Places to go! Rooms to see!

While much information can be gleaned from books and magazines, both modern and "of the period," experiencing actual interiors is invaluable. Admittedly, museum houses and period rooms are static, sometimes artificial in their arrangement, and often devoid of natural light, but photographs, drawings and words, for their part, cannot wholly impart scale, texture, or color relationships.
Some extant Aesthetic Style interiors include the John Bond Trevor Mansion, "Glenview," at the Hudson River Museum in Yonkers, NY (decorated by the New York decorating firm of Leissner and Louis, Philadelphia cabinetmaker Daniel Pabst, and possibly Kimbel and Cabus, and ); the Cohen-Bray House in Oakland, CA; and the Mark Twain House in Hartford, CT (decorated by Associated Artists, Louis Comfort Tiffany's firm).

The Glessner House in Chicago is probably the premier example of English Arts & Crafts Movement influenced interior design in the United States. Villa Louis in Prairie du Chien, WI, decorated by prominent Chicago decorator Joseph Twyman, is also a very good example, as are several of the bedrooms at Chateau sur Mer in Newport, RI.... for the British prototype, see the Edward Linley Sambourne House in London.
Some Aesthetic interiors have also been removed from their original (now demolished) locations and now "live" in museums as period rooms: the Goodwin Parlor at the Wadsworth Athenaeum in Hartford, CT (decorated by Herter Brothers); and, at the Brooklyn Museum, a smoking room from the John D. Rockefeller House, in New York City. And of course this blog's namesake, James A.M. Whistler's 1876 Peacock Room, for his patron Frederick Leyland, can been seen at the Freer Gallery in Washington, DC.
No list of American Aesthetic movement interiors would be complete without mention of the Seventh Regiment Armory in New York City. Decorated by such luminaries of the field as Associated Artists, Herter Brothers (eight rooms!), Pottier & Stymus, Kimbel and Cabus, Alexander Roux, and Stanford White, the Armory is in the beginning phase of a much-needed restoration effort, and was documented by the Historic American Buildings Survey in 1988.
Images:
Mark Twain House [First Floor, Entrance Hall, View of Staircase in Southwest Corner form the North]. HABS image.
The Goodwin Reception Room, by adamgn, under Creative Commons License.
Smoking Room (c. 1880) from the John D. Rockefeller House (4 West 54th Street, New York City. Built 1864-1865; demolished 1938). Photograph © The Brooklyn Museum

Some thoughts on Aesthetic Curtains

(Some information on window hangings, in response to a question on the message board at Rare Victorian and cross-posted there. -TPR)

My profile quote here at The Peacock Room is by William Morris: "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful;" this philosophy very concisely expresses the prevailing sentiment regarding hangings (for both windows and doors) during the rage for "aesthetic" or "artistic" interior design. The elaborately draped curtaining arrangements of the middle decades of the 19th century were vividly described and condemned by Charles Locke Eastlake in Hints on Household Taste:

The absurd fashion which regulates the arrangement of modern window-hangings cannot be too severely condemned, on account both of its ugliness and inconvenience. Curtains were originally hung across a window or door, not for the sake of ornament alone, but to exclude cold and draughts. They were suspended by little rings, which slipped easily over a stout metal rod – perhaps an inch or and inch and a half in diameter. Of course, between such a rod (stretched at the top of the window) and the ceiling a small space must always intervene; and, therefore, to prevent the chance of wind blowing through in this direction, a boxing of wood became necessary, in front of which a plain valance was hung, sometimes cut into a vandyke-shaped pattern at its lower edge but generally unplaited. As for the curtains themselves, when not in use they hung straight down on either side, of a sufficient length to touch, but not sweep the ground.

Now, observe how we have burlesqued this simple and picturesque contrivance in our modern houses. The useful and convenient little rod has grown into a huge lumbering pole as thick as a man’s arm, but not a whit stronger than its predecessor; for the pole is not only hollow, but constructed of metal far too thin in proportion to its diameter. Then, in place of the little finials which used to be fixed at each end of the rod, to prevent to rings from slipping off, our modern upholsterer has substituted gigantic fuchsias, or other flowers, made of brass, gilt bronze, and even china, sprawling downwards in a design of execrable taste. Sometimes this pole, being too weak for actual use, is fixed up simply for ornament—or rather, let me say, for pretentious show – while the curtain really slides on an iron rod behind it. Instead of the wooden boxing and valance, a gilt cornice, or canopy, is introduced, contemptible in design, and worse than useless in such a place; for not only does it afford, from the nature of its construction, no protection against the draught behind, but, being made of thin sharp-edged metal, it is liable to cut and fray the curtain which it crowns. The curtains themselves are made immoderately long, in order that they may be looped up in clumsy folds over two large and eccentric-looking hooks on either side of the window. The result of this needless and ugly complication is that in a London house the curtains are seldom drawn: dust gathers thickly in their folds, the stuff is prematurely won out, and comfort as well as artistic effect is sacrificed to meet an upholsterer’s notion of ‘elegance.’ ¹

Eastlake and other tastemakers, pundits and critics of the artistic reform movement advocated that in form, curtains should be simple, and hung "honestly" with rings (preferably brass) on a pole (either of brass or wood, with turned finials or metal caps on either end), allowing them to be drawn and withdrawn as needed; additionally, the prevailing opinion was that curtains should not be of such length as to "puddle" on the floor or be looped up; rather they should hang straight down, touching but not "sweeping" the floor. Such curtains, it was generally held, could be made by any housewife, without the expensive services of the upholsterer. (I will note here that photographs of the period show that the advice to not pull back or loop up curtains was ignored at least as often as it was heeded.) Despite this opinion, simplicity in curtains did not mean that fully dressing a window was uncomplicated! A fully hung window of the time could include:

• Either shades of holland (linen), fluted silk, burlap, or jute in cream or buff, or slatted (venetian) blinds, especially if the window was not shuttered;
• Transparent “glass curtains” of lace or muslin (a very fine, lightweight cotton cloth, much like modern voile). Muslin under-curtains were often embellished with embroidery or lace, either applied or inset. Both lace and muslin curtains could be of white or another natural shade such as tinted in “the fashionable yellow-brown with tea or coffee”, or colored in a tint harmonious with the room’s color scheme; around 1880 a fad developed for black lace curtains. Lace and muslin curtains of all colors could be lined or not, depending on the effect desired, with the exception of black lace curtains which, it was recommended, should always be lined ¸ with “any color or shade of color in harmony with the rest of the room decorations”.
• The principal or “side curtains,” either flat or simply pleated panels. They could, if desired be pulled back with cord or a coordinating cloth band, but it was not recommended that they be looped up or draped and swagged to the sides. It was generally advised that the pole from which these curtains depended should be mounted either just above or at the very top of the window casing, although illustrations of the time sometimes show the brackets set at the top of the window opening.
• Infrequently, and not especially fashionable, a lambrequin or valance, hung, as the side curtains, with rings from a pole. This should be a straight panel (not scalloped or otherwise shaped), and en suite with the side curtains. Most often the valance took the form of a shorter drop between widely spaced side curtains… an example of this style can be seen in the restored parlor at “Glenview,” the John Bond Trevor house at the Hudson River Museum.

In hangings as with Aesthetic furniture, the simple form was regarded as a canvas for surface ornament: patterned fabric, such as the large-scale printed floral designs of Morris; damasks; exotic imported silks and patterned plushes; embroidery, as advocated by the South Kensington Royal School of Art Needle-work (in England) and Candace Wheeler of Associated Artists and the Decorative Arts Society (in the U.S.), in silks or crewel; woven stripes; and especially horizontal bands, which often echoed a tripartite dado-fill-frieze wall division. To capture the light, metallics - bullion thread and metal “spots” or "spangles" (sequins) - or even crystal beads could be sewn to window and door hangings, a decorative device that was lampooned in a satirical “report” on the latest offering in “the finer classes of furnishings”:

…and oh! What are those? Two silk plush curtains hang from a brass rod in a far dark corner. At first they were invisible, but my guide has cunningly thrown a flash of light upon them. They are a beautiful shaded wine color, turning from a deep dark red to a faint pink. Running over them in an artistic manner are many beautiful hand-embroidered roses, connected by slender branches. The centre of each flower seems to be aflame. Jets of light twinkle in its petals.
“Incandescent lights’, I suppose,” I remarked.
The manager laughed.
“Examine them,” he said.
I walked over to the curtains and lifted them nearer to me. The flaming jets were diamonds, big and pure. Even as I held them they broke out into a hundred flashes of brilliant color.
“I don’t suppose,” said the manager, “that this craze will become very common, but it has already been introduced by some of our money princes. …. There are $25,000 worth of diamonds in those curtains. We have to employ a man who does nothing but watch this room.”²

Even without the luxury of diamonds, the range of fabrics used for hangings ran the gamut from homely and utilitarian "stuffs" such as denims, burlaps (or "Manila cloth") to flannel, cretonne, India mull, waste silks, serge, sheetings and linen to damasks, velvets and brocades; Candace Wheeler and the Cheney Brothers silk works even developed specialty fabrics for embroidered hangings. But the type of fabric was less important than how "artistically" it was employed and how well it contributed to the balance and "harmony" of the overall decorative scheme. The ideal room, to the Aesthetic eye, was one that, through a careful utilization of color, reflectivity and a delicacy of pattern, read not as individual elements – walls, ceiling, floor, hangings, furniture – but as a harmonious whole, every aspect complimenting and enhancing another, and no aspect drawing too much attention. In her 1986 essay “Surface Ornament: Wallpapers, Carpets, Textiles and Embroidery,” Catherine Lynn wrote that

The much-favored gold and silver in patterns on walls and the sheen of silk on fabrics stretched across furnishings reflect light, increasing the impression that the two dimensional plane of ornament is superficial, without supporting mass. Indeed, such details of drawing and coloring assured that in a fully patterned room of the 1880s there could emerge very little sense of architectural structure or weight. The artful eye savored the illusion that even the walls were fragile films of nothing more than that precious, shimmering thing, ornament. ³

Periodicals such as Harper’s Bazaar and The Art Amateur; A Monthly Journal Devoted to Art in the Household regularly published patterns and instructions for embellishing curtains, in addition to articles detailing the wondrous and artistic hangings made for exhibitions and for the wealthy and famous. Wool (serge), Bolton sheeting (cotton or linen) and various silks were the fabrics considered most suitable for embroidering.

Occasionally, writers did give specific advice as to the appropriateness of a specific fabric for one room or another, such as when Harriet Prescott Spofford opined:

There is really a great latitude allowed in the choice of curtains, the desirability of drapery being so strongly recognized that almost any drapery is countenanced. Thus, it is not unusual even in elegant drawing-rooms to see curtains of a cretonne that harmonizes with the other furnishing, or of embroidered muslin alone. Still, it is desirable, of course, if the drawing-room is begun upon any scale of richness, to carry it out thoroughly; and curtains of satin, of silk damask, and silk rep, with under-curtains of lace or of delicately wrought muslin, are the window drapery best suited to a drawing-room whose furniture is covered in choice stuffs. Velvet is more suitable for the library, when that also is richly furnished: it is really too heavy for the light character that is usually considered appropriate to the drawing-room fittings.⁴

but in general, it was felt that artistic effect (and to some degree, economy) were the primary considerations when choosing hangings for a room’s windows and doors.

That curtains were no longer to be “constructed” and fixed into a permanently draped position meant that great care did have to be taken with how a fabric would hang. According to Suggestions for House Decoration in Painting, Woodwork, and Furniture, published in 1877,

Now the chief beauty of any drapery should be looked for in the folds into which it naturally falls. In choosing a material for curtains this should never be forgotten; provided you have a colour which harmonises with the other colouring of the room, and provided you have also a material which falls naturally into soft and artistic folds, your curtains, (however simple and inexpensive) are sure to be successful. On the other hand, no number of other good characteristics, such as beauty of design or pattern, will compensate for the loss of this quality. ⁵

A cloth that was too stiff or heavy would not naturally fall into graceful folds, and neither would one that was too lightweight and insubstantial. However, cloth of the latter variety could be supplemented by the addition of lining and inter-lining, which provided not only the weight and body required to hang properly, the linings also added thickness for insulation, and to increase opacity, a critical consideration when drawing curtains was a tool to deter the fading of carpets and furniture. ⁶

While some writers felt that vertically striped curtains could give the illusion of height to a low-ceilinged room, the general consensus was that vertical (or “perpendicular”) stripes should be avoided, as “they seldom have a pleasing effect, for they carry the eye mounting up to an uncomfortable height where there is nothing to gratify it” ⁷ and “stripes are continually being concealed in the folds, or else cut in two, and so their value lost or impaired.” ⁸

Stripes instead, it was advised, should be horizontal, for “The decoration of the curtain by bands across the stuff, not by vertical stripes, has everything to recommend it – oriental usage (almost always a sure guide in decoration), and the fact that it is always to be reckoned on to produce its pictorial effect, since the bands cannot be hid, no matter how many folds the curtain makes.”⁹ Wider bands of a complimentary or contrasting color were also recommended. Such bands could be left plain, or embroidered and then appliquéd to the curtain, with perhaps, “narrow borders of stitches where the bands are sewn on to the curtain, or with woven braids or laces, as the upholsterers call them.”¹⁰ The “correct” number, width and arrangement of these bands was at the whim of the decorator or homeowner; several bands, of varying or the same color, with the top one at dado height, bands of the same width near both the lower and upper edges of the curtain, a single deep band at the hem… all these were acceptable arrangements. It was also suggested that:

Another and very good style for curtains is to put on a dado of another material or color. The depth of this dado should be determined with regards to the walls of the room; if they have a dado, that on the curtains should be nearly the same height; if the walls have a division high up, with a frieze above the patterned paper, the curtains will probably look better in another style. For a large and lofty room, the broad band of a darker color on the curtains looks very well; it should be of a darker shade of the same color as the curtain, or at lest harmonize with it, as a warm brown with a deep red will often do. ¹¹

So a wealth of advice and inspiration was readily available to most homeowners regarding artistic window curtains. Certainly ready-made curtains could be had from retailers and through mail-order sources, but those with a claim to an “Aesthetic temperament” would have taken great pleasure and pride in devising unique and artistic curtains for their home… artistic and useful curtains:

If the room has as many windows as most American parlors have, (the curtains) should be swung easily on large, or at least see-able rings; and these rings should move easily upon substantial rods so that the curtains may be pushed far back on dark days, and brought well together when the light is strong. Curtains have primarily a twofold office—to regulate light and to shut out draughts. Whatever ornamentation there may be must be based on the idea of utility, or it becomes meretricious. While the curtains, and indeed all window draperies, must be made to harmonize with the decoration scheme in the room, there must be a thought of the fact that they are always in the shadow during the day, and always in the full artificial light and night. They are subject to the test of shadows, and hence must be full in color, and being subject to the test of strong yellow light at night, the colors must never be crude. They should be made of such a color that, as they fall on the side of the window, they will harmoniously frame the bit of landscape that is seen outside.¹²

---

1. Eastlake, Charles Locke. Hints on Household Taste in Furniture, Upholstery and Other Details. London: Longman and Greens, 1869.
2. “Will Luxury Go Farther? Diamonds Used for the Decoration of Curtains!” The Washington Post, May 8, 1887
3. Lynn, Catherine. “Surface Ornament: Wallpapers, Carpets, Textiles and Embroidery.” In Pursuit of Beauty, Americans and the Aesthetic Movement, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art/Rizzoli, 1986.
4. Spofford, Harriet Prescott. Art Decoration applied to Furniture. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1878
5. Garrett, Rhoda and Agnes Garrett. Suggestions for House Decoration in Painting, Woodwork, and Furniture (Art at Home series). London: MacMillan, 1877
6. Excellent step-by-step instructions for sewing traditional interlined and lined curtains can be found in The Complete Book of Curtains and Drapes, by Lady Caroline Wrey, and The Ultimate Curtain Book, by Isabella Forbes.
7. Glaister, Elizabeth. Needlework (Art at Home series). London: MacMillan, 1880
8. Cook, Clarence. The House Beautiful: Essays on Beds and Tables Stools and Candlesticks. New York: Scribner, Armstrong and Company, 1878
9. ibid
10. Glaister
11. ibid
12. “Art in the Home.” The Independent ... Devoted to the Consideration of Politics, Social and Economic Tendencies, History, Literature, and the Arts, August 30, 1883

List of Illustrations:

"Mr. W.H. Vanderbilt's Bedroom" (detail), Artistic Houses: Being a Series of Interior Views of a Number of the Most Beautiful and Celebrated Homes in the United States. New York: D. Appleton, 1883-1884;

"Window-Curtains and Curtain-Rod (drawn by C.L. Eastlake)," from Charles Locke Eastlake, Hints on Household Taste in Furniture, Upholstery, and Other Details (1868);

Our Morris/Reformed Gothic bedroom, inspired by the master bedroom at the John J. Glessner House, Chicago, IL;

"Interior - Morning Room" by Louis Comfort Tiffany, frontispiece to Constance Cary Harrison's Women's Handicraft in Modern Homes (1881);

Drawing-room at Glenview (John Bond Trevor house), Yonkers, NY, c. 1880;

"Consider the Lillies of the Field" portieres, 1879
Candace Wheeler (American, 1827-1923)
Cotton embroidered with wool thread and painted, wool borders; 74 1/4 x 44 1/2 in. (188.6 x 113 cm), 73 x 45 1/2 in. (185.4 x 115.6 cm)
The Mark Twain House, Hartford, Connecticut, Gift of Mrs. Francis B. Thurber III, 1972
www.metmuseum.org;

"Embroidered Velvet Curtain, with Japan Lilies," from Mrs. T. W. (Maria Oakey) Dewing, Beauty in the Household. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1882;

Library, George Kemp house. Decorated by L.C. Tiffany and Associated Artists. From Artistic Houses: Being a Series of Interior Views of a Number of the Most Beautiful and Celebrated Homes in the United States. New York: D. Appleton, 1883-1884;

Library at Ballantine House, Newark, NJ; after restoration;

Library designed by L.B. Wheeler, Plate 17 from Tuthill,William Burnet, Interiors and Interior Details: Fifty-two Large Quarto Plates, Comprising a Large Number of Original Designs of Halls, Staircases, Parlors, Libraries, Dining Rooms, &c. ... and a Large Collection of Interior Details Suited to the Requirements of Carperters, Builders and Mechanics (W.T. Comstock, 1882);

Dining-room, William T. Lusk house house. Decorated by L.C. Tiffany and Associated Artists; from Artistic Houses: Being a Series of Interior Views of a Number of the Most Beautiful and Celebrated Homes in the United States. New York: D. Appleton, 1883-1884;

"Curtain with Dado," Fig. 10 from Elizabeth Glaister and Mary S. Lockwood, Art Embroidery (1878, published by M. Ward, London);

Figure No. 60, from Clarence C. Cook, The House Beautiful: Essays on Beds and Tables, Stools and Candlesticks. (1878)

Arriving at The Blank Canvas

Unlike the owners of some older homes, we are not faced with the issue of fidelity to any previous interior design schemes. Our front hall, for example, was "decorated" with thick seafoam green wall-to-wall carpet (bearing numerous stains of suspicious origin), and refrigerator white, texture-coated walls. At some point the door between the hall and the next room (the dining room, to be used as our library) had been removed, perhaps in the interest of creating a more modern "open floor plan."

Fortunately, the missing door was located in the basement, and had not been cut down to accommodate the inches added to the floor by the plush carpet. Less fortunately, a past-handyman had attacked the door with a disc sander, in an effort to remove the old, darkened finish. I imagine we should feel grateful that Mr. Past-Handyman quickly abandoned his efforts, probably because the heat-softened shellac gummed up his sanding disc and hopefully burned out his power tool. 

A single-leaf pocket door between the hall and front parlor was immobilized, having been walled in by the removal of its floor track during the carpet installation. A good friend of ours with welding skills was able to replicate the missing pocket door track.

The previous occupants of the house owned pets, and were smokers. I have allergies to both. So... that carpet had to go, and fast! When the carpet was removed, we found that the floor was softwood, probably pine, and that it had been damaged very near the front doors by a previous termite infestation. Never painted, this soft pine was the 19th century version of a modern sub-floor, and had always been covered, either by carpet or sheet goods (linoleum or oilcloth.

On the second floor, the boards were painted a particular shade of butterscotch brown, which must have been the industry standard, for we have seen floors painted the same color in Victorian houses from New Jersey to California. The staircase balustrade and newel had been stripped and refinished in modern varnish, the color too light and a jarring contrast with the shellacked trim and doors.

Texture coat had been applied to the walls (and some ceilings) on the first floor to hide cracks and other damage to the plaster. Removal of the texture coat from both walls and ceilings yielded but a single hint of any previous decoration: a thick black line, as if from a grease pencil, on the walls about 18 inches down from the ceiling, perhaps to indicate where a wallpaper frieze and fill once met.

Time and taste had also wreaked havoc on our front doors. Mid-20th century hardware had replaced all the original, save the cast iron hinges. An especially nice streamlined deadbolt lock, which could have been the invention of Henry Dreyfuss is a great period piece worthy of display... in MOMA, but not on these doors. Cheap slide bolts that shouted "I'm brass plated" and rattled every time the door was opened or closed were a constant reminder that these doors needed attention in the worst way. 

The cherry on the top of this sad presentation was the imitation stained glass. A nod to actual stained glass, this noble attempt at providing color and privacy possessed all the charm of refrigerator art. All that was missing was a signature in pre-adolescent scrawl, followed by 'age 9'. Only a parent or the artist themself could stand back and admire this artistic genius. A razor blade quickly swept away the illusion. The product of what must have been hours of intense labor had vanished and clear pure light once again shone through our entryway doors.

It is literally the first step that counts

In the 19th century, great symbolic importance was placed not only on the functions ascribed the different rooms of the house, but also on the manner in which the rooms were decorated. Harriet Prescott Spofford emphasized that the appearance of the entrance hall would be seen as both reflection of the house's decor as a whole, and (perhaps more importantly) as a reflection of the character and hospitality of the home's owner:

"Too much thought and attention, indeed, cannot be given to this first step within the portals of the house. It is literally the first step that counts. The empty and careless hall, with its hap-hazard carpet, its chance table and chair, or its common rack and stand and its bare wall, cannot but chill the owner, every time he enters, with its unhomelike aspect; cannot but tell the stranger that guests are few and not expected - perhaps not too welcome; while the comfortable one where thought and time have been spent, if not a mint of money, stamps the house with the seal of some trained taste, refinement, and intelligence, and with a sense of warmth, of comfort, and of cordial hospitality, which latter, if some think to be a matter choice others, in the love of their fellow man, like the Arab, hold to be a duty." (Art Decoration Applied to Furniture, 1878)

While a typical representation of the domestic entry-hall in the popular press or plan-book might have been that of a capacious room (with fireplace, inglenook, elaborate multi-landing staircase and floorspace enough to accomodate hall seats, a hall table, hall tree, coat rack, card receiver, stick-stand, statuary and a potted palm), it was also acknowledged by the decorating advice writers that those illustrations were anything but typical in practice. In 1882, Maria Oakey Dewing wrote in Beauty in the Household:

"There is nothing more gloomy than a little, dark passage-way of a hall. For one large hall there are a thousand small ones..."

Our entrance hall is narrow and long, extending fully one room deep and with half of the the double front doors opening directly onto the staircase. Reflective of the "in-town" and compact design of the house, our side hall would be equally appropriate in a more urban setting - indeed, with just a single window at the top of the stairs, the effect of the outside wall, nearly devoid of openings, echoes the party walls found in row houses or a British town house:

"The general arrangement consists, as a rule, of a narrow entrance-hall, widened out to make room for the staircase which stares you in the face as you enter.... lighted from back or front." (Robert Edis, Decoration of Furniture and Town Houses, 1881)

Writing in her book How to Furnish a Home (1881), Ella Rodman Church wrote (rather unoptimistically):

"The question is what to do with the hall as it ordinarily exists. With a hall like that found in many moderate sized city houses - where the long flight of narrow stairs seems to have started on a run from the upper story and just to have stopped short of rushing out the front door - long and narrow, all the width being needed for the parlors, very little can be accomplished in the way of beauty. There is only to cover floor and walls to the best advantage, and put as little on them as possible."

Oh dear! What hope can there be for a long, narrow and all-too-ordinary hall, such as ours?

Image: "Entrance Hall of a Modern New York House" (from The Art Amateur, December 1889)

Putting the pieces together

The June '08 issue of The Magazine Antiques is the "England" issue, with four (!) feature articles concerning the Victorian era. The first focuses on one of A.W.N. Pugin's church interiors, the second, on a chandelier designed by W.A.S. Benson and the third is a one-pager on the pair of Godwin vases recently acquired by the V&A.

The fourth article is a "Living With Antiques" piece, and concerns an incredible collection of late 19th century English art pottery, furniture and architectural elements. One of the objects highlighted (it is the cover image, in fact, though The Magazine Antiques website hasn't been updated to show it yet) is an ebonized table with four drop leaves (leafs?) which incorporates Minton plaques designed by W. S. Coleman. An identical table was owned by J. Pierpont Morgan, and was photographed, c. 1883, in the drawing room of his New York City brownstone mansion, for Artistic Houses. The interior was by Christian Herter; whether the table was chosen by the decorator or client is unknown, but seems of little consequence, co-existing as harmoniously as it does with the known Herter designs.

The Morgan table is at the far left of the photograph, in the pillared opening of the bay... the chair next to it (and another elsewhere in the photograph) is identical in form to a gilded side chair in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Herter Brothers (American, 1864–1906), Side Chair, New York City, ca. 1880. Painted and gilded maple; H. 87.9 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Gift of Margot Johnson, Inc., 1995 (1995.149).

This image with enhanced call-out shows the table and chair more clearly (click on the image for a larger version).

It is very frustrating sometimes, studying period photographs of interiors. The monochromatic images yield a wealth of information, yet the absence of any clues as to the complex and rich colors of the period can be maddening - being able to associate an actual object (or its doppelganger) with a object in a photograph is a small step toward understanding, just a little bit better... now, when I look at that plate in my Dover reprint of Artistic Houses, I can really see that table, and that chair.

Words into action

This fireplace surround (currently being offered on eBay) is a interesting and high-end example of late-19th century "artistic" (or Aesthetic) decor. Apparently the mantel was removed at some point from the Larchmont (NY) Yacht Club (and then somehow traveled "the road to Wellsville"). The Yacht Club clubhouse was originally the residence of one "Mr. Benjamin F. Carver, a railroad magnate," from whom it was purchased in 1887. In addition to the carved motto "Well Befall Hearth & Hall," the mantel is embellished with carved water birds and marsh grasses, appropriate to a waterfront setting; the paneling, tiered shelving and decorated cove reflect the "Queen Anne" architectural style of the building's exterior.

While a 1897 New York Times article indicates that, by that date, the mantel was in a room utilized as a "reading room", according to an article published in 1889 in the magazine Outing, an Illustrated Monthly Magazine of Recreation, the room was initially used as a dining space:

Stepping again into the café you see on one side a bright and cosy little bar... Directly opposite to this is the fireplace, with a dark wood mantel set with tiles, and carved in quaint characters, the legend "Well Befall, Hearth and Hall."

A similar description appears in a New York Times article dated September 2, 1894:

The hall leads to the octagon-shaped café... On one side of this room is the bar; on the other a fireplace, over which is carved the inscription: "Well befall hearth and hall."

In 1876, H. Hudson Holly wrote:

A great deal of feeling as well as effect may be shown by what is known as legendary decoration, that is, working up texts and proverbs along our walls. Friezes offer a special opportunity for this. Sentences may also be placed over doorways in such a manner as not only to express a sentiment, but denote the purpose of the apartment; as, for example, “Welcome,” over a reception-room; “Hospitality,” over a living-room. Some very appropriate devices for fire-places have been employed with significance and effect, such as, “Well befall hearth and hall.” This would not be inappropriate for our country mansion described further on in this chapter. Norman Shaw has over his grand fire-place at Cragside the following: “East or west, hame’s best.” I have recently fitted up two dining-rooms in which this style of decoration is worked into the stained glass. Among others, I selected the following mottoes: “Hunger is the best sauce,” “Welcome is the best cheer,” “Eat at pleasure, drink by measure.”

(Henry Hudson Holly, "Modern Dwellings: Their Construction, Decoration, and Furniture." Harper's New Monthly Magazine, June 1876.)

In her 1880s decorating advice manual How to Furnish a Home, Ella Rodman Church opined, in the chapter entitled "The Dining Room":

A legend across the front, in old English lettering, is very appropriate for a dining-room mantel, the ground-work being of the same color as that of the tiles or panels, and the letters either in black and gold or maroon and vermilion. "Well befall hearth and hall," the word "Salve," or Welcome, and such quotations from Shakespeare as "May good digestion wait on appetite," and "Give to our tables meat" — reminding one of the more sacred " Give us this day our daily bread " — are all suitable inscriptions, with many more that might be gathered by the curious in such matters.

In short, the mantelpiece is not only a beautiful object, but one that serves as fascinating and tangible evidence that what late-19th century taste makers were preaching was actually put into practice, even by those at the upper end of the economic scale.

(Mantel photographs courtesy of Scoville Brown Antiques.)

"Come into my parlor..."

At first glance, the interior of the house appears to be as grim as the exterior - texture-coated walls, filthy sea-foam green deep-pile carpet, cheap wallpaper - but closer examination reveals pocket doors, 9 foot ceilings (on the first floor), (mostly) intact woodwork and generously sized rooms (albeit with an "interesting" floor plan on the second floor). Some small mechanical issues will need to be addressed, and the main bathroom completely gutted, but the main interior issues are cosmetic, and best delineated on a room-by-room basis.

"How d'ye do?" & Ancient History

Our house is a wee thing, not quite a "cottage" but not much more than one either. A narrow entry-and-stair hall, front parlor, larger back parlor/dining room/library and kitchen make up the ground floor, with two bedrooms, a small sitting rooms and bath on the second floor.

Built about 1890, the house was originally owned by a Horace T____, a book keeper employed at the town's shirt factory (he later was the proprietor of his own dry-goods store); in 1945 it was sold to Harold M____ and remained in the M____ family until 1994, when we purchased it.

Despite having been owned by two families in its first century, the years and the vagaries of fashion were not kind to our house. By the time of our purchase, the exterior of the house was quite altered: the latticed rear porch is now fully enclosed and even expanded, with a rear door and small deck adjacent to the cellar entrance; the window trim, shutters and most of the sawn ornament at the roof line (as seen in this rear view of the house and the T____ family, c. 1895) had been lost to vinyl siding, and the original gutters and slate roof had fallen victim to three-tab "slate look" asphalt. The only vestigial exterior ornament is in the cross-gables, and the front porch - the latter being an well-intentioned but odd replacement of the original chinoserie ornament, sans the typical reeding of the fretwork and with under-scaled turned posts.

This photo from 2000 shows the same side of the house only from the front - the enclosed rear porch is just beyond the tuteur. The front porch and fake shutters on that facade have been repainted in a putty/dark green/creamy yellow scheme, with trim and shutters on the side elevation still painted a rather violent dark mauve. The loss of character is evident... yet economy and the marginality of our neighborhood dictate that we accept the alterations, live with the triple-track storm/screens and grey vinyl siding, and only paint and repair the remaining wood trim. The interior, however, tells a slightly happier tale...