The name, which sounds so obvious to wine lovers and connoisseurs alike, first appeared in the 19th century. Palmer was first and foremost a man, a soldier and an Englishman, traits that seem to have nothing to do with the world of fine wines or Bordeaux. And yet he was!
The stagecoach lurched and rattled over the rocky road between Bordeaux and Paris that day in June 1814, but for a dashing young British officer named Charles Palmer, it must have felt like he was riding a cloud. Recently bequeathed a small fortune, and just days earlier promoted to Colonel – having valiantly led his squadron of the Prince’s Royal Hussars against Napoleon in Spain – Palmer was now making his triumphant return to London. There, his position as aide-de-camp to the Prince Regent promised to open doors to the highest echelons of society.For the bourgeois son of an honourable brewer and politician from Bath, his loftiest aspirations were becoming reality. On this blissful morning, Palmer found himself seated next to the most intriguing travelling companion – a young, recently widowed noblewoman named Marie Brunet de Ferrière, with an enchanting pair of eyes and a captivating tale.
Since the early 18th century, Bordeaux’s noble de Gascq family had owned the Médoc estate known as Château de Gascq, whose clarets fetched some of the highest prices of the day. “A rival to Château Lafite!” the widow assured Palmer, a tear in her eye. Alas, after years of revolution, war and the untimely death of her husband, Blaise Jean Charles Alexandre de Gascq, she was now forced to sell her beloved estate for a fraction of its worth, and would seek a buyer in Paris. The gallant officer offered Madame de Ferrière his handkerchief. Were it only in his power to relieve her pecuniary woes! The widow smiled sweetly. And by journey’s end, Charles Palmer owned an ancient wine estate he’d never visited in his life.
Such was the flair and foresight of the future major general. Through Madame de Ferrière’s fine eyes, Palmer had seen something greater than the relatively small, time-worn domain he acquired – a place which could reflect his own passions and ambitions. He named it Château Palmer, and dedicated his wealth and élan to fulfilling its promise. From 1814 to 1831, Palmer bought up surrounding land and vineyards until Château Palmer stretched 163 hectares from Cantenac, to Issan to Margaux. He built lodgings for a large workforce, a winery boasting fifteen oak vats and three crushers, introduced modern equipment and farming techniques. It was a château for a new era – and a new style of wine.
In establishing his estate across the Margaux plateau, Palmer offered himself soils suited to producing wines of exceptional refinement. And yet the average 19th century London clubman – whose taste dictated the British wine market – generally favoured strength over subtlety. Thus wine merchants routinely enriched Bordeaux clarets with potent Rhône or even Spanish wine. But Palmer’s was to be a style of wine beyond fashion and trends – an expression of an extraordinary place. The major general’s passion for his vineyards was rather avant-garde in this respect, reflecting an idea of wine as something more than just another market-driven product.
A piquant story from the memoirs of one Captain Gronow recounts how the Prince Regent once hosted a tasting of ‘Palmer’s Claret’. All began well. Upon tasting the wine, the Shakespeare-quoting Prince declared its bouquet akin “to the holy Palmer’s kiss”. The assembly of society gastronomes cheered. But then Lord Yarmouth, a Palmer rival, demanded the claret usually served at the Prince’s table – a potent ‘claret Hermitagé’ (Bordeaux blended with rich Rhône wine, as was the British fashion) – be brought out for a comparison, along with a round of anchovy sandwiches! The pairing was catastrophic for Palmer’s fragrant, delicately flavoured wine. Unsurprisingly, the assembly judged the robust, adulterated claret superior. Palmer was mortified. “That cursed Yarmouth!” The evening, Captain Gronow recalled, very nearly ended with a duel.
Palmer’s was to be a style of wine beyond fashion and trends — an expression of an extraordinary place.
So freely Palmer lavished his fortune on the estate, one has to believe his true aspiration wasn’t amassing wealth, but leaving his mark on the world. Ultimately the investments were too costly for the major general, who was obliged to sell the property to his creditors, the Caisse hypothécaire, in 1843. Charles Palmer died before he could see his estate ranked among Bordeaux’s greatest wines in 1855, but today his legacy is irrefutable. He gave Palmer its name, its style, and revealed to the world its finesse and force of character, while tracing the path of passion, devotion and sacrifice that leads to great wine.
