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.