Travel- The Perfect Day
What would constitute a perfect day for you? Lying under an umbrella on the beach reading a great book? Maybe a shopping day with plenty of money to spend? Or perhaps squandering a day in nature, soaking up all God’s beauty.
In May, James and I visited the Biltmore Mansion and grounds. The bus we rode traversed a narrow country road, woods all around, birds chirping a welcome to the crisp spring morning. A vibrant blue sky hung above us, and Rhododendron trees in full bloom graced our path. We smiled and knew we were in for a perfect day.
The bus pulled up to the grand entrance of the Biltmore Mansion, and we headed inside, grabbed our speaker wands, and began a tour of the largest privately-owned home in America, a Chateauesque-style mansion built for George Washington Vanderbilt II in the late eighteen hundreds for the sum of six million dollars.
No detail was overlooked in this 135,000-square-foot home with 250 rooms. We paused at each majestic chamber and listened to the recording, letting our imaginations run wild.
In the billiard room, I envisioned men around the table, puffing cigars, one chalking the tip of his cue and striking the ball while the others observed, sipping brandy from crystal glasses.
Stopping at the music room, I fancied a group gathered around the piano while a gifted musician entertained. Women in fancy evening attire kept cool with silk and lace hand fans. Occasionally a man would pull a watch from his pocket to check the time.
The tour guided us to the first of thirty-five bedrooms in the mansion, Mr. Vanderbilt’s. I imagined him standing at one of the massive windows overlooking his property, thoughts turning in his mind. Perhaps he settled in at his desk and attended to some late-night business.
In Mrs. Vanderbilt’s oval-shaped bedroom, sophisticated and stylish, I envisioned Edith Vanderbilt at her vanity with the gilded mirror. She’d have run a brush through her long hair while Little Cornelia looked on. Perhaps the child would’ve edged a tiny hand toward the rouge she longed to try on her cheeks.
I admired the oak paneling and strap-work ceiling in the Oak Sitting Room, an area between Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt’s bedrooms. I pictured the family enjoying the morning together in this private respite, a warm fire crackling in the fireplace, one of sixty-five in the mansion. Mrs. Vanderbilt might’ve worked on a list of the day’s activities while keeping an eye on Little Cornelia. I could almost hear the child chatting to her doll as she brushed its hair. And Mr. George Vanderbilt, I expect he’d have been reading the newspaper, focusing on the financial page.
We strolled to the library. The thousands of books intrigued me. I could see myself settling into a cozy chair beside a fireplace, book in hand, while another guest headed up the spiral staircase to the second-floor balcony. I fancied someone studying the impressive ceiling painting titled The Chariots of Aurora while another stood at the globe, fingertips exploring faraway destinations.
I asked a guide about a small book on the table. “It’s one of Mr. Vanderbilt’s reading journals,” she said. “He started recording the titles he’d read at eight years old. He averaged eighty-one books a year.”
We passed through the tapestry gallery where three of the Triumph of the Seven Virtues hung, The Triumph of Prudence, The Triumph of Faith, and The Triumph of Charity, with Biblical images founded on the visions of Ezekiel woven in. Perhaps guests stood, arms folded, searching for these biblical images and symbols just as James and I did that day.
One of the most elegant rooms in the mansion was the banquet hall. I pictured the guests arriving for the evening meal, looking for a hand-written place card with their name on it, and settling in for a seven-course dinner. Imagine being at that table with the Vanderbilts, the delightful smells of delicious foods, and the sound of lively conversations between the guests as they chatted about their day’s events at the mansion.
The first Christmas held in this room set a precedent. A thirty-five-foot-tall Fraser Fir, decorated with candles and ornaments, would’ve been on display. It’s reported that Mr. Vanderbilt had gifts purchased and given out to the guests and employees each Christmas.
The mansion had many other rooms and diversions, including a bowling alley and a swimming pool.
We peeked into the servant’s quarters on the mansion's lowest level. Although sparse, the housing was comfortable and had many perks, including a few bathrooms and a private staff dining room. With better accommodations at the mansion than locals had at home, many sought employment at the Biltmore.
Passing through the area where they’d worked and socialized and slept, it seemed I could hear the hustling and bustling of the many workers.
We viewed pantries large enough to store food for hundreds. Jars would’ve been full of canned vegetables, fruits, and jams. Cured hams would’ve hung from the ceiling.
We stood amazed at the central kitchen, a rotisserie kitchen, and a walk-in refrigerator. Can you picture the staff preparing huge meals and loading food onto the dumb waiter to be delivered to the upstairs staff?
The laundry, equipped with sophisticated equipment, was the last area we visited. Comparing it to what we have now, I imagine working in this area was the least popular.
I wondered how many employees it took to keep the home clean, cook the meals, do the laundry, chop and stack firewood for all those fireplaces and attend to the grounds and outbuildings.
After our tour, we had a delicious lunch on the property at the Stable Café and then spent a few hours viewing several gardens on the magnificent grounds, a part of the estate we’d never had time to explore before.
We were exhausted at the end of the day. Still, we’d seen an unbelievably lavish mansion, imagined the life of those who lived and worked inside, eaten a meal in what was once the stables, and strolled the grounds just as the Vanderbilts and their guests might have over a hundred years ago. It was indeed the perfect day.
