The Breakers

 

Day Eleven

This morning we drove through Newport, Rhode Island, past St Mary’s Church where JFK and Jackie O got married.  Well, she wasn’t Jackie O then of course.  We saw the farm where she grew up, beautiful acreage along the shores of the Atlantic.  Hammersmith Farm was later sold to an underwear magnate, someone who probably isn’t bothered by all the tourists driving by and snapping pictures.

The big attraction for today was The Breakers, the mansion once owned by Cornelius Vanderbilt II.  I have toured the Biltmore in Ashville, NC, a similar home owned by George Vanderbilt back in the day.  The Breakers is now the property of the Newport Preservation Society as a museum and is open for visits all year. On the drive there we passed many similar homes but none reached the magnificence of The Breakers. I saw several that could have been the setting for Wuthering Heights and another that would have made Dracula feel welcome. There were many newer and very beautiful properties as well.  I’ll stick to my little bungalow in Amish Country, thank-you.

With opulence reaching beyond the level of any common sense, the house’s footprint is an acre in size.  Situated high above the Atlantic, it boasts indescribable views from three levels of balconies, or loggia if you’ve got class.  A large lush lawn reaches from the back of the house to the edge of the rocky beach, the breaking waves signifying where the mansion got its name.

The decadent furnishings, wall coverings (one room was gilded in platinum, another in leather and gold leaf!), alabaster columns, crystal chandeliers, and every imaginable indulgence of its day left me wondering whether the occupants were blessed beyond imagining or trapped in a prison of societal expectation and obligation. 

Mr. Vanderbilt’s private bathroom boasted a tub carved out of solid piece of marble.  It was so cold it had to be filled and emptied of hot water two or three times so it would be warm enough to bath in.  Each bathroom had its own sitzbath which I found rather interesting. The tour guide said they were used after horseback riding or whenever the family needed to refresh their lower regions.  Rather a comforting reminder, I thought, that even the Vanderbilts and their cohorts had lower regions that needed refreshed now and then.  Just like all us peasants.  I should also insert here, after that snarky aside, that some of the Vanderbilt family had philanthropic leanings and used their wealth to help worthy causes.  They were also known to be very good employers and referred to their forty plus employees as staff rather than servants.

The children had a playhouse, bigger and better than the houses many people lived in. Flowers grew around it and around the main house as well.  Twelve dozen roses were cut and brought inside the main house every morning for placement in the various bedrooms and sitting rooms. Huge wrought iron gates, I’m guessing at least twenty feet tall, were closed at both front and side entries and a tall wall surrounding the house kept everything private and secure. 

We went back to Newport for lunch and shopping.  Much of the former and very little of the latter was done.  Paul and I ate at the Lobster Bar, outside on a wooden deck suspended over the water.  Fishing vessels and sailboats were anchored everywhere.  The seafood was mouthwatering and I already look forward to my next meal in an ocean side city. We inlanders suffer through prepackaged grocery store fish which tastes nothing like the fresh caught kind.  Paul and I are fortunate to have a son-in-law who fishes the great lakes quite frequently and if we’re nice to him he shares his catch.

After several hours in Newport we hit the road again, turning toward home.  We passed through Connecticut, caught a faint glimpse of Martha’s Vineyard, MA in the distance, went a short distance through New York, and finally arrived back in Pennsylvania where we gratefully crawled into the beds at our hotel.