public figures can claim descent from the Hanoverian dynasty, including former prime minister David Cameron, television presenter Adam Hart-Davis, and the writer Artemis Cooper. The latter is the daughter of the popular historian John Julius Norwich, whose own father’s name reflects his connection to this clan: Duff Cooper (whom we have encountered before in another blog post, due to his wife, Lady Diana Manners of Rutland).

The only son of the 5th Earl and Countess, Alexander Duff was born in 1849 in Edinburgh, and after his father had become Earl Fife, was known as ‘Viscount Macduff’. In the 1870s, he was an MP for Elginshire, and Lord Lieutenant of that county (the former, formal name for Morayshire). After he succeeded as 6th Earl Fife and Baron Skene, he took his seat in the House of Lords and served in the Liberal governments of the 1880s, and became involved in the creation of the South Africa Company. In 1885, his Irish earldom was finally ‘normalised’ in a sense, by being re-created as ‘Earl of Fife’ in the UK peerage. Then at the end of the decade, in July 1889, he married Princess Louise of Wales, one of the grand-daughters of Queen Victoria. Two days later, he was created Duke of Fife, with the subsidiary title Marquess of Macduff (in the County of Banff).

Louise was nearly 20 years younger than her new husband. She and her sisters Victoria and Maud had spent much of their childhood away from court, in the summers at their father’s estate at Sandringham in Norfolk, or sometimes with their mother’s relatives in Denmark. Though the eldest, she was known to be shyer than the other two. Once she married Alexander Duff, the couple became a solid addition to the extended Victorian royal family, and in 1905, Louise was given the additional honour of the title ‘Princess Royal’, as eldest daughter of the sovereign (now Edward VII). As a widow, from 1912, however, the Duchess of Fife was mostly a recluse during the reign of her brother George V, appearing in public mainly as a companion to their widowed mother, Queen Alexandra.

The daughters of the Prince of Wales, Louise, Maud and Victoria, 1883, Prior Hall

The 1st Duke and Duchess of Fife lived on Portman Square when in London, or Fife House in Brighton, and at Montcoffer House when in Banff (formerly the residence of the Fife estate manager, they ducal couple moved here once they no longer resided at Duff House). For a country seat, they moved to Mar Lodge, near Braemar. This estate had formed a core part of the ancient earldom of Mar, one of the oldest and grandest medieval Scottish lordships, confiscated from the Jacobite 23rd Earl of Mar following the 1715 uprising. William Duff had purchased it back in the 1730s, and built a new residence, Dalmore House. That house was demolished in the 1830s and Mar Lodge was built as a hunting retreat. Much of this Lodge was destroyed in a fire in 1895, and a new Mar Lodge was built for the Duke and Duchess of Fife. It has a famous ballroom, notable for its thousands of deer antlers, and a private chapel, Saint Ninian’s, which became the family burial site. When the 2nd Duchess (below) died in 1959, the succession was divided, with the Mar estate passing to her nephew by marriage, Captain Alexander Ramsay, and then into various private hands until it was acquired by the National Trust for Scotland in 1995, which lets out holiday flats in the restored main house.

Mar Lodge estate
the ballroom antlers

In an interesting echo of the role played by his putative ancestors in Scottish coronations, the Duke of Fife acted as Lord High Constable at the coronations of 1902 and 1911. The following year, he became very ill following his family’s shipwreck off the coast of Morocco, and died in Egypt. All the 18th-century titles became extinct. But provisions had been made since he and Princess Louise had only daughters (one son had been stillborn in 1890): in 1900, he was re-created Duke of Fife and Earl Macduff, with his daughters named specifically as heirs, to be followed by their sons. In 1905, the daughters’ titles were raised from ‘Lady’ to ‘Her Highness, Princess of Great Britain and Ireland’. Of these, Alexandra would soon move up another step to HRH through her marriage, while Maud would remain the only member of the royal family with the style ‘HH’ after all others were removed following the dynastic changes made in 1917 and the birth of the House of Windsor.

The Duchess of Fife and her daughters

In 1912, therefore, Princess Alexandra became the 2nd Duchess of Fife. A year later, she became formally Princess Arthur of Connaught, by marriage to the son of Queen Victoria’s third son, Arthur, Duke of Connaught and Strathearn. She had initially hoped to marry another cousin, Prince Christopher of Greece and Denmark, but this idea was quashed by her parents. The Duchess and Prince Arthur (he was not referred to as the Duke of Fife) were important members of the working royal family in the first years of George V’s reign, as he had no living brothers and his children were still very young. She became known for her nursing activities during World War I, pursuing more formal qualifications in 1919, and becoming a specialist in gynaecology. This active, not just symbolic, service made her very popular, and she carried this popularity with her to South Africa where she accompanied her husband as Governor-General, 1920-24, and she continued to work on improving hospitals there.

Prince and Princess Arthur of Connaught, with son Alastair

Prince Arthur died before his father, in 1938, so their only son, Alastair, became 2nd Duke of Connaught in 1942. He had previously been known as the Earl of Macduff, as his mother’s heir, and was one of the first members of the dynasty to bear ‘Windsor’ as a surname, as a collateral great-grandchild of a sovereign (he had been born a prince, with ‘His Highness’, but these were removed in 1917 in the dynastic re-organisation). Alastair was stationed in Canada during World War II, and died in somewhat mysterious (or perhaps covered up) circumstances only a year after he had succeeded to his grandfather’s titles. It was whispered that the new Duke of Connaught had fallen out of a window, intoxicated, and died from hypothermia. Back in London, his mother continued to run her own Fife Nursing Home until bad health forced her to retire from public life in 1949, and she died in 1959.

The successor to the dukedom of Fife was not Princess Alexandra’s sister, Princess Maud, as she had died several years before. It was instead Maud’s son, James, Lord Carnegie (b. 1929), who became 3rd Duke of Fife in 1959, and ultimately 12th Earl of Southesk in 1992. Princess Maud, known as Lady Maud Carnegie from her marriage in 1923, then Countess of Southesk from 1941, was never in the spotlight like her elder sister and did not carry out royal duties. Her husband had served in the army in the First World War and as aide-de-camp to the Viceroy of India in 1917. He rarely engaged in politics, but in 1939-40 did take up with a Scottish far right pro-Nazi group, with a stated aim of preventing the coming war. He later downplayed his involvement, but the group’s evident antisemitism did not play well in the public eye and after the war, the Earl and Countess of Southesk remained mostly out of the spotlight. When he died in 1992, he was the oldest member of the House of Lords, at nearly 100. They lived at Elsick House, in Kincardineshire, on a large estate near the North Sea, south of Aberdeen. This house had come into the Earl’s possession from his mother’s family, the Bannermans of Elsick, and this family’s arms were added to his own.

Princess Maud and Lord Carnegie

Before continuing the story of the dukes of Fife, therefore, we need a gear shift, away from the family of Macduff, and towards another Scottish clan from the east coast, this time from across the Tay, in Angus, rather than Fife. There had been a Clan Carnegie in Angus since the mid-14th century, and by the early 15th century they had acquired lands of Kinnaird, near Brechin, and built a fortification on the site of a much older ruin.

From the mid-1500s, they began to assert the title of hereditary cupbearer of Scotland, and added this symbol to their coat of arms. Several generations were active in late 16th-century royal government, and in 1616, David Carnegie, a Lord of Session and member of the Scottish Privy Council, was created Baron Carnegie of Kinnaird, and later 1st Earl of Southesk, named for the river South Esk that runs through Angus. His younger brother, John, was created Earl of Ethie, for his seat at Ethie Castle, near Arbroath, but this was later exchanged for the Earldom of Northesk, in 1662. This junior branch spells the name Carnegy, and continues today. I don’t think, by the way, that the Scots-American industrialist and philanthropist Andrew Carnegie connects directly to this family.

Carnegie of Southesk, with the royal cup

The 17th-century Carnegies of Southesk were loyal supporters of the Stuarts: the 2nd Earl remained loyal to Charles II when he was in exile, and the 5th Earl supported ‘James III’ (the ‘Old Pretender’) during the Jacobite uprising known as the Fifteen. Indeed, the Pretender stayed at Kinnaird Castle for a short period towards the end of the rising. As a result, the 5th Earl was attainted, his property and titles confiscated. Claims to these passed to the junior branch, the Carnegie baronets of Pittarrow (cr. 1663, in County Kincardine), who in the 1760s managed to re-purchase Kinnaird and other family estates. Indeed, the 3rd Baronet (the claimed ‘6th Earl’) made his loyalties clear by fighting against the Jacobites at Culloden in 1745.

A century later, the 6th Baronet, James, a distinguished soldier, obtained a reversal of the attainder from Parliament, in 1855, and was recognised as the 9th Earl of Southesk and Baron Carnegie of Kinnaird and Leuchars. In 1869, he was created Baron Balinhard of Farnell, a name taken from the supposed ancient progenitors of the family. This was a UK peerage giving him a seat in the House of Lords in Westminster. His ancestral seat, Kinnaird Castle, though retaining its 15th-century core, was remodelled in Victorian baronial style, but mostly burned down in 1921.

Kinnaird Castle

Much of Kinnaird Castle was rebuilt by the 10th Earl of Southesk, known as a great collector of art, and is today used as holiday apartments; meanwhile his grandson the 12th Earl, aka the 3rd Duke of Fife, took up residence at Elsick House. A second cousin of Queen Elizabeth II through his grandmother, Princess Louise, James, 3rd Duke of Fife, lived most of his life in Scotland managing his estates in Angus; he also reconnected to the earlier parts of this story through his marriage to a daughter of one of the Dewars, of whiskey fame.

the 3rd Duke of Fife at Elsick House

Today the dukedom of Fife is held by his son, the 4th Duke, David (b. 1961), who is at present #81 in the line of succession to the British throne. His son and heir is known as the Earl of Southesk as his courtesy title.

the complete arms of the Duke of Fife, with ancient Fife, the Princess Royal, new Fife (Duff and Skene), and Bannerman, with Carnegie overall–it is interesting in that it displays both a duke’s and an earl’s coronet

(images from Wikimedia Commons)

A People Protected by a Prince; A People Proffered by a Prince: Germans who came to America in the 18th Century – My Ancestors

In the 18th century, thousands of Germans crossed the ocean to settle in the British colonies, many concentrated in Pennsylvania, where it is estimated that by the 1770s they made up about one-third of the entire colonial population. There were many motivations for this emigration from Germany, but two of the most significant, religious persecution and military conscription, affected multiple branches of my family. In particular, two princely families can be said to have influenced my ancestors: the counts (later princes) of Sayn-Wittgenstein sheltered, then ejected a group of radical pietists in the early part of the century; only a short distance away, the landgraves of Hesse-Kassel made great profits from ‘renting out’ their trained militias to the British, especially during the War of American Independence. Two princely houses, two sets of German subjects, one devoted to peace, the other trained for war, Anabaptists and Lutherans. Both groups ended up in the New World and eventually mingled in the valleys of Virginia, my home state.

Old Order Brethren women

This post is in response to suggestions by various readers that I should write about my own family. I’m taking advantage of the Christmas break and some down time spent with my family in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Inspired by the sites of farms, churches and graveyards of several branches of my ancestors, and of course the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, it seems appropriate to write about emigrants from the central regions of Germany—the Palatinate, Westphalia, Hessen—and to weave in some fascinating stories of their lives here, from helping to fight in the Battle of Saratoga, to being unwittingly part of the battle of Gettysburg, and embarking on a bold and ultimately futile scheme to settle the wild and untamed Pacific Northwest. There are also some truly extraordinary first names in these stories, so watch out for these.

I will start in 2008. I was already living in the United Kingdom at the time, so it was easy to travel to Germany to take part in a grand celebration of the 300th anniversary of the founding of the Church of the Brethren (and other related Brethren churches) in a tiny village called Schwarzenau. It was great to be part of this historic commemoration, with speeches, hymn singing, and of course food, but a highlight for me was seeing one of the hosts, the Prince of Sayn-Wittgenstein, whose ancestors had protected my ancestors back in 1708, and had allowed them to break the law by baptising adults in the nearby Eder River.

The Eder River near Schwarzenau

These lawbreakers were known as ‘radical pietists’, a group who broke away from the mainstream Lutheran and Reformed (Calvinist) Protestant churches, in search of restoring the inner piety of the early Christian faith. In an era increasingly drawn to reason and science, these movements were inspired more by emotion and mysticism—they were ‘moved’ by the Holy Spirit (and similar groups in England were also so moved, thus calling themselves ‘Quakers’ and later ‘Shakers’), and they wanted to distance themselves from the world of war, materialism and religious intolerance that marked out the late 17th century in Europe. In particular, many were driven out of German-speaking parts of France by the increasingly intolerant Louis XIV (who expelled all Protestants in 1685). Many of these settled in the neighbouring German state of the Palatinate, with its capital at Heidelberg, a nominally Calvinist court, but with a reputation for toleration and ecumenicalism. But in 1690, the Protestant branch of the Wittelsbachs who ruled the Palatinate died out, and was replaced by a Catholic branch. Several Palatine Germans, and their Huguenot friends and allies, were forced to look elsewhere for a safe home. Some went to the New World, where they were given land by William Penn, a Quaker, in his new colony, Pennsylvania. Here they founded the town of Germantown in the 1680s.

But some did not leave immediately. A wealthy and educated miller from a town near Heidelberg, Alexander Mack (1679-1735), had been drawn to the radical pietists who had been settling there, and when they were deported by the local ruler in about 1706, they went down the Rhine valley and overland into what is now Westphalia, and found refuge in the small county of Sayn-Wittgenstein.

Gft (Countship) of Sayn (brown) and of Wittgenstein (orange). Westphalia to the north, Hesse to the east, and the Rhine valley to the west

Sayn-Wittgenstein was actually two Imperial counties, joined together by marriage in the mid-1300s. Sayn was itself located on a bend of the Rhine, across from Koblenz, but most of the county was a bit further to the north towards Cologne. The County of Wittgenstein was further inland to the east, in a remote area crossed by the Rothaar hills which formed a watershed between the rivers that flowed to the west (and Westphalia and the Rhineland) and those that flowed to the east (and the regions of Hesse and Hanover or Lower Saxony). So although it was remote and rural, it was strategic as a regional border zone.

Arms of Sayn-Wittgenstein

By the 17th century, the Sayn family was divided into several branches, with one ruling in the Rhineland at the family’s ancient seat, one in southern Wittgenstein with a seat at Hohenstein, and one in northern Wittgenstein, at their residence of Berleburg. Count Heinrich Albrecht of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Hohenstein (1658-1723), left his castle of Wittgenstein and instead established his residence at a modest hunting lodge in the village of Schwarzenau. This lodge, built in the 17th century, and remodelled in the late 18th, is still the seat of one of the branches of the family today.

The Hunting Lodge at Schwarzenau

Count Heinrich Albrecht was, like much of his family, a member of the Reformed Church, but from an early age he moved in more Pietist circles. His mother in fact was a Huguenot who had left France during the persecutions of the mid-17th century. By the end of the century, he had attracted religious refugees from all over the region, and he and his sisters involved themselves in the day-to-day lives and welfare of the radicals, including newcomers like Alexander Mack and his family, who arrived in 1706.

Count Heinrich Albrecht von Sayn-Wittgenstein-Hohenstein

Just a few miles away, the small court at the castle of Berleburg was raising the level of radical pietist activity even higher. The castle, originally built in the 1250s, but rebuilt as a Renaissance palace in the 1550s, was ruled over by Countess Hedwig Sophie (from the dynasty of Lippe, on the other side of Westphalia) in the name of her young son, Count Casimir of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg (1687-1741).

Berleburg Schloss (photo Kurt Wichmann)

Countess Hedwig Sophie was herself a devotee of the new movement, and attracted preachers and theologians to her court. She sent her son to study at the University of Halle, a centre of pietist theology, then supported his travelled to England, where he learned about the ‘Philadelphians’, a movement of English dissenters with a particular emphasis on universal salvation and the importance of charity. Casimir was keen to import this ideal to his tiny state back in Germany, and when he took over the reins of government from his mother in 1712, worked to build a better society for his people.

Count Casimir von Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg

In particular, Count Casimir was keen to support the work of theologians, and opened a printing press in Berleburg in 1714. A resident of Schwarzenau, Christophe Sauer, was employed to print what is now known as the ‘Berleburg Bible’, printed in the 1720s, which was different from the Lutheran translation, and accompanied with significant pietist commentary. Sauer would later emigrate to Germantown, Pennsylvania, and would print the first Bible in any European language in the colonies (in 1743). Sauer also printed a journal in the 1740s with a broad circulation amongst the German community in and around Philadelphia.

Berleburger Bibel

By 1720, therefore the County of Wittgenstein had become a real haven for religious diversity. Not only the Brethren, led by Alexander Mack, but also some other Pietists, like the Moravians, and Anabaptist groups like those from the south, refugees from Calvinist Swiss cantons that were becoming increasingly conservative and intolerant. Anabaptists and Pietists co-mingled and shared many of the same ideas, notably adult baptism, pacifism, and general simplicity of life. This is where I begin to connect with the story of my own ancestry, but much is merely speculation—several of my family names seem to be Swiss or at least Swabian, notably Spangler, but also Flora (who may have even been French Huguenots—Fleuri). Today’s Austrian Spängler banking clan, for example, one of the wealthiest families in Salzburg and Vienna, came originally from the South Tirol, so a predominantly south German (ie, Swiss or Austrian) ancestry isn’t an unreasonable assumption. There’s also quite a significant ‘dark’ gene that runs through these families and still quite dominant in many of my cousins (a predominant gene for dark hair and dark brown eyes; and we all tan easily!). We’ll come back to these names later.

Bankhaus Spangler in Salzburg

Things began to change in the County of Sayn-Wittgenstein, however. Count Heinrich Albrecht died in 1723, and his younger brother and heir, Count August David, was not very interested in radical religion. He had been a leading government official in Berlin in earlier life, and was now determined to restore what he saw as ‘order’ and a proper Reformed church society. Mack and his family had already left the area (first to Frisia in 1720, then to Pennsylvania in 1729), and soon the rest of the radical community moved from Schwarzenau to Berleburg. But here too things were changing. Count Casimir had never formally left the Reformed Church, and his new wife was much more traditional, a Lutheran, and was directing the education of his son and heir, Ludwig Ferdinand (her stepson). Her father was a prominent official, an Imperial Minister of State and President of the Council in Vienna, Count von Wurmbrand-Stuppach. By 1737, the young count himself had a position in the Imperial High Court (Reichshofrat), and when he succeeded his father as Count of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg in 1741, his priorities were quite different. Old Count Casimir had not been very interested in economy or finance, so he left the county in a bit of shambles. His son therefore set out to restore order, which meant cleaning out the remaining religious radicals in his domain. As a product of his ‘imperial’ education in Vienna, he was also much more interested in high court culture, employing a full orchestra, and rebuilding the castle as a baroque palace (as we see it today). In 1792, his branch of the family were raised from imperial counts to princes (fürsten), though they were ‘mediatised’ (deprived of sovereignty) very soon after in 1806, and their lands annexed by the Grand Duchy of Hesse, and then transferred to the new Prussian province of Westphalia in 1816. The family was headed until 2017 by Prince Richard, who raised the family’s profile significantly through his marriage in 1968 to Princess Benedikte of Denmark, the sister of Queen Margarethe II.

Prince Richard of Sayn-Wittgenstein-Berleburg (d. 2017) and Princess Benedikte of Denmark, in 2010 (photo Holger Motzkau)

By the 1730s-40s, therefore, Alexander Mack, Christopher Sauer, and the rest of the Brethren (‘German Baptist Brethren’, ‘Dunkers’ or ‘Dunkards’, so named for their practice of adult baptism) were based in south-eastern Pennsylvania. According to older published genealogies and some mor recent online records, I have the suggestion that only one of my various family lines was directly linked to the original group from Schwarzenau. This was Casper Sherfig (as he spelled it in his will) who arrived on a ship from Rotterdam in 1751 as a Dunker. He settled a bit to the south of the border of the colony of Pennsylvania, in an area called Big Pipe Creek, in Frederick County, Maryland (now Carroll County), and he is buried in the Pipe Creek Dunkard Cemetery. This is only 4 miles south of Gettysburg, PA. Casper married Magdalena Heilmann, who had been born in America, and they had 15 children. Of these, three sons (now called ‘Sherfy’) moved south along the Blue Ridge and started branches in Tennessee and Virginia, where land was on offer by the colonial government—Governor William Gooch was keen to entice Germans to settle the frontier as a buffer between English plantations and the native tribes to the west.

German immigration in the 18th century. Staunton is close to where the Sherfys and later Crickenbergers (below) settled; Roanoke is where the Ellers and Floras (next section) settled)

A fourth Sherfy son set up a farm in Gettysburg, where, a generation later, these peace-loving Brethren folk found themselves right in the middle of one of the bloodiest battles in US history. On the afternoon of 2 July 1863, the second day of the battle of Gettysburg, the Army of the Potomac tried to hold the high ground south of the town in the face of waves of Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, and clashed at an area called ‘The Peach Orchard’, part of the Sherfy farm, the home of a Brethren minister. Off to the west, only a short distance, was a wooded farm still known today as the Spangler Farm. I do not know how closely these Spanglers are related to me—some research remains to be done.

The Peach Orchard and Sherfy Farm, Gettysburg (photo Muhranoff)

Meanwhile, neighbours of Casper Sherfig at Pipes Creek, Maryland, were the Dunkard brothers Heinrich and Georg Michael Eller, from a family who had emigrated from the Palatinate in the 1740s. Heinrich bought a farm here in 1767, and Georg Michael an adjacent farm in 1773. Others of their family (brothers or cousins, it’s not clear), had left Pennsylvania, and journeyed south to settle the frontier in western North Carolina. One of the sons of Georg Michael, Jacob, also moved south, through the Shenandoah Valley and into a newly settled area of the headwaters of the Roanoke River. There’s evidence of a land grant for Jacob in the Roanoke Valley in 1790, in a county named for one of Virginia’s last royal governors, Lord Botetourt (we pronounce it ‘Botitot’). A few years later, in 1797, Jacob Eller purchased land on the side of a small mountain now known as Sugar Loaf. Roanoke County would be separated from Botetourt County in 1838, and Sugar Loaf would remain the heart of the Eller family for the next century and a half, with generations of kids (including my father) working in its abundant orchards of apple and peach trees.

Sugar Loaf
Sugar Loaf in context, with the much larger mountains of the Blue Ridge behind

In this area of Virginia, the southern end of the Great Valley, the Ellers became neighbours to several other German families in neighbouring Franklin County, including Floras, Naffs and Brubakers. Joseph Flory (or Fleuri) immigrated to Philadelphia from the Palatinate, 1733, aboard the ship “Hope”, and died in 1741. His elder sons established branches that flourished in Lancaster, PA, while a younger son Jacob (who spelled his name Flora), moved to Franklin County (created and named for Benjamin Franklin in 1785); his sister Catherine moved south too, having married Jacob Naff, a recent arrival Philadelphia, originally from Kappel, Switzerland (in the Aargau, a northern canton). Jacob and Catherine settled in Boones Mill, Franklin County, on land granted by Governor Randolph in 1782.

the counties of southwest Virginia, notably Roanoke, Floyd, Franklin and Henry

The next several generations show lots of intermarriages between these Ellers, Floras and Naffs. They also married some of the local Scots-Irish immigrant families, notably Montgommery, but mostly they kept to themselves and away from ‘worldly’ affairs. Photographs are rare, even more so than usual for the 19th century, since they were considered too ‘worldly’ for the ‘plain folk’ that defined the German Baptist Brethren in this area. These ‘Dunkards’ were in many ways similar to the more well-known Amish communities in Lancaster, PA, and after a serious split amongst the Brethren in 1881, some chose to retain the more conservative lifestyle—to this day some of my more distant cousins in south-western Virginia dress simply and rely on horse and buggy for transportation.

An Old Order Brethren buggy (photo Al Meskens)

In 1888, the daughter of one of the deacons of the Brethren church in Franklin County, Amanda Flora, married Benjamin Spangler, whose family was from neighbouring Floyd County. Ben’s family had similarly come down the ‘Great Wagon Road’ from Pennsylvania to Virginia sometime in the late 18th century. There’s more research I would like to do someday to establish the link with the Spanglers in Gettysburg (above), or with those who moved west to Ohio and set up the Spangler Candy Company at the start of the 20th century (makers of Dum Dums, Christmas candy canes, and unfortunately, those marshmallow Circus Peanuts that everyone hates). There is indisputably a tradition of making candy and sweets amongst German Anabaptist families of Pennsylvania and Ohio (Hershey and Smucker—both Mennonites).

There are some stories that get told at family reunions about the origins of the Spanglers. One which is intriguing, but I suspect fanciful, is that Georg Spengler served as a cup-bearer (a prominent court officer) in the household of a prince-bishop of Würzburg in the 12th century, and accompanied him and the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa on Crusade where he died and was buried in Antioch. This may have some basis in fact, as other sources indicate that Spanglers were indeed from Franconia (where Würzburg is located), and that their surname was derived from their profession as workers of lead or tin (a spengler is still the term used for plumber in Switzerland and Austria), who also sometimes worked as bracket-makers of fine jewels (a Spangemacher) and could therefore make quite a good living, even entered the service of princes.

Ancestry.com suggests there were Spanglers in Nuremberg, also in Franconia, as far back as the 15th century. At some point in the mid-17th century they moved to northern Switzerland, the Aargau (like the Naffs, above), so I assume they were members of the Reformed Church who had to leave the mostly Catholic areas of eastern Franconia (today part of very Catholic Bavaria). Their names are consistently Johann (or Hans) and Jacob. By the end of the 17th century, they had moved again, to Weiler, a town in the Palatinate close to Heidelberg. But Jacob Spengler, of Weiler, having emigrated to America, is listed as buried at the Alsace Lutheran Chapel in Reading, Berks County, PA, in 1756. Berks County had been formed as recently as 1752, by Germans who wished to have a county separate from Lancaster County to the south. His son Daniel is said to have fought in the Revolutionary War, but certainly migrated south to Virginia, as he is buried in 1787 in what is now the Pigg River Primitive Baptist Cemetery, in Franklin County. Primitive Baptists were conservative separatists from the general English Baptists, who were themselves separatists from the more mainstream English Protestant churches. The movement arose in the early 1820s as a means to purify their communities from the increasing worldliness of other Baptists, so they would have appealed to the German Pietists now settling amongst them in the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge.

Daniel’s son, Daniel, Jr, moved across the ridge into Montgomery County, and was buried in 1823 in Pine Creek Primitive Baptist Cemetery, near his home, known still as ‘Spangler Mill’ on Pine Creek, which he purchased in 1792. The miller Daniel Spangler was evidently a prominent member of his community, for when the locals petitioned the Commonwealth of Virginia for representation separate from the County of Montgomery, initial separation meetings were held at Spangler’s house in 1819, and when the new county (named Floyd, for the then current governor of Virginia, John Floyd) was eventually created, in 1831, the county court met in the Spangler house, now belonging to his son David, until a courthouse was built a few years later.

Spangler Mill in the 19th century

David Spangler’s son, Christian, was born in Floyd County, and in about 1890 took his family (at least one son and one daughter) to the newly established (1889) state of Washington, with the promise of fertile lands on the north side of the great Columbia River. It must have been quite the journey, nearly 3,000 miles, though this was no romanticised covered wagon ordeal, since by 1887, there was a spur of the Union Pacific Railroad that connected travellers from the East to the Oregon and Washington territories. In fact, it was the railroad company that sold land to about a half a dozen Dunkard families from Floyd County to entice them to settle the valley of the Klickitat River, named for one of the local native nations, on the eastern side of the Cascade Range in Washington State, in the shadow of Mount Adams.

Mount Adams, Washington (©2014 Walter Siegmund)

That region of the Columbia river valley is known for its rich apple orchards, so these Virginia families hoped to bring their seeds out west—inspired perhaps by tales of Christian missionaries-with-seeds like ‘Johnny Appleseed’. The very name of the closest town was in fact Appleton. But the eastern slopes of the Cascades—in sharp contrast to the western slopes—are high and dry, so they were initially not very successful. They turned instead to timber and cattle. But the community did not survive for long, and the Dunkard cemetery is today abandoned, high up on a hillside deep in the woods. My parents found it one day several years ago, but only after quite a bit of struggle with poor maps, multiple local inquiries, and some rugged hiking. I visited Klickitat town (population today about 400) a few years ago on a trip to see friends in Portland, Oregon, about an hour away.

the town of Klickitat and the Klickitat River
Dunkard Cemetery in Appleton (photo Michelle Rau)

Christian, his son, Benjamin (called ‘Bennie’, aged about 25), and at least one of his daughters, Ella—who was married to the Rev. John Simmons, the leader of the community—arrived to start their families in Klickitat. Ben and his new wife Amanda Flora soon were parents of a daughter and three sons, including my grandfather Carl. In 1898, Ben was charged with taking the community’s taxes to the county seat (Goldendale), and was robbed and killed somewhere on the way—either by natives or by bandits, the stories vary; one says he was drowned in the river; another that a native brought back his body and his horse. Whatever the truth, young Amanda, with four children under the age of 10, decided she’d had enough and packed up her family and returned to her family in Virginia. Ben’s sister, Ella Simmons remained in Klickitat, but died only a few years later (in 1901), and his father, Christian, moved away, to Washougal (closer to Portland) and remarried, but when he died in 1925, was buried back in the Dunkard cemetery in Klickitat.

Ben and Amanda, 1890

Back in the southern end of the Great Valley of Virginia, Amanda’s son Carl Spangler, wanted to become a preacher and a teacher, so was encouraged by some of his Flora elders to attend the Brethren junior college at Daleville, in the Roanoke Valley. Here he met and married an Eller, Sadie, whose father owned the Sugar Loaf farm we encountered earlier in this post.

Ben and Amanda’s four children, 1912 (my grandfather Carl seated at left)

Carl and Sadie were distantly related, both having Flora and Brubaker cousins. Sadie’s father, Christian (or ‘Crist’), was not just a farmer, but also a Brethren preacher, and started a new church near his farm in the southern end of Roanoke County called Oak Grove. He had married in 1897 a non-German, Rebecca Henry (though her mother was a Grisso, also German immigrants, whose farm was just over the ridge from Sugar Loaf). I think my Dad’s Grandma Becky is quite beautiful in this photograph (from about 1905), itself an indication that the Ellers were on the more progressive side of the Brethren religious split, still fresh in people’s minds.

Crist and Becky Eller and their first four children, 1905. My grandmother, Sadie, is in the older daughter in the centre. The others are Orien, Henry and Gertrude

Rebecca Henry’s ancestry is interesting—though off topic, as I’m keeping this post about the Germans—in that she is probably (or we wish it was so?) related to Patrick Henry, one of the leading fathers of the American Revolution. The Henrys were Scots-Irish, from Franklin County (the same as the Floras). They had been early settlers of Pittsylvania County, formed in 1767 and named for the British Prime Minister William Pitt. The Scottish and the Irish settlers came to Virginia later than the English, and missed out on the prime real estate of the Tidewater region, so many went west and settled the Piedmont, the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains. (This is The Waltons territory too, by the way). Patrick Henry was from Hanover County (near Richmond), but did purchase land in Pittsylvania, and built a plantation, Leatherwood. In 1777, a new county was carved out and named Henry County (to honour Patrick Henry, by now Virginia’s first independent governor). In 1785, the northern part of Henry County, where Rebecca Henry’s ancestors lived, was shaved off to create Franklin County. So the Henrys didn’t really move, the county boundaries did. (see the map of Virginia counties, above).

Crist and Becky Eller had a large family, six boys and four girls—several of them became or married Brethren ministers. Most of them had large families of their own, but they spread out all over the country, and today, I have dozens and dozens of Eller second cousins from California to Maine. Many are talented musically and remain deeply involved in the church of the Brethren and its national leadership. For me, church, family and singing have always gone together hand in hand. But though they spread out across America, the homestead remained Sugar Loaf in Roanoke, until the farm was finally sold for suburban development in the 1950s. There is still a heavy presence of my Spangler, Eller and Flora relatives in the southern end of the Great Valley of Virginia.

So we need to turn to the northern end of the Great Valley, my mother’s side of the family, and the other princely house named in the title of this post, the Landgrave of Hesse-Kassel. This part of Virginia is more properly called the Shenandoah Valley, an anglicised Native American term, though its origin and meaning are now pretty much lost. The romantic ‘beautiful daughter of the stars’ (connected to the Pocahontas story) is unlikely; instead it may be an Iroquois word for ‘river of high mountains’, attributed before these northern peoples were driven out by more southern peoples (like the Catawba) in the era just before European settlement. Settlement started in the late 1720s, notably by Adam Müller, who, interestingly, came from the same town in the Palatinate as Alexander Mack. By the 1790s it is estimated nearly 30% of the central Shenandoah was settled by Mennonites and Brethren and other German groups, and even today it’s estimated at about 10%.

A typical Shenadoah Valley view (photo Pollinator)

But in the 1780s, a new settler arrived in this area, another German, but of more traditional Lutheran stock, not Anabaptist or Pietist. His name was Johannes Crickenberger (or Krickenberger, Kriggenberger, Krukeberger, Krueckeberg or Cuckenberg—all in various church records), and it is thought he was a Hessian soldier, captured at the Battle of Saratoga (October 1777), and freed by the American army, as many German prisoners were, with the promise of land and great opportunity if they would help settle the western frontiers of the new nation. In popular culture, Hessian soldiers have a gruesome reputation, as bloodthirsty killers in the American Revolution, or, more specifically, as the Headless Horseman in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving (published in 1819). Not many Americans know really who these German immigrants were.

The Headless Horseman!

Hessian soldiers were highly trained professionals hired out in various wars of the 18th century by the landgraves of Hesse-Kassel, primarily Friedrich II (1720-1785). The House of Hesse, whose early history is told in my post about travelling across central Germany, is one of the oldest ruling dynasties in the Holy Roman Empire, but were never amongst the wealthiest, not having clear access to the sea, or the rich mineral resources to the east in Saxony. But they did have good dynastic connections with neighbouring states: in 1740, Landgrave Friedrich II married Princess Mary of Hanover, the daughter of King George II of Great Britain, and personally brought some of his soldiers to Scotland in 1745 to aid his father-in-law in suppressing the Jacobite rebellion there. As a ruler, Friedrich was an ‘enlightened despot’, keen to improve his state and the welfare of his people, so he concentrated on education and public works, but needed revenue to pay for this—he therefore rented out his well-trained soldiers to whoever would pay (sometimes even meaning his soldiers fought on opposite sides of a conflict, as in the Seven Years War when they served in armies of both Austria and Hanover/Britain). He ensured that Hesse-Kassel manufactured its own weapons and stimulated the cloth industry so they were self-reliant for military uniforms. By the 1760s-70s, his endeavours were so successful that, in spite of his building projects, he actually lowered taxes (something the French king could only dream about!).

Friedrich II, Landgrave of Hesse-Kassel

So in 1776, Fredrich II made a deal with his cousin, George III of England, to send about 17,000 soldiers to America as auxiliaries to the British Army. Friedrich’s son, Wilhelm, who was already his own master as Landgrave of Hesse-Hanau (a bit to the south, near Frankfurt), also contributed some soldiers, as did the Duke of Brunswick, the Prince of Waldeck and the Prince of Anhalt. It’s estimated about 30,000 German soldiers in total were sent to North America, about a quarter of British land forces.

Hessian soldiers

Soldiers from Hesse were gathered at the inland port of Karlshafen on the Weser River, located at the border between Hesse, Hanover and Westphalia. This port was developed in the 1710s by Landgrave Karl I, in an area previously settled by French Huguenot refugees (and in fact, not at all far from the religious refuge of the County of Wittgenstein, discussed above).

Karlshafen

Perhaps Johannes Crickenberger came from this area. Family records suggest he came from Reinsdorf in the County of Schaumburg, an exclave of Hesse-Kassel, to the north, near the city of Hanover—which was a Lutheran area which might explain why, or if, Johannes was a Lutheran, since Hesse-Kassel was officially a Calvinist principality. By coincidence (or is it? maybe Johannes didn’t have a surname, so borrowed one from a local landmark?), just across the river from Karlshafen was a large castle called the Krukenburg—an ancient fortress built by the bishops of Paderborn to guard a monastery complex there. It had been conquered by Hesse in the 15th century but by the 18th century was already a ruin.

Krukenburg (photo DaTroll)

The Hessian soldiers sailed down the Weser to the sea, and in August of 1776 had arrived in New York where they helped the British Army secure Long Island. They then took part in the Battle of Trenton, New Jersey, in December, in which about 1,000 Hessians were captured. The next summer, in the lead up to the two battles of Saratoga (in September and October), there was a skirmish at the town of Bennington (in upstate new York just across the border in Vermont), 16 August, in which another thousand Hessians were killed or captured. Could this have been where Johannes was captured by the American Army?

The Capture of the Hessians at Trenton, by John Trumbull

Almost immediately, the United States Congress authorised its Army to offer up to 50 acres to German soldiers who would switch sides. Many of these prisoners were interned in a camp in Lancaster, PA, where they were encouraged to mingle with loyal German-Americans living in the area. It is estimated that about 5,000 chose to remain after the war. For whatever reason, Johannes did not stay in New York or Pennsylvania, and in 1782, he married Teckla (or Thacula) Hockman, in Staufferstadt in the Shenandoah Valley. Staufferstadt was one of the earliest settlements in the Valley, named for Peter Stauffer (or Stover, as it is more commonly spelled today). It was soon renamed Strasburg, after the town in Alsace where many German religious refugees had come from (Stauffer himself was from Mannheim, in the Palatinate). Teckla’s father was Peter Hockman, a Swiss Anabaptist settled nearby on a bend of the Shenandoah River near what’s now Tom’s Brook. An interesting note I found on a genealogy website says that Peter Hockman was fined in 1761 for not responding to a military muster during the French and Indian War—so it seems his pacifist beliefs were intact.

Friedens Church and cemetery

By about 1802, Johannes and Teckla bought a farm several miles to the south on the North River, on the border between Rockingham and Augusta Counties (named for another British Prime Minister, and the mother of King George III, respectively). This is near the town of Weyer’s Cave, near the point where the North, Middle and South rivers converge to form the Shenandoah River. They attended the local Lutheran Church, called the Friedens Church, considered one of the oldest Lutheran churches in the Valley. It’s thought they are buried there, and although there are dozens of tombstones there with German inscriptions, we didn’t see either name on a visit there a few years ago.

German remained the primary language of their son David, who as late as 1812, when he served in the war against Britain, was said to only read and write in German. By the 1830s, he had left the farm on the North River and was living a bit to the east, up on the Blue Ridge in Brown’s Gap. But when he died in 1855, he was buried back in the valley, only about a mile up the road from his father’s farm, at a place called Melanchthon Chapel Cemetery. This Lutheran cemetery would be the resting place for several generations of Crickenbergers, and indeed the name Melanchthon—one of the leading Lutheran reformers of the 16th century—appears again and again in family names. My great-great-grandfather was Philip Melanchthon Crickenberger, and his second son was Peter Melanchthon (his elder son was named William Luther, and indeed, his own younger brother was Martin Luther). Even more extraordinarily, Philip’s older brother, George Washington Crickenberger (yes, that’s his name), had seven sons who made it into the Guinness World Book of Records as the ‘alphabetical sons’: Arthur Benton, Clinton Dewitt, Earl Floyd, George Herman, Ira Jethrow, Kennie Luther, and Minor Newton (born between 1879 and 1895). On the topic of extraordinary names, my mother also had a great-uncle called Orange Presley Harris (called ‘Jack’, understandably), but he’s part of my English ancestry, so not part of this story. These were big farming families with lots and lots of children: Philip Melanchthon Crickenberger married the 18-year-old Lottie Shiflett in 1876, and over the next 21 years they had 17 children, including three sets of twins. Poor Lottie died, aged only 39. Shiflett is another name common to this area of Virginia, though more so on the eastern side of the Blue Ridge, as all my friends who went to UVA know: every policeman, postman or sales clerk in Charlottesville seems to be named Shiflett.

Philip and Lottie Crickenberger in the Melanchthon Chapel Cemetery near Weyer’s Cave (personal photo)

My mother also had some great-aunts on the Sherfy side with fantastic names: Tennessee (‘Tenna’) and Timaoczema (‘Timey’). Several of the lines of the Sherfy family (from above) had moved down the Valley and settled in Johnson City, Tennessee. Others stopped in the way in the Shenandoah Valley, and April and December of 1903, two of these Sherfy sisters married two Crickenberger brothers, Peter and his younger brother Henry (who went by his second name, Neff), thus drawing them in to the Church of the Brethren, and drawing together the lineages being outlined in this story.

Neff Crickenberger and Hattie Sherfy (and witnesses at their wedding), 1903

Pete Crickenberger’s family moved up to Northern Virginia, and I knew some of his descendants where I grew up there. Neff’s family remained in the Valley, and moved around, but ultimately settled near a town called Mount Jackson. His eldest son, Frederick Melanchthon, had been born near the original family homestead near Weyers Cave. His second daughter, Olivia, my grandmother, had the wild idea of going to college—none of her siblings even finishing high school—and she did. It is through this experience that all the lines of my family were eventually drawn together to produce me.

Crickenberger siblings, 1945 (my grandmother Olivia third from left)

Bridgewater College was founded in 1880 by the Church of the Brethren (by Daniel Christian Flory—undoubtedly related to those Floras and Florys so far encountered in this tale). Olivia Crickenberger enrolled in 1927. I asked her how she had managed to get a loan from a bank to pay for college, as the daughter of fairly poor farmers, and she said, quite nonchalantly, ‘I just asked my preacher for a note to take to the bank that said, “Ollie is a good girl”’. Oh what times they were! She also suggested to me that she had gone to college to get away from the marital aims of a neighbouring farmwoman in Mount Jackson, Mother Jordan, whose two (of three) sons had already married two of Ollie’s sisters.

Olivia Crickenberger’s photo in the Bridgewater College yearbook, 1928

But she only finished two years, then married a city slicker from Washington, DC, converted him too to the Church of the Brethren (in fact the minister at their wedding was a cousin, Ernest Sherfy), and sent her own daughter, Carol, my mother, to Bridgewater College. Here she met a track star from Roanoke, Wayne Eller Spangler, my father. They were married in 1954, and decided to travel the world, spending time as teachers in Japan and France, and as missionary teachers in Nigeria, before settling down to raise their family back in Virginia.

Olivia Crickenberger looking a little shy in her class portrait, Bridgewater College, 1928

(images from Wikimedia, or personal collections)

Lerma, Olivares and Haro: los Validos

Spain’s ‘Golden Century’ was dominated politically by powerful men known as validos, a combination of prime minister and personal servant, the closest confidant and advisor to the king. The reigns of Philip III and Philip IV were monopolised by three men, Lerma, Olivares and the latter’s nephew Haro. The first was created Duke of Lerma (1599), and his son Duke of Uceda (1610). The second was created Duke of Sanlúcar la Mayor (1625), but used the curious hybrid title of ‘Count -Duke’ of Olivares; his son-in-law (and at one point anticipated successor) was given the dukedom of Medina de las Torres (1626). The third, while ultimately inheriting the Olivares title, was given his own dukedom of Montoro (1660).

Olivares

This post is thus about three families—the House of Sandoval de Lerma, the House of Guzmán de Olivares, and the House of López de Haro—and at least five ducal titles between them. All three validos were part of wider dynastic clans, or casas; in particular, the House of Guzmán had many branches, and one of the oldest and grandest dukedoms in Spain, Medina Sidonia (1445). But since that dukedom has very much its own story, and indeed continued into the modern era in a different family line (as Spanish dukedoms passed freely through female lines), I will write about it separately.

Like many Iberian families, the histories of these three families is long and sometimes emerges from shadows into national and international prominence, then fades more into the background, only to emerge once again to prominence in a different branch. López de Haro is a good example of this. While they were not dukes or princes, the early members of this family were amongst the most powerful nobles in Spain in the Middle Ages, with generations holding the title Lord of Vizcaya—the province of Biscay, or the Basque Country. They originated in the town of Haro, in the province of La Rioja, one of the contested frontier areas between Vizcaya and the early medieval kingdoms of Navarre and Castile. Iñigo López Ezquerra was appointed governor of Vizcaya in about 1040, and converted his rule into a hereditary title by the 1070s. His son and grandson served the kings of Castile and Leon in their wars of re-conquest against the Moors (Toledo, 1085, Zaragoza, 1118). Diego II, the 5th Lord, rose to the positions of Alferez del rey and Mayordomo mayor in 1183, the top positions at court, and was one of the greatest magnates of the reign of King Alfonso VIII of Castile. Like many of his kinsmen he fought at the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212, which effectively destroyed the power of the Almohads in Iberia. In 1187 he married his sister Urraca to King Ferdinand II of Leon, solidifying their family’s access to royal favour and power through blood. Several other kinsmen would marry into the various royal houses in the next generations, including Mencia who married in 1240 Sancho II, King of Portugal. They adopted a the symbol of the wolf on their coat of arms (from lupus, or lobo, wolf).

The height of the López de Haro power was probably reached with Lope Diaz III, 8th Lord of Vizcaya, who was still Alferez and Mayordomo of the king, and backed Sancho IV in his usurpation of the Castilian throne from his nephew—Lope and Sancho were married to sisters (grand-daughters of the king of Leon), making their bond even greater. But his power made other nobles jealous, and they concocted an argument between the two men resulting in Lope pulling a knife on the King and his subsequent execution in 1288. By the early 14th century, the senior line died out, and the lordship of Vizcaya passed into the House of Lara, one of the other great magnate families of the Kingdom of Castile in this period.

Back in the 1280s, the son of the 8th Lord of Vizcaya had supported the rival of King Sancho, the dispossessed Infante Alfonso, as did one of the early members of the House of Guzmán. This family arose a little bit later, and bit more to the south, in the province of Burgos in Castile. There is a village here with the name Guzmán, which some have suggested was named for early Germanic (Visigothic) settlers (‘good man’) or for a Visigothic king or chieftain named ‘Gudemar’. Whatever the case, documents show Rodrigo Muñoz de Guzmán as a patron of several monasteries in the region in the 1180s, and tenant-in-chief of the lordship of Roa in the Duero valley. There is a ‘Guzmán Palace’ in the village, built in the 17th century by a member of a minor branch, which today serves as a municipal centre.

There is also a ‘house saint’ in this very early period, though any firm connections are conjectural—he may simply have come from the same town. This is Santo Domingo de Guzmán, better known in English as Saint Dominic, the founder of the Dominican Order in the early years of the 13th century.

Saint Dominic

The great rise to prominence of the Guzmáns came just as the early López de Haro lords were fading away. Alfonso Pérez de Guzmán ‘el Bueno’ was one of the noteworthy conquerors of Andalusia in the 1290s, famously capturing the castle of Tarifa—at the southernmost tip of continental Europe. He was rewarded with the important lordship of Sanlúcar de Barameda, guarding the mouth of the river Guadalquivir, near Cadiz, and the lordship of Medina Sidonia, a bit inland, and one of the most ancient towns in the region—possibly founded by Phoenician colonists (and named for their hometown of Sidon; Medina is Arabic for ‘city’). He was given the fortress of Tarifa to defend, which he did, famously, in 1294, in throwing his knife down to besiegers who had captured his son—indicating he would rather sacrifice his son than disappoint his king.

El Bueno throws down his knife, painting by Martinez Cubells, 1883

Less glamorously, El Bueno was also given the rights to fish tuna in this coastline, one of the most lucrative in the area, and upon which his family built much of their great fortune—the ‘tuna fortress’, Zahara de los Atunes, still stands today. By the end of his life, he had helped Ferdinand IV take the Rock of Gibraltar (1309), and had founded one of the grandest Andalusian aristocratic lineages still extant today. One of his descendants, Juan Alonso de Guzmán el Bueno (they had added this to the surname), was created first Duke of Medina Sidonia (1445), and the family continued to dominate the provinces of Cadiz and Seville for generations. Their residence is still the Palace of Medina Sidonia in Sanlúcar, near Cadiz. As said at the start, I will cover their story separately.

Palace of Zahara de los Atunes

But to get back to the medieval Guzmáns, we need to know exactly who were the parents of ‘El Bueno’. This seems a bit murky. There has been recent speculation that he was a Moor himself who converted, and indeed there is evidence from his life that he played a strong role as a negotiator between Christian and Muslim warring parties, not merely a conqueror. The more traditional answer is that he was the illegitimate son of Pedro Guillén de Guzmán, one of the key military governors of Castile in the reigns of Ferdinand III and Alfonso X. Pedro Guillén’s sister was Mayor, the mistress of Alfonso X and mother of Beatriz, wife of King Alfonso III of Portugal—so, like the López de Haro lords above, royal blood (legitimate or illegitimate) ran through Guzmán veins. Their cousin Pedro Ruiz (or Nuñez), head of the senior branch, was Adelantado mayor (a military commander) of Castile and married the heiress of the lordship of Roa, in Burgos (a town we have already encountered, above), upon which they built the foundations of their dynasty in the north (while El Bueno’s descendants established themselves in the south). In 1312 they acquired the lordship of Toral, near the city of Leon, and this would become this branch’s primary title, raised to a marquisate in 1612. The 2nd Marqués del Toral will turn up in our story of Olivares, below.

Guzman arms: there are many variants for different branches, but all include in some for the cauldron (common in Iberian heraldry) brimming with snakes

The third family covered in this blog post, Sandoval (or Gómez de Sandoval), rose to great prominence last, completely dominated Spain for a brief time, then vanished. They too traced their roots to the early medieval re-settling of northern Castile in the 12th century. Like the Guzmans their name came from a small town in Burgos province, possibly from Zandabal, ‘next to the thicket/grove’. For generations they remained minor local lords, then in the late 14th century Fernán de Sandoval married Ines de Rojas, heiress of lands further to the north, and the riches of an uncle, the Archbishop of Toledo. Their son bore both surnames, Sandoval and Rojas, and was raised to the higher level of nobility, as count of Castrojeriz (near Sandoval, 1426), and as count of Denia, an important town in the Kingdom of Valencia, near Alicante (1431)—a detail that will become important in the career of the valido Lerma, below.

The next generations of Sandovals married into the highest Castilian nobility. Denia was raised to a marquisate in 1484, and another property in Burgos province, Lerma, was raised to a county. The 2nd Marqués of Denia married a cousin of King Ferdinand of Aragon, and in the following generations, the Sandovals became intimates of the royal family at court. Francisco de Sandoval Rojas (1553-1625) was the son of the 4th Marqués, a Gentleman of the Chamber of Philip II, and of Isabel de Borja, a daughter of St. Francisco, duke of Gandia. He was an early friend of the heir to the throne, Prince Felipe, and served as his Caballerizo mayor (the officer in charge of his stables); then when the Prince succeeded as Philip III in 1598, Sandoval swiftly took control of the government as the new king’s chief confidant and advisor. In 1598 he was named Sumiller de Corps, the most intimate office within the royal household in Spain, in charge of the King’s private rooms and his person (dressing, cleaning, etc). He still held the post Caballerizo mayor, which meant that he was also the most intimate officer outside the royal residence, when the king went around on horseback. These two offices joined together, interior and exterior, would define the post of Valido for the century to come.

The Duke of Lerma, by Rubens

In 1599, Sandoval was created duke of Lerma, his son was created Marqués of Cea (a rich lordship in northern Leon), and his cousin Bernardo was promoted to the archbishopric of Toledo (the most senior position in the Spanish church) and made a cardinal. Cardinal de Sandoval was later Grand Inquisitor of Spain—so between them, the Duke and the Cardinal could control both church and state. Lerma’s wife Catalina became the Camarera mayor (head of the household) of the new queen, Margarita of Austria. Lerma’s rule was bold: he made peace with France finally in 1598, but failed to stop the war with the Dutch, leading to state bankruptcy in 1607. In a diversionary tactic, he ordered the expulsion of Moriscos, the descendants of converted Muslims, primarily from the Kingdom of Valencia, in 1609, and he made a great show of overseeing this personally in his marquisate of Denia. This brought him great popularity with the clergy and the populous of Spain, but wrecked the economy of Valencia for several generations.

a contemporary painting of the expulsion of the Moriscos from Denia

As a bit of a control freak, Lerma convinced the King to move the Spanish court away from Madrid to a new palace, La Ribera, in Valladolid, in 1601, and he built himself a grand palace not far away at Lerma, an old medieval walled town, from 1606. The ducal palace of Lerma was built with four corner towers, at a time when no residence could have more than two towers except those belonging to kings. Lerma was now like a second king.

the ducal palace at Lerma

The great favourite helped his son, Cristóbal, acquire the town and county of Uceda, in Guadalajara province (just north of Madrid), in 1609, and it was raised to a separate dukedom in 1610. Cristóbal also built for himself at this time a huge palace right next to the royal palace. In later years it was judged to be too ostentatious to be held by a non-royal person and was confiscated by the Crown. In the later 17th century it became the residence of the Queen Mother, Mariana of Austria, and today the it houses the Council of State.

the Palace of the Duke of Uceda in Madrid

The 1st Duke of Uceda continued to aspire for more power and more influence, and in 1618, conspired to overthrow his own father. He was successful in replacing him as Sumiller de Corps and Caballerizo mayor, but was soon outmaneuvered and replaced by the rising favourite of the next heir to the throne, the Count of Olivares. Uceda was exiled from court, his properties confiscated; he was later jailed and died in prison in 1624. His father fared somewhat better—seeing the writing on the wall, he had asked the Pope to make him a cardinal (his wife had died long before) in 1618, a few months before the coup, so that he would have clerical immunity. The ‘Cardinal-Duke’ therefore retired peaceably to Lerma, but in the new reign, that of Philip IV, he was forced to return huge sums to the state in 1624, and he died, broken, in 1625.

A grandson, Francisco, was for a short time both duke of Lerma and Uceda, and when he died in 1635, his daughters were each given one of these titles. Uceda passed into the House of Téllez-Girón, which also preserved the name Gómez de Sandoval (and merged with the dukedom of Osuna). Lerma eventually passed into the hands of the great Mendoza family (joining with their dukedom of Infantado), then into other grand aristocratic houses and mostly lost amongst the dozens of dukedoms accumulated by the great grandee families of the 19th century. In the 20th century, the ducal palace at Lerma was used as a concentration camp by the fascists in Spain, but today is restored to its former glamour and houses a luxury hotel.

No such spectacular buildings remain to memorialise the second of the great Validos, the ‘Count-Duke’ of Olivares, who had replaced the Duke of Uceda as royal favourite in 1621. He was the grandson of the 1st Count of Olivares, Pedro Pérez de Guzmán. The youngest son of the 3rd Duke of Medina Sidonia, Pedro was given by his father the lordship of Estercolinas, west of the city of Seville, in about 1507. The lordship was renamed Olivares perhaps to reflect the abundant olive groves, another source of the family’s great wealth in the region. The building constructed to house this new branch of the Guzmán family does survive (the Palacio de Olivares) and today serves as the town’s municipal offices.

Palacio de Olivares

Pedro served Charles V abroad in his wars in Italy, Germany and North Africa, and was rewarded with the title Count of Olivares in 1539. He used his affinity with the King to profit from new laws permitting the ancient military orders to sell off their lands in Andalusia. His son, Enrique, now a very wealthy man, continued to serve the Spanish king (now Philip II) in his wars, but also at court, holding a wide variety of prominent positions: Treasurer of Castile, Governor of the royal palace of Seville and Ambassador to France and to Rome. Towards the end of his life he was appointed to the most prestigious offices: viceroy of Sicily (1592-95) then viceroy of Naples (1595-99). His son, Gaspar (b. 1587), the 3rd Count of Olivares, was thus set up very well.

Gaspar had been born in Rome, then at a young age was placed in the household of the heir to the throne. Once the prince became King Philip IV in 1621, Olivares soon assumed the position of Minister-Favourite, the King’s most trusted advisor, so close to his sovereign that some considered him like the King’s alter-ego. In fact, one of the most prominent characteristics of the rule of Olivares in the next two decades was his almost overwhelming dedication to hard work, all in the service of allowing the monarch to be more detached from government, more mystical and removed from the common people, and bringing order back to the administration of the Spanish monarchy. He even built a new palace for the King, the ‘Buen Retiro’, a place where he could ‘retire’ from the bustling city and enjoy himself amongst its gardens and waterways. Constructed in the 1630s, the new palace’s interiors were decorated with paintings by Velázquez and frescoes by Luca Giordano. Olivares is seen by some to be the architect of the last great burst of Spain’s golden age.

The Buen Retiro Palace in the 17th century–little remains today but the park

Others saw him quite differently, as someone who relentlessly pursued centralisation, to the detriment of the Church and the old nobility. He re-started the Dutch War and provoked war with France, reigniting Spain’s financial woes and skyrocketing inflation. By 1640, the strains were so great that independence movements broke out in Portugal and Catalonia, followed by a revolt in Andalusia of the old nobles—led by his own cousin, Gaspar Alfonso Pérez de Guzmán y Sandoval, 9th Duke of Medina Sidonia, whose mother was a daughter of the Duke of Lerma, and whose sister was married to the newly proclaimed king of Portugal. Although he managed to hold on to Catalonia and to supress the revolt in Andalusia, decades of overwork took their toll and Olivares started losing control of his mind. He was forced out of government in January 1643, retired to his sister’s palace in the far west of Spain, and died there, in 1645.

The Conde-Duque de Olivares, by Velazquez (c1624)

Olivares’ succession was confusing. He had been rewarded with a dukedom in 1625, on the town of Sanlúcar la Mayor, in the province of Seville. He wanted to remain known as ‘Olivares’, so rather than change title, he morphed the two into the title ‘Count-Duke of Olivares’ (an unusual occurrence I have not seen anywhere else—and I don’t understand why the King didn’t simply create a duchy of Olivares).

But one dukedom was not enough. Following the precedent set by Lerma, to secure his family’s pre-eminence, he had a second dukedom created, Medina de las Torres, for his daughter and her husband, another Guzmán cousin, Ramiro Nuñez de Guzmán, 2nd Marqués de Torral, selected by the Valido from the senior but more impoverished branch of the family (noted above). Medina de las Torres was a town (‘medina’ in Arabic) with an old Moorish fortress (‘las torres’, the towers) in Extremadura in the far west of Spain, near the border with Portugal.

the towers of Medina de las Torres

But the Duchess, Olivares’ only legitimate child, died only a year later. Her widower remarried, a woman not approved by the Valido, and fell from his former father-in-law’s favour. His marriage saved him, however, as she was a Carafa, one of the most powerful Neapolitan princely houses, and through her influence (and his own personal favour with Philip IV), he was named Viceroy of Naples, in 1636. Through his wife he also held the lofty Italian titles, Prince of Stigliano, Duke of Mondragone, and Duke of Traetto. These titles, and Medina de las Torres, passed to their son, but he had no children, so the Italian titles were inherited elsewhere and the duchy of Medina de las Torres passed to a half-sister (from his father’s third marriage), and then into the House of Osorio.

The Duke of Medina de las Torres
(some fantastic mustaches in this post!)

Annoyed with his supposedly docile and controllable son-in-law’s independent re-marriage, Olivares decided to legitimise his bastard son Juliano, renaming him Enrique Felipez, in 1642. He was named heir to the duchy of Sanlúcar, while the county of Olivares passed to his sister’s son, Luis de Haro (see below). Enrique died a year later, followed by his own son, the 3rd Duque de Sanlúcar la Mayor, only two years later. After a legal battle, a cousin (the son of Olivares’ aunt) was awarded the dukedom, and it remained in his family (Dávila) for several generations (though they preferred to be known by the title, Marqués de Leganes), before passing to the ducal House of Osorio. These two dukedoms, Medina de las Torres and Sanlúcar la Mayor were thus re-joined together in the same family.

The nephew who became the 4th Count of Olivares, Luis Méndez de Haro, in 1645, succeeded his own father soon after (1648) as the 6th Marqués del Carpio, and in that same year was given the court office of Caballerizo mayor, thus confirming his place as the new Valido of Philip IV. Like his predecessors, Haro relied on his close personal favour with the King for his power, though he exercised it in a different manner, much more subtly, much more interested in unifying the court and making peace with Spain’s neighbours. He didn’t even use a title, usually called simply ‘don Luis de Haro’. The marquisate of Carpio was a major estate in the south of Spain, in the province of Cordoba. A junior branch of the ancient House of López de Haro had acquired it through marriage in the late 15th century to the heiress of the Méndez de Sotomayor family—subsequent generations would use the surnames of either López or Méndez de Haro.

the old fortress tower of El Carpio still stands

The lordship of Carpio was raised to a marquisate in 1559, and the family built up significant wealth in the provinces of Cordoba and neighbouring Seville. The 5th Marqués made his father’s office of Caballerizo de las Reales de Cordoba (master of the royal stables) into a hereditary post in 1625, and placed his son, Luis, in the orbit of the Minister-Favourite, his uncle Olivares.

A French print of the man who made peace between France and Spain–note, he was not Hereditary Constable of Castile.

Having succeeded as Minister-Favourite himself from 1643, Haro was at first successful in putting down the revolts in Catalonia and Naples, and ending the war with the Dutch. He restored order domestically, and finally brought France to the negotiating table resulting in the Peace of the Pyrenees of 1659. He was rewarded finally with a dukedom of his own: Montoro, a town in a bend of the Guadalquivir river, northeast of Cordoba. But he did not live long to enjoy this success, dying a year later in 1661.

the town of Montoro

The 1660s and ‘70s were thus decades of a balance of power between the remnants of some of these families. Haro’s eldest son, Gaspar (known as the Marqués del Carpio, not Montoro or Olivares) was exiled from court in 1662, but later became a diplomat and foreign advisor to Queen Mariana, regent for her son King Carlos II. In his absence, foreign affairs was often controlled the Duke of Medina de las Torres, Olivares’ former son-in-law, though counter-balanced by Haro’s uncle, the Count of Castrillo. Haro’s second son, the Count of Monterrey, became a prominent governor in the 1670s, in the Low Countries and in Catalonia. Back in Madrid, his older brother, Carpio hoped to become yet another valido, but his aspirations were dashed by the palace coup led by Philip IV’s illegitimate son, Don Juan, in 1677. He went to Rome as ambassador, where he became a great patron and collector of art, then moved on to serve as Viceroy of Naples, 1682, where he died in 1687.

Carpio as Viceroy of Naples

As the Spanish Golden Century came to a close, the last valido’s grand-daughter, Catalina de Haro, married into the great Alvarez de Toledo family, taking with her the duchy of Montoro, the county of Olivares (which the family still refer to as a ‘county-duchy’—though only recognised as such by a royal decree of 1882), the marquisate of Carpio, and many other properties. The Duke of Alba today continues to list these amongst his great number of aristocratic titles.

(images from Wikimedia Commons)

Simplified family charts for Sandoval, Lerma and Haro

Dukes of Saint Albans

Of all the extant dukedoms of the United Kingdom, the dukes of Saint Albans are probably the least well known. They lack a major country house, a ducal seat, to remind the general public of their history and grandeur as a family. They hold no major ceremonial role in the running of the modern monarchy. Yet as one of the four ducal families descended from the illegitimate offspring of King Charles II, their story is an interesting reminder of the close interplay between royalty and nobility in British history. It all starts with a beautiful young actress in a London theatre named Nell Gwyn.

Nell Gwyn, by Simon Verelst

The tale of the Beauclerks, the surname given to them by King Charles, is particularly interesting in the early eighteenth century, as close companions to kings and queens of the Hanoverian dynasty, an interesting scenario where the lingering offspring from one royal house, the Stuarts, remain in close proximity to its successor. The name Beauclerk is unusual—unlike the other three ducal families descended from Charles II, it does not reflect royal lineage (like FitzRoy), or a major Stuart estate (like Lennox), or the name of a major heiress (like Scot). And the title, duke of Saint Albans, granted in 1684, does not reflect any of these associations either (a royal estate like Richmond, or a major noble estate like Buccleuch). It is unclear why either the surname or the title was given to these two sons of the King: Charles, born in 1670, and James, in 1671. ‘Beau clerc’ means ‘fine scholar’, though some have translated it as ‘handsome steward’ a play on the royal surname of Stuart; and some have looked more to an alternative early spelling, ‘Beauclaire’, which connects to the Welsh meanings of their mother’s name, nel gwyn, ‘pretty white’, and is apparently the preferred pronunciation of the name. I have thought that perhaps there was also a bit of historical muddle by Charles and his friends, who wished playfully and romantically to recall the royal liaison from the distant past of ‘Fair Rosamond’ Clifford and King Henry II, though it was Henry I who was nicknamed ‘Beauclerk’. After all, Rosamond’s story does take place in and around Oxford, and the titles given to the elder son at an early age, Burford and Heddington, are both in Oxfordshire. Indeed, one family biographer notes that young Charles’s marriage to the great Oxford heiress Diana de Vere was already envisioned in the early 1670s (though they didn’t in fact marry until 1694), and there is a precedent, in the name ‘earl of Euston’ being granted to another of Charles II’s sons long before his marriage to the heiress of that estate. Some biographers (including her descendant Charles Beauclerk) give Oxford as Nell Gwyn’s birthplace, though evidence for this is scant.

This is all quite speculative, as is the reason for the title Saint Albans, from the town of that name in Hertfordshire which takes its name from the first British martyr, Alban, from the 3rd or 4th century. The Beauclerks were given no lands in that county, nor were they directly connected to the previous earl of Saint Albans, Henry Jermyn, who died in 1684 with no direct heirs (only 8 days before the creation of the dukedom). There was, however, a rumour that Jermyn, who was very close to Queen Henrietta Maria for most of her adult life, was in fact the father of her children, including even Charles II. Could the transfer of the Saint Albans title be a secret clue? If so, it wouldn’t have been a very well-kept secret.

Eleanor ‘Nell’ Gywn is a well-known character from the Restoration period and the court of ‘the Merry Monarch’, Charles II. But much of her actual origin story is mythical—was she a low-born orange seller in Covent Garden who, through luck or talent, became a respected actress, then one of the more sought after courtesans of the Carolean court? Or was she a distant relation of an old and respected Welsh gentry family? I will leave her story to be told by others. What concerns us here is that by about 1668, she was one of the chief favourites of King Charles, and by 1670, had given him a son (to add to those already born to Lucy Walter and Barbara Villiers Palmer), and another in 1671. Young Charles and James Beauclerk were raised close to the court, in houses the King gave their mother on Pall Mall near St James’s Palace in London, or just outside the gates of Windsor Castle in Berkshire. In 1676, Charles was formally given the name Beauclerk and the titles Baron Heddington and Earl of Burford. His brother James was named as his heir, but was soon sent to Paris for his education—the reason for this is unclear—where he died before his 10th birthday.

The house his mother occupied in Windsor became known as Burford House, and he inherited it when she died in 1687. It was located just outside the Lower Ward of Windsor Castle, in an area now occupied by the Royal Mews. Its interiors were decorated by royal artists working next door at the castle, notably Antonio Verrio and Grinling Gibbons. The house was improved by the 2nd Duke of Saint Albans, who was also governor of Windsor Castle and Warden of Windsor Forest. One of the problems with Burford House, and indeed with many of the original endowments of the Beauclerk family, was that it was expensive to maintain but generated little income. The 3rd Duke sold it to George III in the 1770s, and it became known as the ‘Garden House’, the residence of the King’s younger daughters. When the Prince Regent (the future George IV) enlarged the Royal Mews, the house was incorporated within the structure and mostly disappeared, though the street that runs past it is still called Saint Albans Street.

A view of Windsor Castle, with Burford House, centre-left

The first Duke of Saint Albans (cr. 1684) was also given the office of Master of the Hawks or Master Falconer, which brought with it a pension (about £1,000) and a formal place within the court hierarchy of late Stuart Britain. In the past, this post was not a mere formality, and entailed real duties of supplying hawking birds for the royal sport, acquiring birds and overseeing the officers of the Royal Mews at St Martin in the Fields in London. But the reign of James II was tumultuous and not very much given over to pastimes like falconry, so the teenaged Charles did what many young noblemen did, and sought his fortune abroad. After studying for a spell in France from 1682, he served in the Imperial armies besieging the Turks at Belgrade in 1688—he had a Catholic tutor, and indeed his mother Nell had leaned towards Catholicism, and James II certainly put the pressure on his nephew to convert. But the young Duke did not, and later was a faithful servant of Britain’s Protestant monarchs: indeed, while serving abroad in the Habsburg armies, it is likely he met one or more of the sons of the Duke of Hanover who were also active in the wars against the Turks—the eldest of these would become King George I of Great Britain. Saint Albans also fought for King William III in his overseas wars, notably at the Battle of Neerwinden, east of Brussels, in 1693. He was named Captain of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners by William in November 1693, a key position of intimacy (the King’s personal escort), and a Gentleman of the Bedchamber in 1697, then continued royal service under George I as Lord Lieutenant of Berkshire (from 1716). His wife was named Mistress of the Robes to Caroline of Ansbach as Princess of Wales.

Charles Beauclerk, 1st Duke of Saint Albans, by Kneller

Lady Diana de Vere was the sole heiress of Aubrey, 20th Earl of Oxford, who died in 1703. The earldom of Oxford was one of the oldest in the realm, dating from the time of the Empress Matilda (1141). Though they did hold properties in Oxfordshire, their main seat and centre of operations was in and around Heddingham Castle in Essex. Even more significantly, the De Veres had been hereditary Grand Chamberlains of England, in almost unbroken line since the 1130s.

Lady Diana de Vere, by Kneller

By marrying Lady Diana, in 1694, the 1st duke of Saint Albans was emulating his half-brothers who also married great aristocratic heiresses, and usually took on their surname (and in fact subsequent heirs of the Duke would be called De Vere Beauclerk, and added the very simple De Vere pattern to their coat of arms).

Beauclerk and De Vere arms quartered

But Diana was not in fact a great heiress, as most of the De Vere properties, and the office of Grand Chamberlain, had passed into other families earlier in the century. Compared to his half-brothers, the Duke of St Albans was decidedly poor, with an income of no more than £10,000 by the early 18th century. Nell Gwyn had not been as rapacious as her fellow royal mistresses—recall the “let not poor Nelly starve” story on Charles II’s deathbed. There is the other anecdotal story of Nell being promised and estate ‘as large as she could ride around before breakfast’, which turned out to be quite a bit, and nearly 4,000 acres was given to her just north of the city of Nottingham, on the edges of Sherwood Forest, known as Bestwood. But this estate was too far from court and London society for its first owners, and it lay mostly neglected until the 19th century (and to which we will return, below).

Nevertheless, the 1st Duke and Duchess were prominent members of the court of George I until the Duke’s death in 1726 and hers in 1742. Politically they were Whigs, the main supporters of the Hanoverians, and their family would remain decidedly ‘Whiggish’ for the rest of the century. They left behind a whopping eight sons, all of whom had noteworthy careers, and although most of them obtained offices or military commissions or married heiresses to support themselves (and one became bishop of Hereford), the fact that so many lineages were established right away probably contributed to the swift decline in fortunes of this family, never huge to begin with. In a pattern that would repeat itself again and again across the next two centuries, rich heiresses were found, but long-term wealth always seemed to elude the family, partly because the title continually passing from childless branch to childless branch, and any wealth gained passed out of the family to enrich other dynasties instead.

But at least in the second generation, prestigious connections at court kept the family high in the social hierarchy. Charles, the 2nd Duke, was not particularly good at finances, and not a very astute politician, but he was always staunchly anti-Jacobite (never even hinting at support for his Stuart cousin’s royal claims), and was well-liked by George II who confirmed his title (and pension) as Master of the Hawks in 1726, then gave him the prestigious posts of Governor of Windsor Castle and Warden of Windsor Forest in 1730, Lord Lieutenant of Berkshire in 1727, and finally Lord of the Bedchamber in 1738. He did marry an heiress, with estates in Cheshire and Lancashire, but her father outlived him and no money was accrued. Lacking a major country estate, the 2nd Duke was given the grace and favour house, Cranbourne Lodge, in order to carry out his duties in Windsor Forest, and rooms in the Round Tower of Windsor Castle as its governor. Cranbourne, previously the residence of Prince Rupert of the Rhine, had the remains of a Tudor building (a tower, still standing), but had mostly been rebuilt in 1711. The building was last inhabited by Princess Charlotte, daughter of the Prince Regent, and was mostly demolished in the mid-nineteenth century.

Cranbourne Tower today

The 2nd Duke’s brothers also held prominent positions in the Royal Household: William was Vice-Chamberlain of the Household of Queen Caroline, 1728-32; Sidney was Vice-Chamberlain of the Household, 1740-42; and George was Aide-de-Camp for the King from 1745 (and would later be commander-in-chief of forces in Scotland, 1756-67). George, the 3rd Duke, would also hold his father’s posts in the reign of George III, but with his death in 1786, much of this close connection ceased, and subsequent dukes were much less intimate with their Hanoverian cousins. Another indication of their decline in social influence can be seen in the wives of the 2nd and 3rd dukes, daughters of baronets, not members of the grand aristocratic houses that dominated 18th-century Britain. Again, the 3rd Duke, George, did marry an heiress, Jane Roberts of Glassenbury Park in Kent, with lands in Surrey and Leicestershire (and a stunningly huge dowry of £125,000!), but the marriage failed and they formally separated—when she died she willed her fortune back to her own cousins. The Duke’s life was chaotic: twice having to flee abroad to avoid creditors, having a child with a dairy maid, carousing in Paris and Venice, losing vast sums of money to fake nobles in casinos abroad. He lived for a time with a mistress and four illegitimate children in a castle outside Brussels, until he was arrested there for unpaid debts and forced to leave by the authorities for ‘indecent living’. He died, childless, a broken man.

Jane Roberts, 3rd Duchess of Saint Albans

The 3rd Duke’s nephew, also named George, held the title for only a year before he died unmarried, age 28, in 1787. He had shown much greater promise: serving in the war in America as a young man, and preparing to inherit a great estate in Cheshire—16,000 acres of rich agricultural land on the fertile Cheshire plain. As he too had no male heir, these estates passed swiftly back out of the family, but took with them some of the Beauclerk art treasures that had been accumulated by the first and second dukes.

The title therefore passed to a cousin, the 2nd Baron Vere. This cousin, Aubrey (taking one of the names used by the De Veres for many centuries), was the son of Lord Vere Beauclerk, third son of the 1st Duke and Duchess. Lord Vere had a long career in Parliament and in the navy, rising to the rank of admiral in 1745 and Senior Naval Lord in 1746. He was created Baron Vere of Hanworth, Middlesex, in 1750, having married the heiress of Hanworth Park in 1736 (Mary Chambers, whose fortune also included quite a bit of sugar wealth from Jamaica). This grand house, located not far from Heathrow Airport, would therefore become the family seat when Aubrey succeeded as 5th Duke of Saint Albans in 1787. It had been a royal manor in the 16th century, occupied by Anne Boleyn then Catherine Parr, then passed to the family of Baron Cottington, Chancellor of the Exchequer in the 17th century, and then to the Chambers family. It was rebuilt after a fire in 1797, but it is not certain whether this was undertaken by the 5th Duke, or by the next owners (a succession of families). In the 20th century its grounds served as the London Air Park between the wars, but today it and the house lay mostly abandoned.

Hanworth House and airfield in 1938

The 5th Duke was known less as a courtier like his predecessors, but more of a collector. He lived for a time in Rome from the later 1770s, to study and collect art and also to escape the scandal of his wife’s alleged affair—though the alleged lover actually went with them to Italy as well. The Duke financed the excavation of an ancient Roman site, and had himself and his family painted by fashionable Italian artists.

the 5th Duke and Duchess and their children, painted in Italy

The 5th Duchess, Catherine Ponsonby, was a cousin of the famous Duchess of Devonshire, a woman also known at the time for her scandalous love life. These couples were all part of the beau monde (or the ‘ton’), fashionable aristocrats and socialites. So before continuing on to later dukes, we should pause and look at one of their cousins, one of the most prominent leaders of the ton, with the splendid name of Topham Beauclerk.

Topham was the only child of Lord Sidney Beauclerk, who, as the fifth son of the 1st Duke needed to find a fortune, and he became known as quite the fortune hunter in high society of the 1730s (Lady Mary Wortley Montagu called him ‘Nell Gwyn in person with the sex altered’). In 1736, Lord Sidney did find and marry the heiress Mary Norris, daughter of Thomas Norris of Speke Hall in Lancashire. But a year later, he also received a bequest of the estates of Richard Topham, a bibliophile and collector (especially of drawings) who had become sort of a surrogate father. The Topham estates were located near Windsor (notably Clewer Park), so he now had a residence near his paternal family at Burford House in Windsor, but also an estate and a Tudor manor house far to the north at Speke.

Lord Sidney Beauclerk

Speke Hall had been built in the 1530s for one of the leading gentry families of the area, the Norrises, who were also noteworthy as one of the most persistently Catholic families of the North (much to the annoyance of Elizabethan authorities). Nevertheless, they were staunch Royalists, and in the Civil War era they converted to Anglicanism and defended the Royalist cause in Merseyside. Today, the house, partly modified by later Victorian owners, is wedged uncomfortably between the outer suburbs of Liverpool and the end of the runway of the local airport, yet the National Trust successfully maintain it as an oasis of tranquillity and historical interest. Lord and Lady Sidney Beauclerk lived at Speke Hall when he was not in London as an MP or attending court as Vice-Chamberlain of the Household—he died in 1744, and Mary lived on as a widow for another twenty years, raising their son Topham, named for his father’s benefactor. Once he was of age, however, he took little interest in Speke, and the property was let out to several people and ultimately sold.

Speke Hall in Merseyside

Like many gentlemen of his era, Topham Beauclerk took his Grand Tour, in the 1760s. Back in London he established a reputation as one of the great wits of the age, a close friend of Dr Johnson and a patron of the architect Robert Adam. Johnson seems to have wondered where his much younger friend got his wit and intelligence from, describing his mother Mary Norris as having ‘no notion of a joke…and…a mighty unpliable understanding’, and also lamented as Topham’s failure to actually accomplish anything but engage in brilliant conversation in London society. Yet he loved him dearly, and noted that he would ‘walk to the extent of the diameter of the earth to save Beauclerk’. They caroused together, discussed books together, and founded ‘The Club’ in the 1760s. Topham sometimes hosted this group of intellectuals at the Turk’s Head pub, or at his house on Great Russell Street, where he built a library to house his nearly 30,000 books (languages, sciences, travel books, history, Classics, poetry, and so on). Unlike his cousin the 3rd Duke, Topham had money—he sold a large amount of his estates at Windsor in the 1760s, and there are suggestions that he planned to invest it in redeveloping Speke Hall in the 1770s, though his biographer notes that he lived one generation too soon to become obsessed by the Romantic medievalisms that a half-timbered hall like Speke would inspire. The Hall was instead leased out to local farmers and its precious carved wooden panels in the Great Hall were defaced or broken, and the inlaid oak floors used for firewood. His mother had reputedly wanted him to live at Speke and to assume the name Norris, but he remained in Bloomsbury where he died in 1780, aged only 40. He was described late in life as brilliant but completely idle, even dirty and dishevelled, very disillusioned with society and politics.

Topham Beauclerk

At the height of his career as a socialite, however, Topham Beauclerk’s London life was complemented perfectly by his wife. He had begun a relationship with the beautiful Lady Diana Spencer, a daughter of the 3rd Duke of Marlborough, and Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen, whose marriage to Viscount Bolingbroke was falling apart. In 1768, she petitioned for divorce, shocking society, and within two days married Topham (and legitimised their two daughters). Their circle gathered together writers like Edward Gibbon and Horace Walpole, the liberal politician Charles James Fox, and her cousin, the Duchess of Devonshire. ‘Lady Di’ (as she was known) was also a painter herself and Walpole hung several of her drawings at Strawberry Hill and used them as illustrations for one of his plays. After Topham died in 1780, she retired from society and lived on for another twenty years.

‘Lady Di’, Diana Spencer Beauclerk

Their son, Charles, continued the strong connection with this Enlightened and Whiggish social circle, marrying a daughter of the Duchess of Leinster, a relative of Charles James Fox, and inherited from her the small castle of Ardglass in County Down in Ireland. He was an MP for Richmond in the 1790s, and built a home in West Sussex, Leonardslee, in 1803, to be closer to his work in London. His son Aubrey continued the family tradition of serving as a reformist MP, but his son, William Topham, took this branch of the family in a very different direction, through his marriage in 1910 to Maria de los Dolores (‘Lola’) de Peñalver, 7th Marquesa de Arcos. This title was not claimed by their son, Rafael, but in 1989, he did succeed his mother’s cousin as 6th Marques de Valero de Urría, with its seat in Carreño, in Asturias on the north coast of Spain. Rafael had, during the Second World War, acted as a British military intelligence officer, and his son William also served the British military, as a naval lieutenant on the Queen’s yacht Britannia.

Returning to the main line of the dukes of Saint Albans, the 5th Duke and Duchess—those who had lived in Italy to escape scandal—had several children, including two sons who were dukes, and one who was an admiral. Aubrey, the 6th Duke, was not known for very much, and at first married an heiress (from a formerly Jewish merchant family in Hull), but when she died, her large fortune passed to their only daughter and thus out of the family. He then had a rather quiet second marriage to a daughter of the Manners family (from a junior branch of the dukes of Rutland). Their son Aubrey, succeeded in 1815 as the 7th Duke, at only 4 months old, then he (and his mother) both died six months later. The Hanworth estate (and more of the Beauclerk heirlooms) thus passed out of the family to its natural heirs. The child’s uncle, William, thus became the 8th Duke.

Aubrey, Earl of Burford, later 6th Duke of St. Albans

Unlike the other great dukes of the age, neither of the 8th Duke’s two wives came from a grand aristocratic house. But, like his predecessors, his first wife’s inheritance made up for the lack of a great name. Long before he succeeded as duke, Lord William Beauclerk had married Charlotte Carter Thelwall whose family, originally from Denbighshire in Wales, had established a rather large estate at Redbourne in northern Lincolnshire. Already an orphan, Charlotte died soon after their marriage (in 1797) and left her properties to her husband. Redbourne became a lively centre of Lincolnshire society, and Lord William an astute manager of his country estates (one of the few members of this family to do so). Once he became the 8th Duke, he rented a house in Surrey outside London (Upper Gatton), and re-engaged with the court, notably revising the family role as Grand Falconer at the coronation of George IV in 1821. It would seem that the family’s fortunes were finally improving, with a seat now at Redbourne (and a family mausoleum developed in the local village church) and plans already in motion to finally develop the original St Albans estate at Bestwood in neighbouring Nottinghamshire.

the gates to the Redbourne estate (modern images of the house are not very interesting)

The 8th Duke’s son, William, who succeeded as the 9th Duke in 1825, built on this success and married one of the greatest heiresses of any age, but this one from completely different origins—not a typical country gentleman’s daughter. Harriot Mellon had been a Drury Lane actress who first married the Scottish banker Thomas Coutts, age 80, and became established at Holly Lodge, Highgate, then was named his universal legatee (for nearly 1 million pounds) when he died in 1822 (to the annoyance of his daughters from his first marriage). The Widow Coutts then married the much younger 9th Duke of St Albans in 1827, but was snubbed socially at nearly every turn. The royal dukes attended her parties, but their wives and other highborn ladies shunned her, as she had never been ‘presented’ at court. It took a good deal of cajoling to convince an elderly woman to present Harriot, now a duchess, at court, but even after this Queen Adelaide regularly refused to invite her to court functions. Flush with cash, the Duke now made the most of his position as Grand Falconer (which entitled him to a side of venison each year from the Royal Parks), reviving the sport in Lincolnshire and inviting German falconers to come to England. He hosted grand sporting events, dressed in mock Gothic style, in Lincolnshire, but Harriot was not received by the wives of the gentry here either. The couple lived at Holly Lodge or Saint Albans House on Regency Square in Brighton. When the Duchess died in 1837, she left her husband a £10,000 annuity and interests in London properties, but these were for life only, and did not pass to his heirs. Most of her fortune went to her first husband’s grand-daughter (from his first marriage), making Angela Burdett-Coutts one of the great heiresses of the Victorian age.

Harriot Mellon, 9th Duchess of St Albans, by Sir William Beechey

The children of the 9th Duke came from a second marriage. William, the 10th Duke of Saint Albans, did attempt to carry on his father’s work in re-establishing the family as a grand aristocratic house, notably in the reconstruction of Bestwood as a new ducal seat. The former hunting lodge in Sherwood Forest given by Charles II to Nell Gwyn in the 1680s was entirely rebuilt by the Duke in 1863, and he made it his base for his duties as Lord Lieutenant of Nottinghamshire. The architect, Samuel Sanders Teulon, built a great Neo-Gothic fantasy—quite jarring to some who disliked its proportions, and the fact that much of it looked like a cathedral. It occupies a rise overlooking the city of Nottingham, which end the end spelled its doom, as by the 20th century it was deemed too close to the industrialised Midlands city (with the Beauclerks contributed to themselves, opening a colliery on the Bestwood estate in the 1870s), and the dukes lost interest in the property. It was sold in 1939, and though the house itself survives as a hotel, much of the nicest features of the estate—its woods and terraced gardens—have been redeveloped as the Bestwood Saint Albans business park and surrounding residential neighbourhoods.

Bestwood Hotel today

The 10th Duke married very well, a daughter of Queen Victoria’s private secretary, General Grey. He became a close friend of the Prince of Wales (who was a witness to the Duke’s wedding in 1867, in the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace). Royal visitors to Bestwood included the Prince, his brother the Duke of Albany, and his son the Duke of Clarence. In 1874, the Duke married for a second time an heiress of some of the Osborne properties in County Tipperary, including a large estate at Newtown Anner. These new land interests drew him into Irish politics, and he left the Liberals to join the Unionists in 1886. When he died in 1898, the family on the surface looked set to see in the new century, with three sons from two marriages, and daughters married into the very best families (Cavendish, Somerset, Lascelles). But there were already quite dark clouds on the horizon.

William, 10th Duke of St Albans

Already in the 1890s, his heir, Charles, earl of Burford, was suffering from severe depression. As 11th Duke of Saint Albans he was clearly not well enough to attend the coronations of 1902 or 1911. He was not declared formally ‘insane’, but spent the rest of his life in a clinic in Sussex, until he was succeeded in 1934 by his younger half-brother, Osborne as the 12th Duke. ‘Obby’ was named for his mother’s family in Ireland—the same family, though a different branch, as George Osborne, the Conservative politician. The 12th Duke had been an army officer, an explorer and prospector in British Columbia. He is considered one of the last great eccentrics of the aristocratic age—he wanted to revive the title of Grand Falconer, and specifically, to bring live falcons into Westminster Abbey for the coronation of 1953. He was considered to have great intelligence but little common sense, and his finances—already weakened by his brother’s long period of ill-health—rapidly declined. Obby had married an Irish peer’s daughter (Beatrix Petty-FitzMaurice, daughter of the 5th Marquess of Lansdowne), and lived with her at Newtown Anner, until that property was sold, sometime in the 1940s. Redbourne in Linconshire had already been sold in 1917, and Bestwood in Nottinghamshire, in 1939 (it had in fact already been let out to industrialists since 1915). He spent much of the rest of his long life (he lived to be 90) out of the spotlight, and, having no children, kept his future heirs out of his life, and made no arrangements for a smooth succession (notably employing means to avoid death duties).

Osbourne ‘Obby’ Beauclerk, 12th Duke of St Albans

The 12th Duke died in 1964 and was succeeded by his cousin, Charles, who thus inherited very little—just the title. He had already had a career as a soldier and a civil servant (notably in military intelligence and propaganda during the Second World War), and now tried to re-establish the family’s fortunes, but made sufficient mistakes such that he had to move to Monaco in the 1970s, and he died in 1988. His wife, Suzanne, was an interesting person: of French descent, she was born on a rubber plantation in Malaya, married Charles Beauclerk shortly after the War, and became a fairly well known writer and painter. The 13th Duke’s heir, Murray, now the 14th Duke of Saint Albans, came from an earlier marriage. He has been the head of the Royal Stuart Society since the 1980s. His son Charles is known as Earl of Burford, and his grandson Baron Vere of Hanworth. The children of the second marriage have a wide and colourful array of marriages to people from across the world, including a bride from Tibet and a groom from the Austrian Habsburgs (Archduke Philipp). Perhaps this new global outlook for the British aristocracy can make up for the lack of firm roots in the countryside, one of the only dukes today without a country seat. What might make the circle complete, however, would be the emergence of a Beauclerk actor or actress, once again recalling the charms of pretty witty Nell Gwyn.

(images from Wikimedia Commons)

Dukes of Teck, Dukes of Urach

The castles of Teck and Urach are not instantly familiar to even the most seasoned travellers, but both lent their names to dynasties with interesting close connections to more well-known royal and princely families—notably the Windsors and the Grimaldis—and even to an ephemeral kingdom in the Baltic that vanished before the ink was dry on the page. Both families, Teck and Urach, are branches of the ancient royal house of Württemberg, in southwest Germany. English readers will certainly know the name ‘Mary of Teck’, the grandmother of Elizabeth II, portrayed with great eloquence and style in The Crown by Eileen Atkins. Not many know the story of her family, however, or the origins of the name Teck.

Coronation portrait of Queen Mary of Teck, 1911, by Llewellyn

The House of Württemberg, dukes from 1495, and kings from 1806, trace their lineage back to feudal lords who dominated certain hilltops and river valleys east of Stuttgart. They carved out their own county in the 12th and 13th centuries as the ancient Duchy of Swabia disintegrated. The Dukes of Württemberg will have a separate blog post of their own; here we can focus on two castles on the eastern edges of their realm, Teck and Urach. Both were built in the on spurs of the northern edge of the ‘Swabian Jura’, the low mountain range that separates the watersheds of the Danube (south) and Neckar (north) rivers.

Both castles were also originally held by the much more powerful regional dynasty, the Zähringer, created dukes in 1098 (and ultimately progenitors of the House of Baden—so again, subjects of another separate post). From 1187, a younger brother of Duke Berthold IV, Adalbert, was given the castle of Teck and founded his own branch of the family. They used the title ‘duke’, but in these early days, this really was more attached to the person or the dynasty, not to a particular castle or territory. Adalbert’s nephew, Duke Berthold V, died in 1218, bringing the senior line to an end, and his sister and co-heiress, Agnes, married a local count, Egon von Urach, and brought with her in marriage a sizeable portion of the Zähringer lands in the southwestern corner of modern Germany.

Duke Adalbert

So by the 1220s, the dukes of Teck and the counts of Urach dominated the region to the south and east of the town of Stuttgart, where the counts of Württemberg were beginning to build their domain. By 1260, the latter had acquired the castle and lands of Urach, and it would serve as the capital of one of the branches of the family when it divided in the 15th century. The counts of Württemberg-Urach built a renaissance palace as a residence in the town of Urach (which remains today) and allowed the castle up on the hilltop to degrade. It was a prison by the 17th century, and was dismantled by the dukes of Württemberg in the 18th century, to use the stones in other building projects.

the ruins of Urach Castle today

The dukes of Teck lasted longer as a separate dynasty, and had some influential members: Conrad II was a potential candidate for the election to the Imperial throne in 1291, but was reputedly murdered by the rival faction before he could claim his title. Ludwig, the last duke, was also Patriarch of Aquileia, an ecclesiastical territory in the far northeast corner of Italy, until he was run out by the armies of Venice in 1420. As a senior churchman, he had been prominent in his opposition to some of the attempts at reconciling the Great Schism. With his death in 1439, the dynasty of Zähringen-Teck became extinct—but the castle itself had already been sold to the counts of Württemberg, in 1381. The castle was heavily damaged in the Peasants War of 1525 and never really recovered. There were plans to rebuild it in the 1730s, but these came to nothing. In the 19th century, a tower was built on the ruins, and in the 20th century the site was redeveloped for a hiking lodge and nature reserve.

Teck Castle today
arms of the medieval dukes of Teck

So by the late 18th century, both castles were ruins held by the dukes of Württemberg (who also always used the title ‘duke of Teck’ and sometimes ‘duke of Urach’). Duke Friedrich II became an ally of Napoleon and was rewarded by a significant augmentation of his lands (through annexation of smaller secular and ecclesiastical territories), and an even more significant augmentation of his title, becoming the first King of Württemberg in 1806 as part of the demise of the Holy Roman Empire. King Friedrich’s brother Wilhelm and nephew Alexander would be the founders of the modern families of Urach and Teck, respectively, and will be the focus of the rest of this post. Both of these families were started due to ‘morganatic’ marriages—a term used by German princely families to indicate that, while it was a legal and sacramentally valid marriage, the bride and groom were of unequal rank and therefore their children could not inherit their father’s rank or titles (and in this case, his claims to a royal succession). This is different from another kind of descent, illegitimate, which ties our story here, very loosely, to another descendant of King Friedrich I, Boris Johnson, the British Prime Minister, whose ancestry was revealed on the television programme Who Do You Think You Are? in 2008, via an illegitimate grand-daughter, Karoline, who married Baron Charles de Pfeffel, whose great-grand-daughter married Johnson’s grandfather. On the programme, more was made of the descent back another generation or two to the British royal family, and that connection will become relevant again when we get to the dukes of Teck, but I’ll start with the dukes of Urach.

Duke Wilhelm of Württemberg was the third of six younger brothers of King Friedrich I. He’s called a ‘duke’ because, in Germanic tradition, all children held the same rank as the head of the family (so the children of a ‘Count von Adelburg’ would all be count or countess of Adelburg). Wilhelm had to earn his own living, so, as was normal, he joined the army. But not the local one—he made his name in the army of the King of Denmark, rising to the rank of lieutenant-general in 1795, and was named governor of Copenhagen in 1801.

Duke Wilhelm of Wurttemberg

In 1806, Wilhelm was asked to return home by his brother, the newly crowned king, to become first Minster of War for the new Kingdom. While in the north he had fallen in love and married a Swedish noblewoman, Baroness Wilhelmine von Tunderfeldt-Rhodis, whose family had connections to Wilhelm’s mother’s family in Brandenburg. The marriage was deemed unequal, so their children were styled ‘count’ or ‘countess’ of Württemberg.

Wilhelmine von Tunderfeldt

The eldest, Count Alexander, embraced the culture and emotions of the early Romantic era, perhaps as a child of love rather than duty, and he became a well-regarded poet and hosted a circle of famous German writers and poets at his castle. It seems he drank rather too deeply however at this emotional fountain and spent much of his relatively short life (he died at 43) in deep depression. He did marry, and left two sons, Eberhard and Alexander, but these died unmarried and this branch died out by the end of the century.

Count Alexander of Wurttemberg, looking suitably romantic

The second son, Wilhelm, took a much more expected career path, and by the 1850s was a general in the Württemberg army. Like his father, Duke Wilhelm, he was also quite interested in science and technology, and published on quite a wide range of topics (and was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of Tübingen).

Wilhelm, 1st Duke of Urach

He was also quite interested in history, and, like many aristocrats of his age, was inspired to build a new castle along medieval lines. In the 1840s, he acquired the site of an ancient ruin, Lichtenstein Castle, and rebuilt it from scratch. This became his family’s seat, and they still live there today (not to be confused with Liechtenstein, the sovereign principality).

Lichtenstein Castle

Also in the 1840s, Wilhelm converted to Catholicism in order to marry Princess Théodeline de Beauharnais, whose father, the famous Prince Eugène (Napoleon’s adopted step-son), had taken up residence as an exile from France in the nearby duchy of Leuchtenberg. They had four daughters, but no sons, so after her death he re-married, in 1863, another princess, but of a slightly higher rank, since Monaco was a sovereign principality (even if tiny). Princess Florestine was a ‘serene highness’ so in 1867, the King of Württemberg raised his cousin to the rank of ‘Duke of Urach’—the name taken from the old ruined castle to the north of Lichtenstein—and the style of address ‘serene highness’. It was a dukedom in name only; it didn’t come with any territory.

arms of the dukes of Urach

The first Duke of Urach died only two years later, so his widow spent much of her time back in Monaco, where her two sons, Wilhelm and Karl, were raised quite culturally francophone. Duchess Florestine frequently lent a hand to her brother, Prince Charles III of Monaco, whose health was poor and was nearly blind by the 1880s; and she assumed government responsibilities again in the 1890s when her nephew, Prince Albert I, was frequently absent, travelling on oceanographic expeditions.

Florestine of Monaco, Duchess of Urach

Florestine died in 1897, and her son Wilhelm, now the 2nd Duke of Urach, established himself once more in Germany, as a military commander, and as son-in-law of one of the Bavarian royal dukes. His wife, Amalia, was in fact a niece of the Austrian Empress ‘Sisi’, so Wilhelm had access to the highest royal circles. He was not therefore seen as appropriate by the French governing elites to be a potential heir to the Monegasque throne. By 1911, Prince Albert I was aging and unpopular, and his son Louis was still unmarried—a law was swiftly passed naming Louis’ illegitimate daughter Charlotte formally as heir to the principality. The Duke of Urach protested, but had other prospects: in 1913, he was considered for the newly created throne of Albania; in 1917, there was talk of naming him ruler of a new ‘Grand Duchy’ of Alsace-Lorraine; and in June 1918, he was selected by the independence party of Lithuania to be their king. He was an ideal candidate, since he was a Catholic, distantly descended from the ancient grand dukes of Lithuania, and was related to German ruling houses (necessary to defend their new independence against the Russians) but was not a Hohenzollern. Although he did not have time to travel to Lithuania before the entire idea collapsed in November, he did briefly assume the name ‘Mindaugas II’ to commemorate the founder of the first Lithuanian monarchy in the 13th century.

Wilhelm, 2nd Duke of Urach, in 1909

By the 1920s, the 2nd Duke retired quietly to Schloss Lichtenstein, married another Bavarian princess (Wiltrud), and in 1924, formally renounced any claims he might have to the throne of Monaco. He died in 1928, but his widow lived on until 1975, and was probably influential in ensuring that her step-sons were mindful of the Imperial regulations about marriage (even through the Empire no longer existed): that only equal marriages were permitted if claims to sovereignty were to be transmitted from generation to generation.

Duchess Wiltrud’s step-sons did not all agree however. The eldest, another Wilhelm, embraced the 20th century, married for love (a commoner), studied for an engineering degree and became a senior engineer and director at Daimler-Benz in the 1920s-50s. He also spent time as part of the new management of the Renault factories in occupied France. His brother, Karl Gero, who succeeded their father as 3rd Duke of Urach, was more deeply involved in the Nazi regime, rising to the rank of major in the Wehrmacht. He had married someone of equal rank, but they had no children, so when he died in 1981, the question of succession was raised again. The third brother, Albrecht, had married a commoner, and was disqualified (though in 1930s, there were rumours in Paris that he wanted to be re-considered as heir to Monaco, following the scandalous separation, and later divorce, of Princess Charlotte). The claims to the Urach ducal title therefore passed to the sons of the fourth brother, Eberhard, who had married a Thurn und Taxis princess. Karl Anselm thus became the 4th Duke in 1981, but renounced it in 1991, to marry a commoner; his brother Wilhelm took on the title, and in 1992 married a Belgian noblewoman who many thought could be considered equal, but others did not. His younger brother, Inigo, who had married the year before a German noblewoman who was more clearly ‘equal’, therefore contested the claim, and the two brothers decided that Wilhelm would be the 5th Duke of Urach and hold the lands (including Lichtenstein Castle) within Germany, while Inigo would revive the family claims to the Kingdom of Lithuania—and he reportedly started learning the language and visited the country in the early 2000s. Both brothers are now in their sixties, so this arrangement can carry on for some time yet, but it will be interesting how the next generation settles it (if the next generation even cares at all).

Prince Albert of Monaco visits his Urach cousin at Lichtenstein

The story of the dukes of Teck is a lot more straightforward, but jumps to much greater heights (in royal circles) within only the first generation. They became extinct in the male line in 1981 (and in the female line in 1999).

Stepping back to the first years of the 19th century, the nephew of Württemberg’s first king, Duke Alexander, pursued a military career outside his native land much like Duke Wilhelm, and also like him, married for love outside the circles of the acceptable princely families. Whereas Wilhelm had gone north to Denmark, Alexander went east and in the 1830s became colonel in the army of the Austrian Empire, rising to the rank of general of cavalry by the 1850s.

Duke Alexander of Wurttemberg

While Duke Alexander was stationed in Vienna, he met and married a Hungarian countess, Claudine Rhédey von Kis-Rhéde. Her family were not princely, but they were one of the oldest noble houses of Hungary, claiming descent back to the founders of the Hungarian monarchy in the 11th century. Their castle was in the far east of the Kingdom, in Transylvania in what is now Romania. The village today remains 90% Hungarian and a majority Calvinist. Upon their marriage in 1835, Claudine was created Countess of Hohenstein, a title she could pass on to their children (the first being born a year later). Hohenstein was the name of yet another ruined castle in the region of Württemberg southeast of Stuttgart. After giving birth to three children, Countess Claudine was tragically killed falling from her horse while watching a cavalry charge of her husband’s regiment (another story says she died from wounds she suffered, pregnant, in a carriage accident). The three Hohenstein children were left motherless.

Countess Claudine Rhédey von Kis-Rhéde
Rhédey Castle in Romania

The eldest and youngest were girls, Claudine and Amalia. Amalia married an Austrian count and settled into a quiet life near Graz, while Claudine purchased a house nearby and remained close to her sister. In 1863, both of them, and their brother Franz, were elevated in rank by their cousin the King of Württemberg: they were prince and princesses of Teck, with the style of ‘serene highness’. Like his father, Prince Franz joined the Austrian army, became a captain in the Hussars, and served in Austria’s wars against Sardinia in 1859 and against Denmark in 1864. A year later, in Vienna, Franz met the Prince and Princess of Wales, who invited him to London to meet their cousin, Princess Mary Adelaide of Cambridge. In March they met, in April they were engaged, and in June they were married.

Franz, 1st Duke of Teck

Franz and Mary Adelaide were cousins, both descendants of King George II of Great Britain. But while he was considered one of the handsomest men in the Austrian army, she unfortunately resembled the Hanoverians, full of face and figure. He had princely blood, but she was a full royal princess of Hanover and Great Britain. As long as they stayed in Britain, she received a pension from Parliament, so he resigned his commissions and started a new life as an Englishman.

Mary Adelaide of Cambridge, Duchess of Teck

Mary Adelaide herself is usually portrayed as ‘very English’, in contrast to her German husband, but a more careful examination of her life shows that she was nearly as German as he was: her mother was a princess of Hesse-Kassel, and she was born in Hanover, where her father, Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge, was acting as viceroy of the Kingdom of Hanover. Indeed, Adolphus, 7th son of George III, had been sent to school in Hanover by age 12, spent most of his military career here during the Napoleonic wars, then governed the territory in the names of his elder brothers from 1813 to 1837. After Hanover and Britain were separated at the accession of Queen Victoria, Cambridge and his children, including Mary Adelaide, returned to England and settled at Cambridge House on Piccadilly, where he died in 1850.

Prince Adolphus, Duke of Cambridge
Cambridge House, Picadilly

By 1866, Mary Adelaide was in her thirties and had no real source of income, unlike her brother who had taken over his father’s position in the army (he was commander-in-chief of the army from 1856), or her sister who had married the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. So a marriage to a handsome foreign duke, even a poor one, was seen as advantageous. Queen Victoria made rooms available to them in Kensington Palace and in 1869 gave them the use of White Lodge in Richmond Park, to raise their already growing family: Victoria Mary (known as ‘May’), born in 1867, and Adolphus (‘Dolly’) in 1868. White Lodge was built in the 1730s by George II and housed various royals over the ensuing century. The Tecks lived there until the end of the 19th century, and since 1955 it has been the home of the Royal Ballet School.

White Lodge, Richmond
The Duchess of Teck with her four children

In 1871, the Prince and Princess of Teck were raised one more rung in the hierarchy of royal princes by being named Duke and Duchess of Teck. I haven’t been able to find out why this happened. Perhaps it was a way for the King of Württemberg to establish his place within the new German Empire (founded that year), by stressing that his house had two cadet branches, Urach and Teck, that were not mere nobles, but princely (fürstliche) dukes. The new Duchess of Teck already retained her Royal Highness rank, and pressed Queen Victoria to extend this honour to her husband, but Victoria refused; relenting somewhat in 1887 to give him the rank of Highness (not Royal Highness) as part of her Jubilee honours.

Meanwhile, the Duke started to find his own ways to alleviate his family’s cashflow problem. They went abroad for a few years in the early 1880s, to live cheaper in Florence, or to stay with relatives in Germany. Then by the end of the decade he reactivated somewhat his military career: he served with the British army in Egyptian campaigns, and was given ranks in the army of Württemberg (1889) and the Imperial army (1891), then promoted to major-general in the British army, 1893, and lieutenant-general in the Imperial army (1895)—though most of these were honorary or ceremonial positions. He died in 1900, three years after his wife. They were buried in the new royal burial area, Frogmore, in Windsor.

The Tecks–mother and father seated, with Alexander, Mary, Adolphus and Francis

Of the four children of the 1st Duke and Duchess of Teck, the best known is of course the eldest, Princess May, who became Queen Mary, wife of George V and grandmother of Queen Elizabeth II. She was famously born in the same room as Victoria had been in Kensington Palace. In December 1891, she became engaged to Prince Albert Victor (‘Eddie’), the eldest son of the Prince of Wales. He died in mysterious circumstances only six weeks later, and by the Spring of 1893 she was engaged to his brother the Duke of York, and they married in July. The rest of Queen Mary’s story is well known, as Duchess of York, then Queen consort, then Queen dowager, until her death in 1953.

The engagement portrait of Eddie and May

Her brother succeeded as 2nd Duke of Teck in 1900. As a young man, Prince Adolphus had joined the cavalry regiment of his uncle, the Duke of Cambridge, then switched to become Captain of the Life Guards in 1895. The year before, he married Lady Margaret Grosvenor, daughter of the 1st Duke of Westminster, thus securing for himself a place within high society nearly as grand as his sister’s. He served in the Boer War in South Africa in 1899, and in 1911 was honoured by his brother-in-law, the now king George V, with the grant of ‘Highness’ just like his father had been. This was followed by the post, in 1914, of Governor and Constable of Windsor Castle.

Adolphus, 1st Marquess of Cambridge

Once the war broke out, the Duke acted as a military secretary to the War Office and to the British Commander-in-Chief in France, but retired from active service in 1916 due to illness. A year later, he joined the Windsors in attempting to purge the royal family of its overtly German names and titles, and in July 1917, renounced his title ‘Duke of Teck’ and took instead the name ‘Cambridge’, after his mother’s family. In November, the King created him Marquess of Cambridge, Earl of Eltham and Viscount Northallerton (I’d love to know why these particular lesser titles were chosen for the courtesy titles—did the family have a connection to Eltham Palace before the Courtaulds bought it in the 1930s?). After the war, the 1st Marquess withdrew mostly from public life—and when suggested as a possible candidate for the Hungarian throne in the 1920s, as a descendant of Hungarian nobility, rejected the notion as preposterous—and lived at Shotton Hall, near Shrewsbury in Shropshire. A handsome red brick manor house, it later became a school and is now subdivided into flats. He died in 1927 followed by his wife in 1929.

Their children, all born as prince or princess of Teck, had become lords and ladies of Cambridge in 1917. The eldest, George, became 2nd Marquess of Cambridge in 1927. Like his ancestors, he led a military career, becoming a major in the Service Corps in the Second World War, but was also a banker in the City. He married a grand-daughter of the 13th Earl of Huntingdon. As more ‘fringe’ members of the royal family, he and his wife did appear at most grand functions, but didn’t carry out royal duties. When he died in 1981, the male line of the House of Teck/Cambridge became extinguished.

Arms of the Tecks/Cambridges, combining Britain/Hanover/Cambridge with Wurttemberg-Teck

The Cambridges had only one child, Lady Mary Cambridge, who became Lady Mary Whitley in 1951. She had been a childhood companion of the princesses Elizabeth and Margaret in the 1930s (her parents lived close to the Yorks just off Hyde Park), and was a bridesmaid at Elizabeth’s wedding in 1947. When she died in 1999, it was remarked that the Queen lost one of those closest to her since childhood.

There were three other Cambridge children: Lord Fredrick, killed in Belgium in 1940, and two daughters. The elder, Lady Mary, married the Duke of Beaufort in 1923, and is remembered for having hosting her aunt, Queen Mary, during the evacuation of London in World War II at her country house, Badminton. When I visited Badminton many years ago, I was told the story of how horrified Duchess Mary was to see her aunt arrive with literally hundreds of suitcases and hatboxes, but also to discover the truth about the Dowager Queen’s propensity to ‘shoplift’ valuable objects she took a fancy to when visiting country homes. The second daughter, Lady Helena, married Col. John Gibbs, a veteran of the Boer War and the First World War.

The two younger sons of the 1st Duke of Teck were also veterans of overseas conflicts. Prince Francis (‘Frank’) was a major in the Royal Dragoons, serving in South Africa and Egypt, but dying in 1910 before he could serve in WWI (or indeed change his name and titles). He had been known as a bit of a rake, a gambler and ladies’ man who purportedly gave away some of the family jewels, and possibly left behind an illegitimate child or two. When he died, his will was sealed on the orders of Queen Mary to avoid any potential scandals. Frank’s brother Alexander (‘Alge’) was a bit more upstanding. He also served in South Africa, and in World War I in the Life Guards. When the family exchanged their titles in 1917, he was created Earl of Athlone (in County Westmeath, in the centre of Ireland), and Viscount Trematon (in Cornwall). In 1904, he had married Princess Alice of Albany, a grand-daughter of Queen Victoria, and they occupied her family apartments in Kensington Palace. They also lived at Brantridge Park in West Sussex, a villa from the mid-19th century in the hilly area south of London (not far from Crawley).

Brantridge Park

As grand-daughter of a sovereign, Princess Alice kept her rank (HRH), which augmented her husband’s position somewhat, so that the Earl of Athlone was more in the public eye than his elder brother or nephew. In 1923 he was named Governor-General of South Africa, where he attempted to navigate the complex political situation there in the 1920s. In 1931, he returned to England and was named Governor and Constable of Windsor Castle (like his brother), and nine years later was sent abroad again, this time to Canada. While Governor-General (1940-46) he and his wife were kept busy receiving and entertaining the numerous exiled royals who went to Canada during the Second World War: Norway, Luxembourg, Netherlands, etc. He died in 1957, but she lived on until 1981, the last of Queen Victoria’s grandchildren.

Alexander, Earl of Athlone

The Count and Countess of Athlone had three children. Of the two boys, Maurice lived only a month in 1910, and Rupert died age 20 in an automobile accident in France, a victim of his mother’s family’s haemophilia. Their daughter, another May, lived a long life as another distant member of the royal family. Unlike the previous Lady May Cambridge, she was not only a bridesmaid at a royal wedding, but the other way round, with young Princess Elizabeth acting as a bridesmaid in her 1931 wedding to Henry Abel Smith, part of a London banking clan. She died in 1994, bringing her branch of the Teck family to an end.

Lady May Cambridge and Henry Abel-Smith

Württemberg, Urach, Teck, even Monaco and Lithuania: all names that tied together the network of royal and semi-royal families of Europe until the middle of the 20th century.

pub in Earls Court, London

[images from Wikimedia Commons]

Polignac dukes and princes

In the world of the old aristocracy, the primary duty of a noble family was to maintain and hopefully augment status, wealth and power. The granting of a dukedom was a symbol of a noble family having reached the very top. Some, in circumstances of exceptional royal favour, achieved this in just one lifetime, while most instead slowly progressed along the pathway for centuries. One such family were the Polignacs, from amongst France’s oldest noble dynasties, who attained the ducal coronet on the very eve of Revolution. Their success was secured by the particular royal favour of Queen Marie-Antoinette, and although the Queen and the monarchy were swept away only a few years later, the Polignacs survived, and under the Restoration started a new chapter as one of Europe’s now more pan-continental aristocrats, even going one further in obtaining a princely title. The family’s 19th– and 20th-century story is one of glamour and art—not to mention champagne and haute couture—and it led, it seems almost naturally, to one branch taking over the glamour and art of ruling the principality of Monaco.

The Duchesse de Polignac, by Elisabeth Vigée Le Brun

Perhaps fittingly for a fairy-tale ending such as this, one of the ancient seats of the Polignac family, the château of Lavoûte, rests romantically on a jagged promontory overlooking a river bend deep in the mountains of southern France, almost like a Disney castle. Even older is the castle of Polignac itself, which sits atop the ruins of an extinct volcano looking somewhat like an ancient Greek acropolis. In fact, evidence suggests this was the site of a temple to Apollo, giving the site its name (from Apollon in French). A castle replaced this temple by the early 10th century, 800 meters above the valley floor. Its lords were styled ‘vice-counts’, and were given extensive powers to govern this region, known as the Velay (today the Department of Haute-Loire), by the most powerful magnates of central France, the counts of Auvergne. As these counts weakened in independent power, the power of these vice-counts was challenged by the growing authority of the far-off French royal crown, exercised on its behalf by local bishops who had their seat nearby in Le Puy. By the start of the 13th century, these Polignac viscounts were forced to submit to episcopal authority, and this balance remained as the secular and temporal leadership of the province for centuries. In fact several members of the Polignac family were appointed as bishops of Le Puy, and the partnership was strengthened even further.

Chateau de Polignac

Le Puy-en-Velay takes its name literally from the small peaks (puy) that are scattered around the extinct volcanic ranges of central France. It has one of the most dramatic landscapes of any town in Europe, with its cathedral dominating one rock and the Chapel of Saint-Michel d’Aiguilhe on another. Three miles from the town is the château of Polignac, expanded in the 13th and 14th centuries, but gradually abandoned by the family for the more accessible castle of Lavoûte a few miles away. The older castle was severely damaged in the wars of Religion of the 16th century and left to turn into a romantic ruin—it was confiscated and sold during the Revolution, but re-purchased in 1830 and somewhat restored in the 1890s.

Château de Lavoûte, overlooking its bend in the Loire

Lavoûte (or Lavoûte-Polignac) was acquired in the 1250s, enlarged in the 14th century, then built anew in the 1550s in a Renaissance style and as a more ‘modern’ comfortable residence. It sits in a bend on the River Loire, though not really the Loire one thinks of when dreaming of romantic French châteaux—it is certainly the same river, but it is hundreds of miles upriver from the more well-known settings of Chambord, Chenonceau and Amboise. This part of France is remote and rugged. Its warrior nobles, including the Polignacs but also their close neighbours the Lafayettes, took part not only in the crusades to the Holy Land, but in more local crusades against heretics in the south of France. This region would remain a hotbed of resistance to authority, and notably a centre for Protestantism, well into the 17th century, meaning the local Catholic nobility always had opportunities to prove their loyalty to the Catholic kings of France.

By the 16th century, the original line of Polignac lords—mostly named Armand, one after another—had died out, and were replaced by another local noble house, Chalencon, who assumed the more prominent regional name. This second house of Polignac regularly served as royal governors of this province and the province next door, the Vivarais. Chalencon castle is not far from Polignac, similarly built atop of rocky outcropping, this one guarding two bends of the river Ance which flows into the Loire. Dating from the early 11th century, its lords were raised to the rank of baron sometime shortly after. After they took over the Polignac lands and castles, Chalencon was abandoned and it remains mostly a ruin today.

Chateau de Chalencon

Towards the end of the 17th century, the long-standing dual service of the Polignac family to crown and church brought the family to greater prominence in the promotions of two brothers. Scipion-Simon-Apollinaire, governor of Le Puy, was raised to the rank of marquis in 1689, while his brother, Melchior, became a cardinal in 1713. Melchior de Polignac had served as a successful ambassador to Poland in the 1690s, then a French agent in Rome during the War of the Spanish Succession. He was one of the French negotiators sent to Utrecht to end this war, and was later sent back to Rome as formal ambassador (1722), and was further elevated to the archdiocese of Auch in 1726.

Cardinal de Polignac

While he was in Rome, Cardinal de Polignac oversaw the construction of the famous Spanish Steps and threw one of the most lavish parties in the history of Roman lavish parties. In September 1729, to mark the birth of a new Dauphin for France, the Piazza Navona was decorated, and fireworks lit up the night skies.

Fete for the birth of the Dauphin, 1729

The Cardinal was also a poet, a member of the Académie française, and an art collector—his collections were bought after he died in 1741 by Frederick the Great and are still on display at Sans Souci in Potsdam. The Cardinal had brought this ancient family, after 800 years, to national prominence, and left this legacy for his nieces and nephews to build upon. Louis-Melchior, Marquis de Polignac, was a soldier who made his name in the wars of the middle of the century, then was named to one of the top offices of the court, First Equerry in the new household of the Count of Provence, formed in 1773 at the time of his wedding. Provence was the younger brother of the Dauphin, who became Louis XVI the next year, alongside his wife, Marie-Antoinette of Austria.

The arms of the Polignac family (ignore misspelling of Chalencon here)

The new Queen had an emerging favourite, already by about 1775, the daughter-in-law of the Marquis de Polignac. Gabrielle de Polastron. She and her husband, Jules de Polignac, swiftly became part of the ‘in’ set at the youthful court of Versailles. Jules was named First Equerry of the Queen in 1776; his sister, Diane, was given the post of Dame d’honneur of the King’s sister, Elisabeth in 1778; while Gabrielle’s sister-in-law, Louise, became a Dame du Palais of the Queen, and then the mistress of the King’s other brother, the Count of Artois. They formed a tight social set, which is depicted with great flair in the film ‘Marie-Antoinette’ by Sophia Coppola (2006), in which Gabrielle is portrayed by Rose Byrne.

Gabrielle, Duchesse de Polignac

Gabrielle de Polastron was born in Paris, from a noble family which, like the Polignacs, came from ancient noble stock in the far south of France. She became the new Queen’s favourite from about 1775 and soon was showered with gifts and favours (for example, her cousin was appointed to a wealthy bishopric). Her husband, Jules de Polignac, also enjoyed the Queen’s favour, and in 1780, he was appointed Duc de Polignac, by royal brevet, which is not quite the same thing as a duchy-peerage as it only applied to him personally, and did not become a hereditary possession of the family. Similarly, he was given a peerage, in 1783, but it too was for life only. The new duke and duchess were soon promoted to ever greater heights in the court and government hierarchies: in 1782, she was named Governess of the Children of France; and in 1785, he was named director-general of the postal system and director of the royal stud farm, both highly lucrative posts. The Duchess replaced a Rohan princess as governess, which scandalised the court as this office had been held by the very highest families of the court aristocracy for centuries, and it came with one of the largest suites of rooms at Versailles. The Duke and Duchess became symbols of the excessive favour shown by the King and Queen to their friends, the excessive spending of the court, and the corruption of the aristocracy in general. For example, their daughter Aglaé was given an absolutely enormous dowry (800,000 livres) by the Crown in 1780—she’s only 12—to marry another court favourite, the Duc de Guiche.

Aglae, Duchesse de Guiche

The Polignacs, as leaders of the fashionable social set, needed a fashionable place to entertain, and decided to refashion a property Jules inherited from his mother, Claye, east of Paris, in Brie. It had formerly belonged to the dukes of Nevers. In 1787 plans were drawn up to rebuild the château de Claye on a much grander scale, but these were never realised. The family did recover this property after the Revolution, but it was sold in the 1830s.

By the late-1780s, the Duchesse de Polignac in particular was one of the most hated women in France, and regularly featured in pamphlets that pilloried the foreign Queen (‘the Austrian’) as a lesbian. Like the Queen, one of the particular reasons for her unpopularity was her regular intervention in government affairs—the ‘parti de la reine’ were active in favouring their own choice of finance minister and trying to ruin the career of the ever-popular Jacques Necker, the people’s favourite. After the storming of the Bastille, it was agreed that, for the good of the monarchy (and probably their own safety), the Polignacs needed to go, and on 17 July 1789 they fled abroad to Switzerland, then Italy, then Vienna. The Duchess died there in 1793, and the Duke continued to move, now to Russia, where he was joined by his sister, Diane, and his two younger sons, Jules and Melchior. They formed part of the court of the king in exile, Louis XVIII, at Mitau in what is now Latvia. The Duke was given an estate in southern Russia, and did not return to France at the Restoration, though he was rewarded for his loyalty by the now restored French king with a more solid hereditary duchy-peerage a few weeks before his death in 1817.

Jules, 1st Duc de Polignac

The second duke, Armand, also went into exile during the Revolution, but was already old enough to lead his own life and thus remained closer to the action, mostly in the service of the youngest Bourbon prince, the Count of Artois. In 1804, he (and a younger brother, Jules) was involved in a plot against Napoleon and was arrested, but escaped. He remained close to Artois, formed part of the ultra-Catholic party during the Restoration (being named one of the ‘chevaliers de la foi’), and served as the prince’s First Equerry and aide-de-camp. He then joined the government of Artois once he succeeded to the throne as King Charles X, and fell from power with him after the July Revolution of 1830. Armand retired to his estates in the south of France where he remained until his death in 1847.

It was his brother, Jules, however, who was more prominent in the conservative regime of Charles X, and was more severely punished at his fall. Nine years younger than his older brother, he had been raised almost as one of the royal children in the 1780s and was much closer to the royal family in exile. He spent time in Britain in the suite of the Count of Artois, and even retained his ties to the United Kingdom after the Restoration, marrying first the Scottish aristocrat Barbara Campbell in 1816, then Charlotte Perkyns, daughter of an English baronet, in 1824. He was in London at that time, serving as French ambassador (1823-29). He had already gained a reputation abroad as a chef defender of the old Catholic aristocracy as a pillar of the Old Regime—to the extent that the Pope had created him ‘Prince de Polignac’ in 1820, a title recognised by the king of France in 1822. This title was not like other principalities, bringing with it no sense of sovereignty, merely honours, and was one of several similar titles created by Rome in the 19th century (as ‘princeps Romanus’) as a means of extending Papal influence in the Catholic monarchies of Europe. Jules de Polignac returned to France to lead the government of Charles X in the summer of 1829—an appointment that was violently opposed by the liberals and the press. He acted as President of the Council and Minister of Foreign Affairs until the Revolution of July 1830 sent him, and the entire Bourbon monarchy, packing. The Prince de Polignac was arrested and tried for treason in late 1830 (accused of abusing the Constitution of 1814). He was imprisoned until 1836, then given amnesty but required to go into exile. He went to Bavaria, where the King gave him estates and confirmed his princely title (1838), in fact recreating it so that, like mostly German princely titles, it would be given to all sons and daughters of the prince, not just the eldest [NB: lots of online sources say they have a title as ‘Prince of the Empire’, but this is not correct, especially since the Empire did not exist after 1806]. The Prince de Polignac was allowed to return to France in 1845, but not to Paris. He succeeded his childless elder brother as 3rd Duc de Polignac in 1847, but only for a few months.

Jules, 3rd Duke and 1st Prince de Polignac

We will return to the youngest of the Polignac brothers, Melchior, and his descendants (the non-princely branch), but will first carry on with the senior line. Each son bore the title of prince, but only the eldest was a duke. The 4th Duc de Polignac, Jules-Armand, as a young man had been an officer in Bavaria during his father’s exile, then returned to France to continue the process of restoring the family’s ancient possessions. Claye had already been sold, and the châteaux of Polignac and Lavoûte were much too far from the social and political lights of the capital, so he relied on his wife’s inheritance to establish a new base in Paris, the Hôtel de Crillon, one of the finest mansions in the city, on the old Place Louis XV (renamed Place de la Concorde in the later years of the Revolution). Amélie de Berton des Balbes de Crillon was also heiress of the château de St-Jean du Cardonnay, in Normandy (NW of Rouen), a 17th-century château that remained one of the principal country seats of the Polignacs until at least the middle of the 20th century (the Hôtel de Crillon was sold in 1907).

Hotel de Crillon, Paris
Chateau of St-Jean du Cardonnay

There is not much to say about the 5th or 6th dukes (Héracle and Armand-Henri). The latter added to the family’s holdings by the acquisition, again through marriage (to a princess of the Bauffremont-Courtenay family), of the château of Mercastel, another 17th-century residence, this time to the north of Paris in the Beauvaisis. The 7th Duke, Jules-Héracle, who succeeded his father in 1961, resided at Mercastel, then moved more permanently in the 1970s back to the old family seat at Lavoûte. He was very interested in preservation of France’s cultural history and served as a member of administrative council of La Demeure historique (sort of like the National Trust in England). He died in 1999 and was succeeded by his son, Armand-Charles, 8th Duke and 6th Prince of Polignac (b. 1946), who is divorced and has no children, so his heir is his second cousin Prince Alain, who is married to a Belgian princess from the Ligne family. One of the other residences of the most junior line of this branch is the château of La Jumellière, in the Loire Valley, built in the 19th century in ‘Louis XIII’ style, acquired through marriage by Prince François (younger brother of the 6th Duke).

Chateau de Mercastel
Chateau de La Jumellière

Other members of the princely branch of the family who rose to prominence include Prince Camille and Prince Edmond, younger half-brothers of the 4th Duke. Both had an English mother, so were at ease moving back and forth between the French and English speaking aristocracies. Indeed, Camille made a name for himself as a soldier, and took himself to America in the 1860s to serve as a major-general in the Confederate army in the Civil War (mostly serving in Texas and Louisiana). He later commanded a division in the Franco-Prussian war.

Prince Camille de Polignac

Edmond followed a quite different path. A man of the arts and literature set, a composer himself, and founder of an aristocratic club in the 1860s that supported the work of their friends Berlioz, Gounod, Proust, and so on.

Prince Edmond de Polignac

Late in life, despite his fairly evident homosexuality, Edmond married a soul-mate (with similar temperament artistically and sexually), Winnaretta Singer (‘Winnie’). He was nearly 60, and she 28, but in fact already a widow. The Singers were originally from New York, part of the great Singer sewing machine dynasty, but had moved to France and England (Winnaretta’s mother was French) shortly after her birth in Yonkers in 1865, and she became heiress to her father’s millions in 1875. Her first marriage to Comte de Secy-Montbéliard was annulled in 1892 and she married Edmond de Polignac in 1893. With her fabulous millions, the new Princesse de Polignac set up a salon in fashionable Passy on one of the grand avenues near Trocadero—it remains the site of the Fondation Singer-Polignac, which continues to support the development of young musicians and academics. In its heyday the Polignac salon was a source of patronage for Debussy, Ravel, Satie and young Stravinsky and Milhaud. As a widow (Edmond died in 1901), Winnaretta maintained friendships with Isadora Duncan, Jean Cocteau, Diaghilev, Colette … on and on … but was even closer to notable women artists, counting amongst her lovers the British composer Ethel Smyth and the writer Violet Trefusis (and some add Virginia Woolf). Late in life, her philanthropy extended to commissioning the great modernist architect Le Corbusier to build homeless shelters for the Salvation Army. She died in 1943.

Winnaretta Singer, Princesse Polignac
Fondation Singer-Polignac, Paris

We can return to the cadet branch of the family, founded by Melchior, comte de Polignac, the youngest son of the first Duke and Duchess. He lived with his father in Russia, but returned to France at the Restoration of 1814 to a post as Field Marshal of the Royal Army and Gentleman of Honour of the Dauphin (the son of the Count of Artois), and was later appointed Governor of the Château de Fontainebleau, 1825 to1830. Like his brothers, he was removed from his posts in 1830 and spent the next twenty years far from politics. He had five sons, but by the end of the century, only the descendants of the youngest, Charles, remained to carry on the line. These took the title ‘Marquis de Polignac’ as marker of distinction for the head of the junior branch of the family.

Charles’s eldest son, Guy, Marquis de Polignac, married in 1879 another great heiress from the world of commerce: Louise Pommery, from one of the great Champagne houses—still today one of the biggest in France. Their son, Melchior became the head of Pommery in 1907, and was a prominent early member of the International Olympic Committee in the 1920s. As an older man he was a leader of the French businessmen who advocated collaboration with the German occupation, and after the war was tried, but pardoned. His line continues to present, his son becoming a noted journalist ‘Louis Dalmas’ who founded a left-wing press agency in the 1950s.

A younger son, Comte Jean de Polignac, also married a ‘business heiress’, the daughter of Jeanne Lanvin, founder of a Parisian haute couture empire. The Count and Countess de Polignac ran Lanvin in the 1940s-50s, but are also known for the foundation of a music colony at the family château of Kerbastic on the south coast of Brittany (acquired by marriage in 1851 by his grandfather, Comte Charles), which hosted many of the celebrated names of the age, like François Poulenc and Nadia Boulanger. Comte Jean left this residence and its colony to his nephew Prince Louis (from the princely branch) who founded an annual music festival at Kerbastic which continues to this day.

chateau de Kerbastic

Finally, the youngest son of the youngest line of the junior branch of the House of Polignac, Count Pierre, raised the family’s name once more to princely heights through his 1920 marriage to Charlotte Grimaldi, the illegitimate daughter of Louis II, Prince of Monaco. Pierre was the son of Count Maxence (the younger brother of the Marquis who married the Champagne heiress) and a Mexican aristocrat, Suzanna Marianna de la Torre y Mier. Charlotte, born in 1898, had been adopted by her father in 1919 as means of legitimising her, primarily in order to avoid diplomatic conflict with France who did not want his natural heir, a German prince, succeeding to the Monegasque throne. Her grandfather (the reigning prince, Albert) created her on the same day Princesse de Monaco and Duchesse de Valentinois (the usual title for the heir, since the early 18th century). She married Pierre de Polignac who was naturalised in Monaco and took the name and arms of Grimaldi by princely decree. Two years later, her father succeeded as Prince Louis II, and Charlotte was declared ‘Hereditary Princess of Monaco’. Her husband, SAS Prince Pierre, Duc de Valentinois (a new creation, in Monaco, since by the laws of the French Old Regime, this title could not pass to Charlotte), swiftly took to life in the Principality, and even after they were divorced in 1933, he remained active locally, as patron of writers and artists (there is even a literary prize named for him). In contrast, his wife was generally disinterested in the affairs of Monaco, and spent more of her life at the family château in the far north of France, Marchais, near Laon. She renounced her claims to the throne in favour of her son, Prince Rainier, when he came of age in 1944. Rainier therefore succeeded his grandfather as Prince of Monaco in 1949.

Pierre de Polignac, Princess Charlotte of Monaco and baby Rainier

Like his distant cousin, Prince Pierre de Polignac was significantly involved in the operations of the Olympic Committee (something he passed on to his grandchildren), and later represented Monaco at the international gatherings of UNESCO. He occupied the curious, but certainly well-considered, position of ‘Father of the Prince’ until his death in 1964. The story of Prince Rainier III, his marriage to the actress Grace Kelly, and the very prominent lives of their children, Albert, Caroline and Stephanie, are certainly well known. They belong to a separate blog posting about the history of the Grimaldis of Monaco, though technically, they are members of the House of Polignac.

Though the first Duke and Duchess de Polignac can rightly be accused of taking and taking from the monarchy’s coffers, perhaps we can see some giving back to France in the family’s subsequent contributions to the worlds of art, music, champagne and high fashion!

(images Wikimedia Commons)

Simplified Polignac family tree

Driving across Germany: Bavaria to Baden to Brunswick

Germany’s landscape is wonderfully varied, from steep Alpine peaks to unvaried flatness of the North European Plain. In the summer of 2014, I was lucky to enjoy not one but two research fellowships, in Vienna and Wolfenbüttel, so I took the opportunity of the week between them to rent a car and drive from one end of Germany to the other. Naturally, I stopped off at several sites related to dukes and princes—including princes of Hohenzollern, Baden, Waldeck and Brunswick, and an ecclesiastical prince, the bishop of Speyer. I followed river valleys, the Danube, the Rhine, the Weser, visited important ancient imperial cities like the centre of the judiciary at Wetzlar and an early university at Marburg, and traversed one of the more sparsely populated areas of Germany where my rebellious ancestors defied the state to create a church of their own in the Eder Valley. I also passed a kidney stone in a fabulous castle hotel, which was memorable to say the least. I did this journey in six days, which was really quite rushed, and many sites I only paused at briefly, so a more leisurely trip following this pathway should take more days—but as a general overview of Germany, from south to north, this drive gave me a great feeling for the overall size and shape of the land of my ancestors.

For the first leg of the journey (because rental car companies often make it difficult to pick up a car in one country and drop it in another), I took a train from Vienna to Munich. I had passed a wonderful month in Vienna, my favourite city in the whole world, and had spent days and days exploring every nook and cranny of that fantastically historical city (what’s not to like in a city that focuses most of its attentions on history, music and food?). Now I enjoyed the lush scenery of the northern edge of the Austrian Alps as the train travelled up the Danube Valley, then past Salzburg, and into Bavaria. I spent an afternoon and evening in Munich, and revisited some of the choice spots like the Residenz and the Pinakothek. In the morning I picked up the car and headed due west. I had never driven on a German Autobahn before, so was excited to experience driving on a highway with no speed limit!

It was a nice bright morning, and I took Autobahn 96 west towards Memmingen. I noted the signs to the village of Sontheim (exciting, as a big fan of the American composer), but pulled off at another exit to visit the small town of Mindelheim. It does not receive a lot of visitors, but as a sheer curiosity in the category of ‘princely capitals’, I had to take a look. Mindelheim had been a small lordship in this part of Swabia, partway between the Alps and the Danube, for centuries. It became part of the estates of the duke of Bavaria by the 17th century, then was confiscated in 1704 by the Emperor Leopold following the Battle of Blenheim, not too far away to the north. The victor of this battle (known as the Battle of Höchstädt in Germany), John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, was a hero of international standing, and the Emperor wished to reward him with a patch of land that would give him a financial reward, but also a prestigious place of honour within the Holy Roman Empire. So the Lordship of Mindelheim was erected into a principality in 1705, confirmed by the Imperial Diet in 1706. Marlborough was now a Prince of the Empire, with a seat in the Diet, and he added an Imperial eagle to his coat of arms. The principality was only 15 square miles, but brought its prince a revenue of about 2,000 pounds (as estimated by a recent biographer, which is about half a million in today’s money). There is a small castle up on a hill overlooking the town (Mindelburg), and Marlborough visited for a few days in 1713. By the end of that year however, Mindelheim was returned to Bavaria by the Treaty of Utrecht, and although Marlborough was compensated with lands elsewhere, they were not of princely rank. My visit was brief, limited to a quick look at the town square and a cup of coffee and a croissant.

Mindelheim

At Memmingen I left the Autobahn. This city has for centuries been at a crossroads between highways leading from north to south, east to west. I headed west on a smaller road and met the Danube at Riedlingen. It is of course a very different river here, compared to the broad queen of rivers I had left two days before. Here it is smaller and swifter, as it cuts through the hills known as the Swabian Alps. I enjoyed the scenery, designated now as the Upper Danube Nature Park, and by lunchtime, arrived at the stunning castle of Sigmaringen.

what a great day to be on a driving tour!

Sigmaringen is one of the largest castles in southern Germany, and has been the seat of one of the branches of the House of Hohenzollern since the late 16th century. The original fortress built on a rock overlooking this bend in the river dates to the 11th century. The castle, and the county that took its name from it, passed through several local noble families until it was acquired by the Habsburgs in 1290, who soon sold it to the regional power, the counts of Württemberg, who granted it to one of their vassals, the counts of Werdenberg, who rebuilt and enlarged it considerably in the late 15th century. After that family died out, the Emperor granted the castle and county of Sigmaringen in 1535 to the counts of Hohenzollern, whose main residence (Burg Zollern) was a bit further to the north.

the always easy to identify arms of the Hohenzollerns, in Sigmaringen

Count Karl was the head of the senior branch of the Hohenzollern dynasty, known as the Swabian Branch, in contrast to the junior line, the Franconian Branch, who later became much more prominent as electors of Brandenburg, and ultimately kings of Prussia and emperors of Germany. Some sources say the Swabian branch is the junior line—I cannot say for certain, and birth records for the late 12th century are probably pretty patchy, but I am sticking with Medieval Lands, my online genealogy bible for the Middle Ages. Anyway, in 1576, as was normal, the dynastic lands were split between the various sons, and the two main branches of Hechingen and Sigmaringen were created—this division remained for the next 300 years. Significantly, both of these southern branches remained Catholic, while their northern cousins in Berlin became Protestants, and as a reward, and to help maintain a loyal Catholic powerbase in the Chamber of Princes in the Imperial Diet, the Habsburg Emperor raised both of the Swabian branches to the rank of Prince of the Empire in 1623.

the Principality of Hohenzollern (in the 19th century)

They were semi-autonomous sovereign princes until the Holy Roman Empire collapsed in 1806, then part of the new loose German Confederation, until the crisis of 1848 caused the Prince, another Karl, to resign, and the principality was absorbed by Prussia in 1850. The family remained prominent however, mostly through the awarding of the throne of Romania to Prince Karl’s grandson, Karl, in 1866, and the even better prize of the throne of Spain to the elder grandson, Leopold, in 1869. But Leopold was forced to reject the offer, a diplomatic affront that was one of the sparks of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870.

Leopold, Prince of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen

I enjoyed wandering the narrow streets of this lovely little town. I had lunch then visited the outer gates of the castle. It is one of those, like many in Germany, where you can only visit as part of a tour, the tour was only in German, and was not until quite a bit later in the afternoon, so I visited the chapel, which was open, admired the castle’s massive entrance hall, and went on my way—I’ll come back. The castle was mostly burned in 1893 and rebuilt in a late 19th-century eclectic style, though its medieval core and towers remain. The Hohenzollern family still own the property, but use it for tourism and to house their estate offices, preferring to live elsewhere.

my view in front of the castle

The next leg of this journey was the most picturesque of all—the small road meanders alongside the Danube, and occasionally through short tunnels. At most every bend in the river there is a view of a castle or a church perched high up on a ridge overlooking the valley. Famous fortresses here include the Werenweg, one of the residences of the princes of Fürstenberg (another major family in this area, about whom I shall surely write a post soon). There is also the astonishing Kloster Beuren, an ‘arch-abbey’ nestled in the valley floor.

is it safe to take a photo out your car’s front window?
Schloss Werenweg (not my photo!)

When I got to Tuttlingen, despite a strong urge to keep following the river all the way to its source near Donaueschingen (I love finding river sources!), I turned north into a narrow valley and up into the Swabian Alps (or here the Swabian Jura), then west towards the Black Forest. I’ve never explored any of this part of Germany, so I definitely want to come back sometime, but I needed to be in Strasbourg by nightfall, so I pressed on. At some point in the depths of the Black Forest, I pressed a button inadvertently on the car, activating the voice navigation system. I seem to have indicated that I wanted to go to the point where I already was when I pressed the button, and so the further I drove on towards my actual destination, the more insistent the German woman shouted at me that I had to “dreh das Auto um” (turn the car around) and “du gehst den falschen weg!” (you’re going the wrong way!)—or something to that effect. I tried everything to get her to stop, even turning off the car completely, but she was relentless.

I finally arrived (much to my car’s dismay) at the very broad, very grand Rhine River Valley, and crossed the river at Kehl. This is the very same spot where the Archduchess Maria Antonia crossed into France in May 1770 to become the Dauphine (and later Queen) Marie-Antoinette. The handover ceremony was done on a small island in the river, neutral territory, and famously transformed the Austrian archduchess into a French princess, in dress, hairstyle, etiquette. I drove over the Europabrücke, built in 1960, and paused to take a photo.

“just call me ‘Toinette”

I was in Strasbourg to give a talk at the University to postgraduate students, and to take part in a short workshop—so there’s actually a pause in this itinerary, but I will skip that, and return to talk about Strasbourg, and notably about its most influential dynasty, the Rohan prince-bishops who left such a mark on this city and this region, in a separate post. On what I will call ‘Day 2’ here, I drove back across the river into Germany and into the former Grand Duchy of Baden.

The Grand Duchy of Baden, which evolved into the German state of Baden (and now exists only as half of Baden-Württemberg) is a relatively recent creation, formed in 1806 in the wake of the collapse of the Holy Roman Empire. But much of its component parts formed the Margraviate of Baden dating back to the 12th century. I had always assumed that it got its title ‘margrave’ by being on the border (a ‘march’ or mark) between France and Germany, but really, the Rhine Valley has always been a connection zone more than a border, and the cultures of Alsace and Baden have a lot in common in a shared ‘Alemannic’ past. The territory of the Alemanii gradually evolved into the Duchy of Swabia, and as the local noble families fought for control of this duchy (one of the six or so duchies that made up early medieval Germany), one of them, the counts of Zähringen, with their castle perched high above the chief town in the region, Freiburg, emerged and took control. Like many German magnates, they avidly joined in when various emperors flexed their political and military muscle in northern Italy, and were given the March of Verona (the mainland around Venice) to govern—but not for long. They were expelled from Italy, but kept the title margrave and applied it to one of their local castles back home, Baden, and from there the name (which also became the name of the dynasty) was eventually applied to the entire region.

The Grand Duchy at its greatest extent after 1803. This trip focuses on the red bit in the middle: Baden-Baden and Baden-Durlach

Baden, like its name suggests, is a bath, a spa town, called Aquae or ‘waters’ by the Romans as far back as the 3rd century. It didn’t take long to drive here from Strasbourg, and I was allowed to check in early and park the car so I could walk around. It’s a lovely place, and it was a warm summer’s day, so I really enjoyed an aimless wander. There’s an ancient medieval fortress, Hohenbaden, built in the 12th century but a ruin by the 16th. I could see it from the valley floor, but decided against the hard climb up to the hilltop, partly because I assumed I would want to spend more of my time in the Neues Schloss, into which the ruling margraves moved in the late 15th century. I wound my way up the narrow streets of the old town and first visited the Stiftskirche in which generations of the House of Baden are buried.

I just love this look: loungin’ and waitin’ for the Rapture

Reaching the top of the hill, I discovered that the Neues Schloss was closed and inaccessible, even just to peek inside. It had ceased to be the main residence of the Margraves of Baden when they moved their capital to Karlsruhe in the 1780s (more on that below), but remained their summer residence and a place to overlook their growing spa resort town in the 19th century. From 1946 to 1981 it was a museum of the history of the dynasty and the region, but the family sold it in 2003, and there have been plans and delays and plans for a grand re-opening as a luxury hotel ever since. Certainly nothing had happened by 2014 when I was there. Quite disappointing.

My view of the ‘New Castle’ in Baden-Baden
the coat of arms of Baden is also quite simple. I love the gryphons

But the real glories of this town were back down in the valley below. In the 19th century, the Grand Dukes of Baden promoted their former capital as a fashionable spa town. The centrepiece is the glorious Kurhaus, built in the 1820s, which houses a spa, casino and gardens for strolling. And stroll they did. The Lichtentaller Allee is the famous place for strolling, alongside the wonderfully named River Oos. Aristocrats, princes and monarchs came from all over Europe, and diplomats sorted out Europe’s problems each summer while watching horse races and drinking water from one of 29 springs (warm, and with salt and minerals), especially after the railway arrived in the 1840s. By the end of the century, Baden saw about 70,000 visitors each summer. Heavily bombed in WWII, the town then served as the HQ for French occupying forces, and only in the 1980s did it really start to re-emerge as a new ‘it spot’, hosting major international gatherings such as the Olympic Committee and a NATO summit, and in 1998 opened the Festspielhaus, the largest opera and concert hall in Germany. After a lovely dinner overlooking a huge green park and watching more strolling (there’s a lot of that here), I was happy with my day in Baden-Baden—written twice to distinguish it from other towns with that name, but also in an earlier era to distinguish the senior line of the family from its junior lines based in other castles.

So on day three, I wanted to see more of these residences. My first stop was the very grand, and very pink, Palace of Rastatt. The ‘New Castle’ at Baden had been heavily damaged by French troops in the Nine Years War (1688-1697), and so the Margrave, Ludwig Wilhelm, decided to simply move and build elsewhere…down on the plain, where building was less constricted. It is remarkable how really flat this area is, and so suddenly after the hills of the Black Forest in which Baden-Baden is nestled.

Ludwig Wilhelm is one of the most famous members of the House of Baden, known as ‘Türkenlouis’ for his part as one of the leading generals in the Austrian re-conquest of Hungary from the Ottoman Turks in the 1690s. He decided he needed a palace to reflect his stature as a great European general, so transformed an old hunting lodge about 17 km from Baden into a model of the High Baroque (some might say ‘high camp’).

Ludwig Wilhelm’s tomb back in Baden-Baden. There’s a lot going on here…skeletons, angels, allegories of fame and victory…

The new town also has a very 18th-century feel about it, with orderly, well-laid out streets and a grand central market square. Built between 1700 and 1707, the Palace of Rastatt was not damaged in World War II and so remains one of the best preserved examples of this style of architecture. As the residence of a military commander, it’s not a surprise that most of the exhibits are about warfare, but they also highlight the Congress of Rastatt, held here in 1714, which ended the War of the Spanish Succession between France and Austria. But Türkenlouis had already died, so it was his widow, Margravine Sibylla Augusta, who played host to this important gathering of diplomats.

Sibylla Augusta, born a princess of Saxe-Lauenburg, far to the north, had her own summer residence not too far away, so I drove over to see it: Schloss Favorite. This is one of the nicest princely residences I have ever visited. It was designed to be a summer pleasure palace for the widow (and regent for her young son), and a showcase for her collection of fine things, in particular porcelains. These are still on display. The surface of the outer walls of the castle is an unusual pebble, and the whole thing has a delicate uniqueness of its own. It is a great contrast to the imposingly masculine palace at Rastatt.

Rastatt remained the capital of Baden-Baden until 1771, when the senior line died out, and the lands and titles passed to the junior line, Baden-Durlach. All of Baden was once more united into one territory for the first time since the Middle Ages—but not without some negotiations: during the Reformation, the two branches chose different paths (as these princely houses often did), with Baden-Baden remaining Catholic and Baden-Durlach siding with the Protestant reforms. So when the two branches merged, an agreement had to made that both faiths would be equally tolerated. I drove up to the small town of Durlach, now just a suburb of the much larger town of Karlsruhe, and tried to find evidence of a princely dynasty ruling there. There isn’t much, as they moved their centre of operations to Karlsruhe in about 1715. I decided not to go into the city, so I’ll need to return to this area to see the grandeur of the later Grand Dukes of Baden, their palace (completely rebuilt after World War II) and their tombs. Karlsruhe was a completely new town, built by Margrave Karl III (and it means ‘Karl’s repose’), much closer to river ports on the Rhine, and was one of Germany’s important court capitals until 1918 when the dynasty abdicated. It remained a capital city until Baden was merged with Württemberg after the War and Stuttgart became the capital. But still today Karlsruhe is one of Germany’s main centres of government, as the seat of both the Federal Constitutional Court (Bundesverfassungsgericht) and the Federal Court of Justice (Bundesgerichtshof). Excellent long names like these will be seen again on this trip.

It was late afternoon and I had not really had lunch, so in Durlach I wandered around looking for a sandwich shop, then sat in a nice broad square with a lovely round fountain, wondering where the old schloss might have been (this is before I had a smartphone, so travelling was always a bit more of an adventure). Turns out, this square was the very place. There had been an old castle up on the hilltop (the ‘Turmberg’), but when Margrave Karl II moved his capital here in the 1560s, he built a town palace called, quite unimaginatively, the Karlsburg. This, it turns out, was what I was sitting in front of eating my sandwich. Today there is a large neo-classical façade, an adjacent older structure of an interesting ochre hue, and fragments of a stone wall jutting out. Like Old Baden, Karlsburg had been almost completely destroyed by the invading armies of Louis XIV in 1689 (the same armies that so utterly devastated Heidelberg, not too far away). Work started on renovations after the war in 1698 (and there are exist plans intended for a grand new palace), but a new war in 1702, and a dispute with the locals over labour (and perhaps the projected size of the new building), made Karl III, as we’ve seen, move a bit to the west and create a new town altogether. Durlach slid into obscurity and is now just a suburb. The Karlsburg served as a barracks, a museum, and now houses classrooms, local government offices, a performance space, a library…

my photo of the old castle of Durlach, the ruined wall, and the newer Karlsburg beyond

That evening I stayed in a really cute hotel in the middle of the countryside, in wine growing country, the aptly named Weingarten. I had seen Presskopf on the menu before, and understood it was a local specialty, so for dinner (at the hotel, on a beautiful terrace) I had some—of course with some of the local white wine. I didn’t hate it, but it’s not my favourite thing, and the name in English (‘head cheese’) is rather off-putting. Basically, it is meat shaved off of the head of a pig or a cow, and put into gelatin. So why it’s called ‘cheese’ I do not know (apparently in England it is known as ‘brawn’).

The next morning I headed just a few miles up the road to Bruchsal, the palace of the Prince-Bishops of Speyer. Like Rastatt, this was a ‘new build’ following the devastations of the French army in the Nine Years War, and the appearance of the building is similar, a mixture of French high baroque with something a bit more Rhenish. The bishops of Speyer—a city on the other side of the Rhine from here—had for centuries maintained an urban residence near their cathedral, and a rural retreat located just across the river at Udenheim. Feeling threatened by militant Protestants in the early 17th century, Bishop Philipp Christoph von Sötern fortified Udenheim and renamed it after himself, Philippsburg. This fortress, at a strategic spot on the Rhine, became a key target for the French, and was actually occupied by them for much of the century. The bishop of Speyer had to look elsewhere and settled in Durlach, a few miles to the east. It had been site of a royal residence way back in the 10th century, but had been episcopal property since the 11th. In 1716 it became the formal residence of the prince-bishop, and starting in about 1720, a grand new palace was created by Cardinal-Bishop Damian Hugo von Schönborn.

if you build a palace, you should definitely have yourself painted into the decorations

In the 19th century, after the secularisation of church lands, Bruchsal became part of Baden and served as a dowager residence, a barracks, a military hospital and a storehouse, then was badly damaged by fire during the Second World War. It was mostly reconstructed but the decision was taken to restore only some of the interiors as a glittering baroque palace, and others on more modern lines—today it houses two museums, one on local history and one showcasing a fascinating collection of German music boxes and other mechanical toys. It was a lovely space to spend a morning, with coffee in the gardens, then I headed out, drove the few miles to the west to find whatever I could of Philippsburg—a must see for me, since I had read so much about it in my studies of the reign of Louis XIV, as one of the great fortresses of Europe. Well, there is nothing to see. Even understanding how it might once have guarded this part of the Rhine is difficult to perceive, since the river is no longer anywhere near here—you do see high earth embankments alongside a swampy ‘Altrhein’ where this bend of the river used to flow before it was straightened in the industrial era. After the famous sieges of the wars of Louis XIV, Philippsburg had once again been the setting for another huge siege during the Napoleonic Wars, after which the French ordered the fortress completely dismantled. Literally nothing remains, or at least not that I could find that day.

Imperial forces under Duke Charles of Lorraine attack the French entrenched in the fort at Philippsburg, 1676
the Altrhein at Philippsburg today

So with wistful thoughts about the impermanence of history, I hopped back into the car and set off on another leg of zooming on the Autobahn, due north past Mannheim and Darmstadt and Frankfurt. I had visited this part of Germany—Franconia—before, so I zoomed past and continued my more local tour about 60 km north of Frankfurt, to see what I could find in another remnant of the old Holy Roman Empire, in the city of Wetzlar. This town was a moderate-sized free city of the Empire from the 12th century, but had suddenly become much more prominent following the destruction of Speyer by the French as seen above. For not only was Speyer the seat of the prince-bishop, it had also been the seat of the supreme court of the Empire, which after 1689 was relocated to Wetzlar. Like the wonderful long name of the supreme court of modern Germany noted above, this small town suddenly had to make calling cards that included the word Reichskammergericht—and today’s tourism office has to deal with an even longer word on their pamphlets, the Reichskammergerichtsmuseum!

Literally the ‘Imperial Chamber of Law’, this court attracted lawyers from all over Europe and changed the nature of the town, from a market town to a town of erudition. So as I walked around the town—laid out on some pretty steep hillsides, and sitting in a picturesque curve of the River Lahn—I saw loads of signs for literary disciples following the life story of Goethe, who came here as a trainee lawyer, and was inspired to write his first novel, one of the first of the new style of German literature, The Sorrows of Young Werther, in 1772. I was personally more taken by the extremely colourful graffiti I found all over the town, playing on the town’s imperial past, with animations of a Holy Roman Emperor dressed in 18th-century costume in various silly settings, like feeding the chickens or performing in a rock band. I think it is Emperor Francis I, modelled on the statue nearby of the Römische Kaiser, a former theatre and dancehall.

vroom vroom!

After a nice lunch on the terrace in front of the former supreme court building—probably the least imposing building in the world; you would never guess it had housed one of the three most important organs of power in the 18th-century Empire—I wandered along the riverside, looked up at the ruins of a medieval castle built by Emperor Frederick Barbarossa (the ‘Reichsburg’), then hopped back in the car for a short drive north to Marburg.

the former Reichskammergericht chancellery

Marburg is famous as one of the ancient seats of higher learning in Germany and as one of the cradles of Lutheranism. I parked my car on the banks of the Lahn (the same river I’d seen in Wetzlar) and headed up the fairly steep hillside on which this town was built. It had been one of the capitals of the old principality of Hesse, since the 1260s, and became a pilgrimage site for one of its early princesses, St Elizabeth of Hungary. She made this town her home, and a centre for caring for the sick, and was canonised very soon after her death in 1231. The St Elizabeth Church is still a major tourist site, though her remains were removed by Catholics during the Reformation. It’s a great example of high Gothic architecture, as indeed is much of this entire town, having been spared from the destruction of the two world wars.

Halfway up the hill, I passed another Gothic church, the parish church of St. Marien, which houses some of the tombs of the landgraves of Hesse-Marburg. Crowning the hill is the castle itself, seat of the dynasty until its capital moved back to Kassel at the end of the 16th century. It was the site of the Colloquy of Marburg, 1527, hosted by the Landgrave Philipp the Magnanimous, who ardently wished to prevent a further split amongst reformers by inviting Luther and Zwingli to his castle to debate the finer points of the reform movement—others in attendance included Martin Bucer and Philipp Melanchthon—but it was ultimately a failure, and the Zwinglians continued to push for a more rigorous reform of the Church. It felt amazing to be in such an important historical spot. Today the castle is part of the University of Marburg, a space for its exhibitions and grand events. University buildings are scattered all over the hillside and as the town spills down into the river valley, and aside from theology, there are reminders in bookshop windows and theatre advertisements that this was also once a great centre of German Romanticism and the collecting of folklore by local scholars such as the Brothers Grimm.

climbing up to the castle
the Colloquy Chamber, Marburg Castle

Having seen quite a lot of wonderful sites today, I was ready to settle in for a quiet night, and was excited to see the room I had booked in a castle a bit further north, Schloss Waldeck. On this last short drive, I paused only to note excitedly my swift passing (yes, I got a ticket later in the mail) through the small village of Münchhausen, though I later read that this village had nothing to do with the famous Baron (whose family came from further north, near Hanover). Through some genuinely good luck, I had nabbed a fairly cheap room high in the tower of this medieval fortress-hotel: I marvelled at the view as the sun set in the west over the Edersee (a man-made lake made from the Eder river) and a hilly region that forms the natural frontier between Hesse and Westphalia. Through some genuine bad luck, however, my kidneys decided that this would be the best place to get rid of some excess crystalline material. After writhing on the floor in agony for nearly an hour, contemplating whether I should call the local hospital, or perhaps my German family in not-too-far-away Paderborn, or simply letting myself expire, I passed out, and woke up the next morning covered in sweat slumped in a chair. That was an experience I do not wish to repeat.

the view from my window, Waldeck Castle

So, bright and early, feeling miraculously revived, I had breakfast on the terrace of this castle. Perhaps it was the spirit of my ancestors who had healed me, for, just a few miles to west in the Eder river valley, in the gentle hills of the tiny principality of Sayn-Wittgenstein, a group of rebellious Pietists broke with the state Lutheran Church in 1708 and baptised each other as ‘brothers’—there would be no hierarchies for them. They called themselves ‘The Brethren’ and eventually were forced to migrate to Pennsylvania where they became known as ‘Dunkers’ because of their preference for adult baptism. I had visited the site of the baptism in the Eder, the tiny village of Schwarzenau, a few years back, to participate in the 300th anniversary commemorations, which were even attended by the current Prince of Sayn-Wittgenstein himself (imagine my excitement!). But today, I needed to continue heading north, as I was due at my next destination that evening.

The castle in which I had stayed overnight—for better or for worse—was a mighty fortress built in the late 13th century to house and defend the family of the counts of Waldeck. It was in fact, shared by its different branches, which is an interesting idea, though each branch also had its own seat at a different castle, and by the 16th and 17th centuries they had mostly left this place as an old and uncomfortable residence. It served as a barracks, then a women’s prison, and since the 1920s has housed a museum of the local town and district as well as a restaurant and hotel.

the inner courtyard-terrace

The senior branch of the counts of Waldeck moved their residence a few miles to the north, to Arolsen, in 1655. Arolsen had been a medieval nunnery, secularised during the Reformation, and would be completely rebuilt as a baroque palace in about 1715. The town was laid out anew as well, as another good example of an orderly, regimented town fashionable in the Enlightenment—it is so symmetrical in design that the checkered pattern of the town on one side of the castle is mirrored by the same pattern of the gardens and forests on the other. The town would serve as the government of the principality (raised from a county in 1712), even after the fall of the monarchy, until the ‘Free State of Waldeck’ was dissolved in 1929. The castle of Arolsen is extremely yellow, and some shades of Orange, to play up its close links with the House of Orange (due to the marriage of Princess Emma with King William III of the Netherlands in 1879, and her tremendous popularity as Regent in the 1890s); and it is still lived in today by the princely family. It houses one of the best preserved princely libraries in Germany.

Schloss Arolsen
Queen Emma as Regent for her daughter Queen Wilhelmina, 1890

The Waldeck family traces its origins all the back to the early days of the Holy Roman Empire, at first known as the Schwalenbergs, and certainly have Saxon (rather than Franconian or Swabian) origins, as identifiable by their regular use of the name Wittekind (after the legendary ancient king of the Saxons), from the founders of the dynasty right up to the current holder of the princely title. They were entrusted by early emperors to guard the Upper Weser valley, and the borders between Saxony and Westphalia (in fact this area used to be called ‘Ostphalia’). This would later be a zone of conflict between the dukes of Brunswick to the east and the bishops of Paderborn to the west (and the Waldeck family included several bishops there themselves).

The symbol for Waldeck is a eye-catching 8-point star

In 1692, with the death of Georg Friedrich of Waldeck-Wildungen, a field marshal of the Dutch Republic, the line of Waldeck-Eisenberg remained as the only branch, and unified the lands into one county, raised as seen above by the Emperor into an Imperial principality in 1712. Georg Friedrich had in fact already been raised to the rank of prince of the Empire, 1682, but this was a personal title only, so the 1712 creation solidified the ascent of this family to the very top of the imperial hierarchy. Their case for this elevation had been assisted by the augmentation of their state by the addition of the county of Pyrmont, a bit further to the north, and it was to Pyrmont that I headed in the late morning.

Pyrmont had been a separate county from the late 12th century, its fortress built by the archbishop of Cologne as ‘Peters Mount’ to defend his duchy of Westphalia. But it really took off later as a spa town, visited for its ‘miracle springs’ as early as the 1550s. By the 17th century it belonged to the counts of Waldeck who developed it as a tourist destination, in particular from the 1720s when gambling rooms were opened, alongside ballrooms and long tree-lined alleys for healthy strolling. Famous royal visitors included George I of England, Peter I of Russia and Frederick II of Prussia. Its main broad avenue, pedestrianised and lined with boutiques, is still lovely to walk down, with its central bathhouse, ‘Der Hyllige Born’, or ‘Holy Spring’, dominating one end. I had a nice lunch, then looked at the very pink, very baroque, small schloss, an old moated castle rebuilt in about 1710 to house the princes on their summer visits to their spa resort. It’s a nice place, if a bit too pink and mignon for me.

Bad Pyrmont
Schloss Pyrmont

The family’s later history is not so rosy: called Princes of ‘Waldeck und Pyrmont’ after 1712 to recognise the two component parts of their state (not contiguous), they somehow survived the absorption of most of the smaller German states in the period 1803 to 1815, and were a separate component state within the German Empire of 1871. None of the imperial princes survived the fall of the monarchies in 1918 with their power intact, but the Waldeckers did retain much of their private fortune (perhaps as close kin to the House of Orange, as noted above, but also the royal family in Great Britain, as Emma’s sister Helena had married Leopold, Duke of Albany, the youngest son of Queen Victoria). The last hereditary prince, Josias, was one of those high-ranking German aristocrats who saw the Nazis (wrongly as it turned out) as potential restorers of their former authority, though he went further than most and became extremely close to the regime—as a clear signal, his eldest son’s godfathers at his baptism in 1936 were none other than Hitler and Himmler. Prince Josias became a high-ranking SS officer, in charge at one point of the Buchenwald camps, and at another of the military police in occupied France. After the war he was arrested, imprisoned, but later pardoned by the Minister-President of the State of Hesse. His son, Prince Wittekind, understandably kept a lower profile in developing his career, and served with distinction in the army of the West German Republic, one hopes as a bit of dynastic atonement.

I was now in the State of Lower Saxony, which used to be the Kingdom of Hanover, and before that the hodgepodge of principalities governed by the House of Brunswick. In the late afternoon, I left Pyrmont and drove cross-country and past the small cities of Hameln (famous for its pied piper) and Hildesheim (one of the ancient prince-bishoprics which once governed so much of Germany), until I reached my destination, the sleepy town of Wolfenbüttel, where I would be spending the rest of the summer.

I will certainly do a full blog piece on the House of Brunswick (aka Guelph, aka Hanover), but to finish off this rather epic journey, I will add a tag for the final day of having the benefit of a rental car, which was due to be returned in Hanover at the end of one more day. I decided to overshoot Hanover at first, and visited the sleepy town of Celle, seat of another Brunswick principality.

The Brunswick lands in the 19th century: Wolfenbuttel in yellow and Luneburg/Hanover in orange. Waldeck is at lower left (and Pyrmont is the small green F-W)

By the 17th century, there were two main branches of the House of Brunswick—one of the oldest and most powerful princely families in Germany, always nipping at the heels of the reigning imperial dynasties, but obtaining the throne only once, with Otto IV in the early 13th century. There was the senior branch at Wolfenbüttel and the junior branch based in Lüneburg and later in Celle and Hanover. The castle in Wolfenbüttel is by far the most dominant structure in the town, rebuilt in the late 16th century as a Renaissance palace. It today houses a museum and a high school.

Wolfenbuttel Schloss. Of course there are bicycles everywhere…this is Germany!

Across the park is a grand 19th-century building that houses a magnificent 17th-century treasure, the Duke August Library, the real jewel in the crown and the reason I was here, to spend three months working with this library’s collections—Germany supports academic research in a way we can only dream of in the UK, with support here from the State of Lower Saxony, but certainly also aided by the fact that super wealthy companies Volkswagen and Jägermeister are both located nearby. Wolfenbüttel is also an idyllic place to study as it is entirely quiet (in fact quite dull!) and has lovely parks and waterways (lots of canals!), and one of the best preserved collection of half-timbered buildings in Europe. Because the major industrial investment in this region was a few miles to the north in the city of Brunswick (Braunschweig), that town was heavily bombed in the Second World War, leaving this town almost completely intact and its world-class library spared.

The Duke August Library

The town of Brunswick had been jointly ruled by both branches of the dynasty, but after 1753, became the residence and capital of the senior branch, who took the name of simply Duke of Brunswick, since the junior branch were by now firmly called the Dukes of Hanover—and in fact, were of course even better known as the Kings of Great Britain and Ireland, since 1714. Since the year of this drive was, in fact, 2014, I was excited to visit the special exhibits being put on in Celle and in Hanover itself, so after fully checking out the delightful monstrosity of an old building in which I would spend the summer (with the wonderfully eclectic name of ‘party-evening-house’, though really meaning ‘end of work’ or ‘retirement’ house), I headed out in the morning to drive to Celle.

My home for 3 months, the Feierabendhaus, charmingly dumpy, and perhaps haunted?

Skirting around the city of Hanover I drove across a landscape that was very different to any I had seen thus far on this trip: quite flat, with lots of small canals and waterways. These feed into the River Aller, a main tributary of the Weser. Further to the north, and something I really want to explore someday, the flatlands turn into the wild Lüneburger Heath before merging with the broad Elbe valley and the megacity of Hamburg. Celle (or in an older style, Zelle) had been built on the Aller by the Brunswick-Lüneburg dukes when they left their old seat in Lüneburg in order to be closer to their more southerly lands such as Hanover and Göttingen. Like Wolfenbüttel, the old castle at Celle was rebuilt as a Renaissance palace in the 16th century, then modernised in a baroque style in the 1670s. It was mostly abandoned however, after 1705, as the dynasty consolidated into one single branch, based in Hanover, though it was famously used as a prison for the disgraced Queen of Denmark, Caroline Matilde, 1772-1775, since she was the sister of the ruler of Hanover, King George III.

Celle Schloss
The Brunswick coat of arms–the duchy of Brunswick itself has two gold lions on red (similar to England); Luneburg adds a blue lion with red hearts (similar to Denmark); and there’s a white horse on top

The exhibition here about the 300th Anniversary of the union of Great Britain and Hanover was really nicely done and I spent much of the day here. There are also extensive gardens (and the ubiquitous white horse sculptures—the white horse being the symbol of the Hanoverian dynasty), and nice places for lunch in the town. I also visited the main church of Celle, St. Marian, with lots of princely tombs to admire, including, notably, one for poor Caroline Mathilde, and indeed for the other famously disgraced consort from the Hanoverian dynasty, Sophia Dorothea, the wife of King George I, who was never allowed to set foot in her husband’s new British domains due to her ‘indiscretions’ with Count von Königsmarck (who lost his life as a result) in 1694.

The Guelph monument in the city church of Celle

These scandalous events had taken place at the ducal court in Hanover, and I made the short drive there in the late afternoon to return the car. Before heading back by train to Wolfenbüttel, I paused in the city centre to look at the old ducal palace, the Leineschloss, unfortunately completely destroyed in the Second World War, which is now the seat of the Landtag of Lower Saxony, the successor state to the Kingdom of Hanover (which had been proclaimed by the British sovereign in 1814, but absorbed by Prussia in 1866). That summer, I would come back frequently to explore this fascinating small city, and in particular to visit the newly restored marvel that is the gardens of Herrenhausen, just outside of town (thank you again, Volkswagen!). For the 2014 celebrations, there were five interlinked exhibits: at Celle, at Herrenhausen, two in Hanover, and one in Marienburg (as well as one at the Royal Collection in London). Marienburg is the 19th-century fantasy gothic castle south of Hanover which I did not visit, partly put off by the high prices of the castle tours and of the exhibition—it is the current residence of the House of Hanover (Prince Ernst August). But I was pleased to end this tour by celebrating once more the events of the Hanoverian Succession 1714, as they had once been celebrated, perhaps, by the inhabitants of the Principality of Mindelheim where this driving tour began…

a shop window in Hanover, celebrating 1714-2014

(photos mostly my own; some from Wikimedia Commons)

Vorontsov and Dashkov princes

Sometimes one noble family needs another to boost its status slightly into the ranks of the dukes and princes. The Vorontsovs were an old noble family of middle rank who significantly influenced the history of Russia in the 18th century. The Dashkovs were an equally ancient family, and though of higher, even princely, rank, rarely made much of an impact on the national stage. The two families were linked through marriage in the mid-18th century, in the person of probably their most famous member, Ekaterina Vorontsova, Princess Dashkova, the first woman to lead a major academic institution. In the wake of this union, the Dashkov family name and arms were willed to the Vorontsov family, allowing them to become princes themselves in the 19th century. This blog post will therefore look at these families together.

Princess Dashkova

To start, the Dashkovs were amongst that class of highest ranking nobles in Russia known as the ‘Rurikovichi’, or the descendants of Rurik, the semi-legendary founder of the Russian state. Rurik was a Viking who, instead of travelling west like many of his countrymen, ventured east in search of adventure, riches and conquest. He became ruler in the 860s of the Slavs in the area east of Finland, built a new fort called Novgorod (lit. ‘new fort’), and established the principality that would be called Rus’. His son Oleg moved the capital to Kiev, and the dynasty continued to grow and spread over the next several centuries. In contrast to western Europe where primogeniture increasingly concentrated rule into the hands of just one male per dynasty, consolidating the state, in Kievan Rus’ each son was given territories to rule, and the number of principalities, as well as the number of branches of the House of Rurik, grew and grew. By the 15th century there were dozens and dozens of branches and sub-branches, taking their names from the estates they ruled or the nickname of the founder of the lineage. Several of these lines maintained rule over larger territories, and became known as Grand Princes (or Grand Dukes—the word ‘knyaz’ in Russian can be translated as either prince or duke). The last Grand Prince of Smolensk (Yuri, d. 1407), had a younger brother known as Alexander Sviatoslavovich ‘Dashek’ (from the old Mongol word for ‘courageous’).

Dashkov coat of arms, with princely bonnet and mantle

The family that then took the name ‘Dashkov’ remained fairly obscure in the next two centuries, though, like many of their class, they served as boyars (leading nobles in the administrations of Muscovy and Russia) and voivodes or governors of provincial towns or fortresses. In the 17th century, two brothers, Ivan and Andrei Ivanovich, rose to greater prominence, the elder as a magistrate, granted the rank of okolnichy (the noble rank given to the closest companions of the tsars) in 1685, and the younger as a steward in the household of Tsarina Natalya Naryshkina, the mother of Peter the Great. It seems confusing, but the hereditary rank of a Rurikovichi prince and the earned rank of an okolnichy were not incompatible, and though the latter seems much lower in status, as a ‘close person’ to the Tsar, he had great influence. Ivan’s son Peter Dashkov, who also worked in the Tsarina’s household, married into the family of Eudoxia Lopukhina, the wife of Tsar Peter, so they were thus related to the Imperial dynasty itself.

In the 18th century, the Dashkovs continued to rise, again through marriage: Peter’s son Ivan, Captain of the elite Preobrazhensky Guards Regiment, married the wealthy heiress Anastasia Leontyeva, daughter of the Imperial General-in-Chief and great-niece of Peter the Great’s favourite, Prince Menshikov. She was also related to Count Panin, a member of the influential circle in the administration of Empress Elizabeth, daughter of Peter the Great. Another of this ruling circle was Count Mikhail Illarionovich Vorontsov, and the marriage between his niece, Ekaterina Vorontsova, and Ivan’s son, Prince Mikhail Dashkov, in 1759, united these two powerful families. Mikhail Dashkov died on campaign in 1764 as a brigadier general in the Polish wars, leaving behind a son, Pavel, the last Prince Dashkov, who we will come back to below.

Prince Mikhail Dashkov

The Vorontsov family came from a lower rank of the Russian nobility. They and another boyar family, the Velyaminovs, claimed to be two branches of a family descended from a Varangian (that is, a Viking) warrior named Shimon who came to Russia in the 11th century. The Velyaminov branch held important positions in Muscovy in the 14th century, solidified by the marriage of one of their daughters, Alexandra, to Grand Prince Ivan II, in 1345—she was the mother of Prince Dmitri Donskoi, one of the greatest rulers of medieval Muscovy. A younger son, Fedor Vasilievich, was given the nickname ‘Voronets’ (from voron, ‘the raven’), and his descendants then took the name Vorontsov. One of them, Fyodor, rose to great authority in 1543 when he was entrusted with the government of the Russian state by the teen-aged Tsar Ivan IV after having thrown off the more prominent boyars who had so far dominated his reign. Though he had long been a royal favourite, Fyodor Vorontsov’s rule was short, and as the Tsar began to assert his independence, he bristled at the older man’s control and had him executed in 1546. This youngster would of course grow up to earn the nickname ‘Ivan the Terrible’.

Vorontsov coat of arms

A few generations later, three brothers, Mikhail, Roman and Ivan, brought the family once again to national prominence. Mikhail was a favourite of Empress Elizabeth, daughter of Peter the Great. His link with her was strengthened by his marriage in 1742 to Anna Karlovna Skavronskaya, who was the Empress’s first cousin (the niece of Catherine I, born Martha Skavronskaya). His wife would remain one of her royal cousin’s favourites, and rose to the position of Chief Court Mistress in 1760. Empress Elizabeth named Mikhail Vorontsov Vice-Chancellor of the Empire and a Count in 1744, then towards the end of her reign he rose higher to the post of Chancellor of the Russian Empire, effectively the premier minister.

Count Mikhail Vorontsov, Chancellor of the Russian Empire
Anna Skavronskaya, Countess Vorontsova, cousin of Empress Elizabeth

Chancellor Vorontsov built the Vorontsov Palace in St. Petersburg, designed by the most fashionable architect of the day in Russia, Francesco Bartolomeo Rastrelli, but it cost him too much and he sold it to the Crown. Today it houses the exclusive Suvorov military academy, and dominates Sadovaya Street next to the National Library of Russia. He also built the beautiful Vorontsov dacha outside the city on the road towards the Imperial residence at Peterhof.

Vorontsov Palace, Saint Petersburg
the Vorontsov dacha, southwest of Saint Petersburg

The Chancellor’s brother Roman was one of the richest men in Russia, having married the daughter of a wealthy merchant. He served at court as a chamberlain. The third brother, Ivan, was a captain of the prestigious Preobrazhensky Guard and was appointed a Gentleman of the Chamber of Grand Duke Peter, heir to the throne. This is where the fun begins. Roman’s three daughters, Maria, Elizabeth and Catherine, were brought to court in about 1750 to serve in the households of Empress Elizabeth and Grand Duchess Catherine, the new wife of Grand Duke Peter. Maria was a maid of honour to the Empress, and Elizabeth and Catherine maids of honour to the Grand Duchess. But Elizabeth Vorontsova had different ideas than quietly attending her new mistress. A bold and brassy character who is described as being quite uninterested in the fineries of female life at court (‘She swore like a soldier’ and dressed ‘like a scullery maid’). But she appealed very much to young Peter, no doubt due to their shared love of soldiers and marching and drills. By the time the Grand Duke became Emperor Peter III in 1761, there were rumours that he planned to divorce Catherine and marry his mistress.

Countess Elizabeth Vorontsova

The Vorontsovs took sides. The Chancellor weakly backed Peter, as of course did his niece Elizabeth. But the youngest Vorontsov sister, Catherine, whose intellectual interests were more aligned to those of her mistress, backed her namesake, and was part of the court faction that was instrumental in the coup that placed Catherine II on the throne of Russia. With Peter III disposed of, Countess Elizabeth Vorontsova was forced to leave court and marry a nobody deep in the countryside, where she remained for another thirty years. Their uncle the Chancellor was effectively side-lined by the new Empress and ultimately resigned his post and retired to the country.

Catherine Vorontsova, by now known by her married name, Princess Dashkova, travelled widely in the 1760s, took part in the Paris salon culture, studied in Edinburgh (where she was wounded in a dual with a Scottish lady), then returned in the 1780s to resume her position as one of the closest friends and companions of Catherine the Great. Capitalising on the vast experience of the burgeoning Enlightenment she had gained abroad, and the Empress’s great passion for this, she was appointed Director of the Imperial Academy of Arts and Sciences in 1782, then President of the Russian Academy in 1784. These were unheard of positions for a woman, even in the enlightened 18th century. Princess Dashkova shepherded many projects in both organisations, but the one most close to her heart (she was known as a philologist) was the launch of a major Russian dictionary. When the Empress died in 1796, however, her petulant son, Paul I, immediately dismissed his mother’s friend from all of her offices and sent her away from court.

Catherine Vorontsova, Princess Dashkova, c1790

Like most aristocrats of the age, the Princess built a residence in grand style. Of particular note is her suburban dacha, Kiryanovo, built in the 1780s by the successor of Rastrelli, Giacomo Quarenghi. After a century of neglect, the building has recently been renovated and houses a museum devoted to the life of the Princess.

Kiryanovo

Her son, Pavel, Prince Dashkov, with similar interests as his mother (being named a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1781 while he was studying in Edinburgh), managed to retain the Emperor’s favour and was appointed Military Governor of Kiev in 1798. He married, but left no children, so when he died in 1807, he willed his name and arms (and several large estates) to his Vorontsov cousins.

Prince Pavel Dashkov–the last of his line

But before we move on to these cousins, descendants of Count Ivan, we need to look at the careers of the two brothers of the three Vorontsov sisters. Their father, Count Roman, became a general under Catherine II, and was named Governor of Vladimir Province in 1778. He built the large family palace of Andreevskoye near Vladimir. His elder son, Alexander, was a diplomat, Ambassador to Great Britain at the very start of Catherine’s reign, then a member of the Russian Senate. Late in life he attained his uncle’s old job of Chancellor of the Russian Empire, in 1802, and was one of those responsible for leading the new young Emperor, Alexander I, to break with Napoleon and resume fighting the wars against France. His brother, Count Semyon, took over the post of Ambassador to Great Britain but he remained there for years and years, from 1785 to 1806, and even remained there as a fixture of London society (known in England as ‘Count Woronzow’) until his death in 1832. His children, Mikhail and Catherine, grew up in London, and the latter would remain in England the rest of her life, as wife of George Herbert, 11th Earl of Pembroke.

Count Semyon Vorontsov, painted by the English portraitist Thomas Lawrence

Count Mikhail Semyonovich Vorontsov returned to Russia to serve in the wars against Napoleon, and was a commander of the occupation troops in Paris in 1815-1818. In 1823 he was named to the prestigious post of Governor-General of ‘New Russia’—the provinces north of the Black Sea, from Moldavia to Azov, that had been added to the Empire during the reign of Catherine the Great. Here he acted in many ways like a petty sovereign: on the western side of his domains he commanded troops that invaded Bulgaria (then a province of the Ottoman Empire) in 1828; while in the east he expanded Russia’s control over the Muslim regions of Daghestan and Chechnya. His base was in Odessa, where he built the Vorontsov Palace, but he also built the spectacular Alupka Castle, in Moorish style, in the Crimea. As someone acting as a near sovereign, he was appropriately rewarded with a princely title in 1845 (and the rank of ‘serene highness’), and transferred to the post of Viceroy of the Caucasus, 1854, and named Field Marshal of the Empire, 1856.

Prince Mikhail Vorontsov
Alupka Palace in the Crimea

Prince Vorontsov died the same year, and was succeeded by the second prince, Semyon, who died in 1882 without a male heir, leaving the family estates (but not the princely title) to his sister’s daughter, Countess Elizabeth Shuvalova, who just happened to be married to her cousin, Count Illarion Vorontsov-Dashkov, from the cadet branch of the family. She also inherited the Shuvalov property of Pargolovo, north of Saint Petersburg.

Vorontsov-Dashkov villa of Pargolovo

This junior branch were confirmed as counts of the Russian Empire by decree of Paul I in 1797. The female members of the first generation of the nineteenth century were instrumental in transforming German princesses into Imperial consorts, as their chief ladies-in-waiting. In the next generation, Count Illarion, who joined together the names Vorontsov and Dashkov, was a close friend of Tsar Alexander III who appointed him Minister of Imperial Properties in 1881, and a general of cavalry. Alexander’s son, Tsar Nicholas II, appointed him Councillor of State in 1897, and Viceroy of the Caucasus in 1905—and I suspect would have raised him to the rank of prince had politics allowed. Count Vorontsov-Dashkov held his post in the Caucasus, based in Tbilisi, until deep into the First World War, when heavy defeats in the region forced the Tsar to replace his old family friend—now nearly 80—with someone more vigorous. He retired to his estate at Alupka in the Crimea and died a year later in 1916.

Count Illarion Vorontsov-Dashkov

Surprisingly, nearly all the sons and daughters of Count Illarion survived the Revolution, and dispersed across Europe. The fourth son, Alexander, had been an aide-de-camp of the Tsar from 1905, and became a leader of the counter-revolutionary Whites in the Crimea in the 1920s. His nephew Roman emigrated to the United States and was head of the family until 1993, when he was succeeded by another Alexander, who married Alexandra Mironova, an opera singer who went by the name of Barbara Nikish—if her maiden name looks familiar, it is because she was a relative of Vasily Mironov, whose daughter Helen anglicised the name to Mirren. Roman and Alexander’s sister, Maria, kept the family’s profile high in the circles of exiled royals through her marriage in 1922 to Prince Nikita Alexandrovich of Russia, son of Grand Duchess Xenia, sister of Tsar Nicholas. She was created ‘Princess Romanovska’ in 1951 by the Russian pretender in exile. The headship of this branch passed in 2004, with the death of Count Semyon Vorontsov-Dashkov, to Count Alexander, who died in 2016, and left children, but I don’t have details about them.

Count Alexander Illarionovich Vorontsov-Dashkov

There are a few other names that pop up in Russian history who are more distant relatives of the princely Dashkovs or the Vorontsovs. Dmitri Vasilievich Dashkov was Minister of Justice in the 1830s, while Andrei Yakolevich Dashkov was the first Russian ambassador to the United States, 1808-17. In an interesting parallel, Yuli Mikhailovich Vorontsov was also ambassador to the United States, 1994-98, having previously been Soviet ambassador to India, France, and critically, to Afghanistan in the late 1980s. He also served as Deputy Foreign Minister in a time of great change in the USSR (1986-90) and later Russian envoy to the United Nations 1990-94. Others include Vasily Vorontsov (d. 1918), an economist and sociologist who was an early advocate of the ideas of Marx but rejected revolutionary communism; and Boris Vorontsov-Velyaminov (d. 1994), an astrophysicist who specialised in classifying galaxies and nebulae. Distinctive names like this continue to appear in Russian politics and culture and connect its present to its rich and varied past.

(images from Wikimedia Commons)