Anecdotal material and historical records offer a limited glimpse into the beginnings of Cà d'Zan. We do know that the Ringlings started out with the lesser-known architect Thomas Reed Martin and his son, Frank, and then turned to far more widely regarded New York architect, Dwight James Baum. Baum had a reputation for his skills, especially in adapting European and English styles. A fervent eclecticism still held sway in the early 1920s, as the rich built houses both in the city and the countryside.

But what were the Ringlings' intentions? Did they want "just a little bit of a place," as John Ringling is often quoted as saying to his architects? Or did he say "just a little palace," as Merrill Folsom reports in his two-volume effort called Great American Mansions? More likely his intentions were more grandiose: Ringling's correspondence (quoted in David C. Weeks' book, Ringling in Florida) indicates he was aiming for a "pretentious house."

Over the years, there was some debate as to whether the house was actually the work of the two Martins or of Baum. It's clear that the Martins, father and son, left the job after drawing preliminary plans and that once Baum became the architect, the design took full shape. It's thought that Baum restrained the Ringlings from ever more grandiosity, though it's also possible that the economics of building a lavish house prevailed.

DeGroft, whose doctoral dissertation was on Ringling, is convinced that it was Baum. The final version of the house, he says, "shows the mark of the master. There's a great advancement in the level of sophistication, in the detail, the change in the coloration, the added weight, the darker colors. It was good, but Baum made it great. It was the added finesse at the end that made it great."

Mable Ringling did not get to live in it long. She died in 1929. John stayed on and eventually remarried, though less than happily. Largely, he devoted himself to building his museum. At his death in 1936, the entire development was given to the state of Florida. That was a blessing, largely, though for the house, it became a bit of a curse, as the conservation of the Cà d'Zan became dependent on the vagaries of state legislative whim. "The late 1970s and 1980s were grim years for the house," says Stevenson. Ultimately, in 2000, the entire complex (the art and circus museums, house and grounds) were transferred to Florida State University.

But this is a story with a happy ending. The Cà d'Zan is back, restored to its rightful place as a coda to a grand age of architecture. It's in the best of protective hands-the architects, curators and conservators who have so carefully nurtured it back to life. We owe them all a great debt of gratitude. "It's a shining gem of an example of what one person's vision could be," says DeGroft. And now we can truly share in that vision.

Beth Dunlop is an architecture critic and author who lives in Miami Beach. Her most recent books include Beach Beauties, A House for My Mother, Architects Build for Their Families, Miami Trends and Traditions, and Building a Dream: The Art of Disney Architecture. Her earlier book, Florida's Vanishing Architecture, included a look at a number of historic Sarasota buildings.