I’ve been wallowing in giant picture books titled, “Great Houses of Britain,” or some slight variation thereof. So far, Hardwick Hall knocks it out of the park.
Now THAT is my style. The lady who built it was pretty kick ass too. (As four dead husbands could probably attest.) Not to mention, picky. It was said that after they completed the turrets she decided they needed to have an extra row of lights. “One can imagine her standing between her buildings and deciding that there was still more wall than glass, and that the proportions must be reversed, whatever the expense.”
And don’t just stand there looking at me.
Apparently you can see the place miles away from the glare of all the windows. There is really no ornamentation on the building, apart from the flourish of her signature on the top. There is just the pure, imposing grandeur of glass.
“The portrait of Bess of Hardwick hangs against the gallery tapestries, surrounded by three of the four husbands whose wealth she ransacked to such a glorious effect.”