The Royal Pavilion, Brighton: A Regency Palace of Colour and Sensation by Alexandra Loske
Yale University Press, 2025 The Royal Pavilion in the centre of Brighton is unlike any other royal palace in this country, and divides opinion like almost no other. The story of the building is always linked to George IV, who ordered its construction and was closely involved in its design, especially the interior. In many ways the building is a reflection of his life: the young Prince of Wales who first enjoyed the pleasures of the small fishing village in 1783 to the obese figure who eventually had to be carried around the fantastically-decorated Chinese music room.
George rented a small house —now on the site of the banqueting room— in 1784, and a year later hired the architect Henry Holland to build him a ‘Marine Pavilion.’ The result was a two-storey neo-classical dwelling which had little of the decoration or flamboyance of the later additions. In meticulous detail, Loske takes the reader gently through the process which culminated in the pavilion looking as it does now, with many contemporary illustrations of the different stages.
From the early 1800s George began to enlarge the property and change the interior design. He brought in the interior decorators John and Frederick Crane, who were already experimenting with Chinese-inspired themes. Most significant of all, in 1815 he hired John Nash, who between that date and 1823 completely transformed the building both inside and out. It is Nash’s design that we now see (in its restored state). He did not demolish any of the existing structure, but simply built on top of it: the onion domes and ornamental turrets were added to the earlier building and braced by cast iron supports.
While a popular historical myth suggests that the building is somehow a physical manifestation of George’s character, it is true that his personality seems to be stamped on the building. Throughout the later stages of the re-building he was viewed with contempt and distain by both the general public and the parliamentary opposition. His extravagance at a time of economic uncertainty (the financial fall-out from the French wars, coupled with poor harvests, had led to much hardship) made him increasingly unpopular, as did his attempts to rid himself of a wife whom he intensely disliked. Caroline, an unlikely symbol of opposition to him, became correspondingly more popular as the years passed, her protests culminating at the door of Westminster Abbey, where she pounded for admittance to his coronation before being forcibly dragged away.
The building that we see now was largely completed by 1822, two years after George became king. The domes-and-minaret style, designed by Nash, give the building its ‘Oriental’ flavour. The construction process had first been employed by the architect to rebuild a rotunda at Carlton House, the Prince’s London residence. The inside, both extravagant and massively expensive, was unlike any other building at the time. Decorated in the ‘Chinoiserie’ style, it still surprises, shocks, and impresses the visitor today. What it must have done to contemporary visitors we can only guess.
The term ‘Chinoiserie’ needs a little explanation. In the final years of the seventeenth and the early part of the eighteenth century, imports from China became more popular and profitable. At first these consisted mainly of ceramics, raw silk, and tea. Over time, as what were thought of as Chinese decorative styles became increasingly fashionable, furniture, wallpaper, and printed silk were added to the list of items in demand. However, as fashionable gentlemen began to order ‘Chinese’ rooms for their country or town houses, these styles came to include anything which European designers thought might look Chinese. As China was still closed off to European traders, all that they really had to go on was what was imported, and especially the decorations on ceramics and silks. Add to this what was coming from India and Japan and the result was the amalgam ‘Chinoiserie,’ originally believed to be authentic but, when designers eventually realised that this was not the case, later an excuse for wild ‘Oriental’-themed extravagance. By the time of the Pavilion’s renovation the style was beginning to go out of fashion, so that the interior of the building represents the last major (and perhaps the most extreme) example of ‘Chinoiserie’ in the country.
The author takes us through the gradual processes of each rebuilding. One surprise is that the original decorations were Classical, with no hint of what was to come. The building was in an almost constant state of repair or modernisation, and at each stage George seems to have wanted something different. However, no matter how interesting the journey was, the most important story here is how the Pavilion took on its present form, and the reactions of those who experienced these changes.
Loske states that in the early 1800s ‘Oriental’ features began to appear, most importantly in the stables complex designed by William Polden. Completed by 1805, this building was truly extraordinary, its dome structure second only to St Paul’s in size. However, at the time George was wholly occupied with the remodelling of Carlton House, and soon lost interest in the Brighton project. The key moment came in 1815, when John Nash was appointed as the Prince’s main architect. Armed with an almost unlimited budget, Nash set about creating a magical palace for him. Using the most up-to-date materials and building techniques, he not only made the Pavilion into a luxurious home in which the prince could entertain lavishly, he also installed modern plumbing and a very early form of central heating. (George was so taken with this feature that he kept it on throughout the year, resulting in the Pavilion being stiflingly hot at times.) Nash added the dome and minarets and then set about commissioning an interior design to match the outside. This task was given to Frederick Crace, the son of the decorator who had contributed some of the Chinese-inspired décor at Carlton House. While Nash’s own designs had echoes of authentic Indian and Chinese influences, the interior is probably the last hurrah of English ‘Chinoiserie.’
It is here that the wonder really begins. There is no space like this in the country, a blaze of colour, light, and extravagance, with the Music Room and Banqueting Room the most ornately-decorated of all. However, as Loske explains, before the visitor entered these rooms they would have experienced what she calls a Gesamtkunstwerk, a work of art integrating all the available forms for maximum sensory appeal. Every single part of the interior was carefully selected for look and function and its contribution to the composite whole: nothing was to be out of place, no colours should clash, and the entire internal design should present a coherent unity, which it does. A guest would begin their journey at the Octagon Hall, a space decorated in pale pinks. Next came the Entrance Hall, introducing the first dragon motifs. The Yellow or Red Drawing Rooms would follow, leading into the Long Gallery, the first of the more elaborate spaces: hand-painted red wallpaper embellished with exotic birds, a glass ceiling again decorated with Chinese motifs, porcelain figures and vases in sunken alcoves, and a huge chandelier supported by flying dragons. Before entering the Banqueting Room the guest would pass between the two staircases which lead to the private apartments upstairs. At first glance the staircase has bamboo banisters running up both sides, but these are in fact of cast iron painted to resemble bamboo, and towards the top the iron is replaced by mahogany, which is softer to the touch.
Designed by Robert Jones, the Banqueting Room is again an explosion of colour. Every surface is covered with bright designs and figures, from exotic dragons and snakes to paintings which depict scenes from an imagined Chinese tale. In the centre there is now a table which seats around twenty-six, but some of the banquets held in this room probably exceeded sixty. Above hang giant chandeliers, this time in the shape of lotus flowers, with an enormous dragon holding the central one in place over the table. It is a room designed to both shock and impress, and it succeeds on both counts.
The Music Room is almost impossible to describe: its paintwork has either been highly polished or varnished, which creates a shining light throughout the space. Lined with exotic curtains, and flanked by tall porcelain pagodas, the room feels exactly as the author describes it, like “a red and gold lacquer cabinet.” It must have been even more spectacular when it was full of George’s contemporaries and their wives, all dressed in their finery and out to impress one another. Every part of the room is decorated with Chinoiserie-inspired motifs. Fire-breathing dragons sit on top of the curtains, and huge chandeliers, originally holding candles, would have lit the room, casting their shadows across it.
Loske takes care to thoughtfully analyse not only the decorations, but also the techniques involved. This is genuinely illuminating, as in the case of the Saloon ornamentation. Here several of the surfaces were “silvered,” that is, covered in silver leaf to both reflect the light and to give the room a sparkle which can take the breath away. The ceiling is covered in a painted sky with soft clouds, its blue colour mirrored in that of the carpet. The walls are lined with thick red patterned wallpaper, which is naturally enhanced by the silver shining on it. While somewhat smaller than the rooms already discussed, the Saloon is arguably the most impressive, with a balance and cohesion which perfectly match its purpose: to both welcome the guests and to emphasise the Royal taste and social position. No-one else in England at the time could have possibly created such a building.
This book is full of all the small details that one might expect from such a careful examination of the building and its construction. While the analysis and descriptive passages are clear and well-written, the copious illustrations are really what make it indispensable for anyone wishing to fully understand this extraordinary building. This enhances the text, as the reader is able to trace the written information in the pictorial detail. It is frustrating that George left no written instructions to his architects and interior designers, but clearly they must have had their orders: all we have are their designs, and the finished building. It is therefore impossible to know what George’s original vision for the building was and whether it was achieved.
The Brighton Pavilion is now regarded as a national treasure, and can be seen as the most extravagant of all the Royal palaces. It was certainly one of the most expensive in real terms to build — it has been estimated that the cost exceeded £500,000, and this does not include the furnishings, which could easily have doubled this expense. Neither William IV nor Victoria were very keen on the Pavilion, and in 1850 the Queen sold it to Brighton Council for just £53,000. Over the subsequent years it has had a chequered history, even serving as a military hospital in the First World War. Opinions about it have varied too. An article which appeared in Household Words in December 1855 had this assessment:
“This pot-bellied palace — this minareted mushroom — this absurdity — this gilded dirt-pie — this congeries of bulbous excrescences as gaudy and expensive as Dutch tulips and as useless — a brick Folly in three storeys, with a balcony and a belvedere.”
The Pavilion is still capable of igniting passions. When the fire of 1975 destroyed the Music Room there were voices which claimed that a restoration would be a waste of money. It took eleven years to complete it but just a year later, in 1987, a great storm caused one of the minaret stone balls to crash through the ceiling and floor, requiring another five years of work. Now, almost completely restored, it is a building for all to enjoy who appreciate extravagance, sheer panache, and architectural swagger. Probably liked and disliked in equal measure when it was built, it now stands as a monument to a king who has long been misunderstood. George certainly had serious flaws, but he left us a beautiful — if ultimately foolish —palace. I like to think that he would have approved of that final epithet.--Paul Flux
