French elegance, British history

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The British Ambassador’s Residence in Paris

By Tim Knox with photography by Francis Hammond

HRH The Prince of Wales has rightly praised the 1st Duke of Wellington’s ‘excellent good sense – and taste’ in acquiring, in 1814, the  house and contents that now form the British Ambassador’s residence in Paris.  It had until only a short time before been the Paris residence of Princess Borghese, perhaps better known as Pauline Bonaparte, who had lavished much money (and taste) on the hôtel de Charost in the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré before fleeing the Allies’ advance on Paris.  A reduced copy of Canova’s famously scandalous marble of Pauline as Venus Victrix dominates the right-hand corner of the Entrance Hall.

It is tempting to describe this lavishly illustrated history of a historic hôtel particulieras a coffee table book; but it is much more than this. Tim Knox has combined the history of the house and its assorted residents with a keen insight into the interior decoration past and present and with a spice of wit that makes the text a great pleasure to read.  Like ‘Penguins taken on the train’ it elevates and entertains.

 From the 18th-century builder, Paul François de Béthune-Charost, marquis d’Ancenis, 4th duc de Charost (a trusted friend of Louis XIV, whose family  occupied the house from December 1725–85)  to the present day, the history is traced with a firm hand.  Two pages of photographs of recent visitors, from HM The Queen to Colin Firth, make fun viewing;  but it is the luscious photographs of interiors and their details by Francis Hammond that convey  the importance of the contents and the elegance of the hôtel.  Sadly the Victorian era saw the sale of ‘several wagons full’ of Pauline Borghese’s furniture; and the contemporary photographs of the rooms during this era (including one of a dreadful, rented, floral arrangement for the visit of Edward VII, which obscures the handsome balustrade) are horrible reminders of an age of  clutter which is so different to the Neo-classical unity and clarity of Pauline’s time. Some incumbents brought trophies of India – so-called ‘imperial paraphernalia’ – which were not always appreciated by visitors!  Of the various residents, the Duff Coopers (1944–7) left perhaps the most thoughtful gift of a library of books and shelves to hold them. That it is constructed out of plaster and paint effects makes it more wondrous – it is still the Ambassador’s study and not shown to all visitors.   Christian (Bébé) Bérard also designed a tented bathroom for Lady Diana Cooper, which is now ‘in its third reincarnation’.  But this book overwhelmingly underlines the domination of French style over British interventions.

 Tim Knox weaves the historical narrative through the descriptions of the rooms – there is a section devoted to ‘The History of the House and its Occupants’ which is full of anecdote and adventure as occupants faced revolution, the commune and wars with varying degrees of courage.  Despite the walled and gated protection the house enjoys from the faubourg, it was still vulnerable enough to experience fighting in the garden during the Commune (on 23 May 1871) with a watercolour by William Simpson in the Salon Vert to prove it.   Now it is an oasis of peace next to the (later) presidential Elysée Palace – the garden and the house a showcase for modern British art; works  by Rachel Whiteread and Shirazeh Houshiary are illustrated.

Of course, the people who have occupied the house and their tastes, eccentricities, successes and failures are part of the history. Some have sunk into the history books unremembered by the general public; but the cultural, political and commercial importance of this embassy has never been in doubt and the grandeur of the house is equal to the challenge of modern life.  It has been the centre of several crises – some acute, some unique. 

Like many houses this is an accretion of ages – 300 years in this case – and, given its Anglo-French heritage, an especially interesting one.  The current incumbent, Sir Peter Westmacott, points out that ‘It is a shared inheritance’ and that ‘pictures loaned [sic] by the British Government Art Collection….add to the spirit of the place’. Tim Knox and Francis Hammond have revealed this in a most interesting and diverting way.

Here is a book which is a brilliant combination of art history, social history and photography, and which allows us access to probably the most elegant British embassy of all.   Any student of French life, history or interior decoration could do much worse than have a look  – what stories could be told by the bed slept in by Pauline and maybe her lovers; followed by Edward VII, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother (twice)?

This might make the perfect present for an ex-ambassador or an aficionado of French interiors. I’m off to read ‘Don’t tell Alfred’ by Nancy Mitford, which apparently tells us ‘how it was’ – or more likely – how it probably wasn’t!

The British Ambassador’s Residence in Paris,  by Tim Knox with photography by Francis Hammond is published by Flammarion, 2011.  168 pp.,  100 colour illus, £45.00. ISBN 978-2-08-020078-5