New York City, 1890s. The gas lamps flicker on Fifth Avenue, casting
a soft glow over a row of grand mansions—each a fortress of wealth and social standing. One such fortress constructed of limestone
blocks is nearing its completion, and its cornerstone reads: Huntington. Arabella Yarrington Worsham Huntington steps
onto the balcony of her opulent home, now the pinnacle of Fifth Avenue architecture. Her eyes scan the Vanderbilt estate across
the street, a marvel designed by George B. Post. Her own mansion, designed by the same architect,
rivals it in splendor—but not in social acceptance. Arabella had come a long way from the boarding
house in Richmond where she caught the eye of Collis P. Huntington, a railroad magnate
with a reputation for being ruthless and dishonest. Despite his rough demeanor and the scandalous
rumors of bribing government officials which surrounded him, Collis saw something in Arabella—an
intellect and sophistication that overshadowed her humble origins. For years, they maintained an affair, building
a life together, in the ruins of Collis's crumbling marriage. After Collis’ wife, Elizabeth Huntington’s
quiet passing from cancer, Collis and Arabella were free to marry. Now they were setting their sights on the
upper echelons of New York society, starting with a mansion that would outshine even the
Vanderbilts. Arabella was deeply involved in the design
of their home. Her penchant for the arts and decorative taste
were seen in every corner, from the murals adorning the dining room to the luxurious
baths with marble and ceramic tiles. A contemporary art historian might describe
the couple as connoisseurs, yet the elite dismissed them as "new money," Arabella being
a simpleton and the daughter of a boarding house operator. Collis decided that if he could not earn himself
a place in society, that he would bribe his way into the 5th avenue ballrooms. "It is settled then, $9,000 for a place in
society," Collis said to Ward McAllister, the man who, along with Caroline Astor, held
the keys to New York's High Society. Ward McAllister invited The Huntingtons to
attended lavish parties, dining with the creme de la creme, as they appeared to be inching
closer to acceptance. Arabella felt the sense of triumph, the sweet
taste of vindication—until Collis refused to pay McAllister the promised fee, seeing
no reason to honor his part of the bargain now that they were on the guest lists of the
whos whos. What Collis did not account for was Ward McAllister’s
connections in media. What followed was a torrent of scathing gossip
and headlines, all designed to push them further from the sanctum they had almost entered. The snubbed gatekeeper had his revenge. Despite her cultured tastes and sprawling
mansion, Arabella was now a social pariah. Years later, the sound of Collis's labored
coughing jolted Arabella awake at their Adirondack estate, Pine Knot. Despite the expansive rooms filled with rare
books and paintings, the elegant furnishings, and the latest amenities, it was a reminder
that life's most crucial moments boil down to the starkly human. "I am very, very ill," Collis whispered, falling
into unconsciousness, never to awaken again. The man who had brought her from the modest
parlors of Virginia to the grand halls of New York was gone. Arabella found herself inheriting a fortune,
but not the acceptance she long sought. When the will was contested by Princess Clara
von Hatzfeldt, Collis's adopted daughter, the family split into warring factions. Arabella spent years settling scores, sacrificing
millions to maintain peace. Now alone in her sprawling mansion, she roams
through rooms adorned with Van Dycks and Turners, past priceless volumes of Benjamin Franklin’s
manuscripts, each step echoing in the emptiness. She had everything a wealthy woman of the
19th century could desire—everything but the one thing she'd been willing to trade
it all for: social acceptance. The sum of her existence could be summed up
by the mansion at the corner of 57th and Fifth: beautifully constructed, richly furnished,
but always on the periphery, always looking in from the outside. Arabella Huntington had built a palace, yet
she found herself still knocking at the gates, waiting for someone—anyone—to finally
let her in. The Huntington mansion stood as a testament
to ambition and aspiration, but also to the perennial truth that some doors, no matter
how gilded, remain firmly shut. When she passed away, the mansion was inherited
by her son Archer who claimed that the limestone block mansion was “…probably the best
built house in the world...” When he sold it to developers, the demolition
process was slow as the massive stone blocks would not simply give way to the wrecking
ball, but had to be pried from their place, one by one, until the site was leveled. By 1940, not a single trace of the mansion
was left as the Tiffany and Company building swallowed up any memory of a mansion that
once was. In this video, I tried a slightly different
style of presentation, what did you think about this format? Let me know down below in the comments section. And while you’re there, make sure to hit
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