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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Decoration of Houses, by Edith Wharton and Ogden Codman Jr.
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40367 ***</div>
<div class="tnbox">
<p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></p>
<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original
document have been preserved.</p>
</div>
<h1>THE DECORATION OF HOUSES</h1>
<div class="figcenter p4">
<img src="images/title.jpg" width="438" height="600" alt="Title Page" />
</div>
<p class="center p4">Charles Scribner's<br />
Sons<br />
New York<br />
<br />
1914</p>
<p class="center b20">The<br />
Decoration of<br />
Houses<br />
<br />
By<br />
Edith Wharton<br />
and<br />
Ogden Codman Jr.</p>
<p class="center s08 p6">Copyright, 1897, by <span class="smcap">Charles Scribner's Sons</span></p>
<div class="figcenter p4">
<img src="images/logo.jpg" width="50" height="58" alt="Printer's Logo" />
</div>
<p class="blockquot p4">"<i>Une forme doit être belle en elle-même et on
ne doit jamais compter sur le décor appliqué pour
en sauver les imperfections.</i>"</p>
<p class="left25"><span class="smcap">Henri Mayeux</span>: <i>La Composition Décorative</i>.</p>
<h3 class="p4">TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_VII" id="Page_VII">vii</a></span></p>
<table summary="Table of Contents">
<tr>
<td colspan="2"> </td>
<td class="tdr"><span class="s05">PAGE</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_XIX">xix</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">I</td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Historical Tradition</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">II</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Rooms in General</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">III</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Walls</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Doors</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">V</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Windows</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Fireplaces</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Ceilings and Floors</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Entrance and Vestibule</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IX</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Hall and Stairs</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">X</td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Drawing-room, Boudoir, and Morning-room</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Gala Rooms: Ball-room, Saloon, Music-room, Gallery</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Library, Smoking-room, and "Den"</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">The Dining-room</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Bedrooms</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_162">162</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_VIII" id="Page_VIII">viii</a></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">The School-room and Nurseries</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XVI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Bric-à-Brac</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_184">184</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td><span class="smcap">Conclusion</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td><span class="smcap">Index</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<h3 class="p6">LIST OF PLATES</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_IX" id="Page_IX">ix</a></span></p>
<table summary="List of Plates">
<tr>
<td colspan="2"> </td>
<td class="tdr"><span class="s05">FACING PAGE</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">I</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Italian Gothic Chest</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_1">1</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">II</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Arm-chairs, XV and XVI Centuries</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_2">6</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">III</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French</span> <i>Armoire</i>, <span class="smcap">XVI Century</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_3">10</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Sofa and Arm-chair, Louis XIV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_4">12</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">V</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Room in the Grand Trianon, Versailles</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_5">14</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Arm-chair, Louis XV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_6">16</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French</span> <i>Bergère</i>, <span class="smcap">Louis XVI Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_7">20</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">VIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French</span> <i>Bergère</i>, <span class="smcap">Louis XVI Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_8">24</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">IX</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Sofa, Louis XV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_9">28</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">X</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Marquetry Table, Louis XVI Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_10">30</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Drawing-room, House in Berkeley Square, London</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_11">34</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Room in the Villa Vertemati</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_12">38</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Drawing-room at Easton Neston Hall</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_13">42</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Doorway, Ducal Palace, Mantua</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_14">48</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Sala dei Cavalli, Palazzo del T</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_15">54</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_X" id="Page_X">x</a></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XVI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Door in the Sala dello Zodiaco, Ducal Palace,
Mantua</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_16">58</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XVII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Examples of Modern French Locksmiths' Work</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_17">60</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XVIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Carved Door, Palace of Versailles</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_18">62</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XIX</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Salon des Malachites, Grand Trianon, Versailles</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_19">68</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XX</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Mantelpiece, Ducal Palace, Urbino</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_20">74</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Mantelpiece, Villa Giacomelli</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_21">78</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Fire-screen, Louis XIV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_22">86</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Carved Wooden Ceiling, Villa Vertemati</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_23">90</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXIV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Ceiling in Palais de Justice, Rennes</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_24">92</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Ceiling of the Sala degli Sposi, Ducal Palace,
Mantua</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_25">96</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXVI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Ceiling in the Style of Bérain</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_26">100</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXVII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Ceiling in the Château of Chantilly</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_27">102</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXVIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Antechamber, Villa Cambiaso, Genoa</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_28">104</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXIX</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Antechamber, Durazzo Palace, Genoa</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_29">106</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXX</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Staircase, Parodi Palace, Genoa</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_30">108</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Staircase, Hôtel de Ville, Nancy</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_31">112</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Staircase, Palace of Fontainebleau</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_32">116</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French</span> <i>Armoire</i>, <span class="smcap">Louis XIV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_33">120</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXIV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Sala della Maddalena, Royal Palace, Genoa</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_34">122</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Console in Petit Trianon, Versailles</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_35">124</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XI" id="Page_XI">xi</a></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXVI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Salon, Palace of Fontainebleau</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_36">126</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXVII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Room in the Palace of Fontainebleau</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_37">128</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXVIII</td>
<td><i>Lit de Repos</i>, <span class="smcap">Early Louis XV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_38">130</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XXXIX</td>
<td><i>Lit de Repos</i>, <span class="smcap">Louis XV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_39">130</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XL</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Painted Wall-panel and Door, Chantilly</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_40">132</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Boudoir, Louis XVI Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_41">132</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLII</td>
<td><i>Salon à l'italienne</i></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_42">136</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Ball-room, Royal Palace, Genoa</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_43">138</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLIV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Saloon, Villa Vertemati</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_44">140</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Sala dello Zodiaco, Ducal Palace, Mantua</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_45">140</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLVI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Table, transition between Louis XIV and
Louis XV Periods</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_46">142</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLVII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Library of Louis XVI, Palace of Versailles</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_47">144</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLVIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Small Library, Audley End</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_48">146</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">XLIX</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Writing-chair, Louis XV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_49">150</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">L</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Dining-room, Palace of Compiègne</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_50">154</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">LI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Dining-room Fountain, Palace of Fontainebleau</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_51">156</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">LII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Dining-chair, Louis XIV Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_52">158</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">LIII</td>
<td><span class="smcap">French Dining-chair, Louis XVI Period</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_53">158</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">LIV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Bedroom, Palace of Fontainebleau</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_54">162</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">LV</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Bath-room, Pitti Palace, Florence</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_55">168</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdr">LVI</td>
<td><span class="smcap">Bronze Andiron, XVI Century</span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#plate_56">184</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<h3 class="p6">BOOKS CONSULTED</h3>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XII" id="Page_XII">xii</a></span></p>
<h4>FRENCH</h4>
<p>
<span class="smcap">Androuet du Cerceau, Jacques.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Les Plus Excellents Bâtiments de France. <i>Paris, 1607.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Le Muet, Pierre.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Manière de Bien Bâtir pour toutes sortes de Personnes.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Oppenord, Gilles Marie.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Œuvres. <i>1750.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Mariette, Pierre Jean.</span></p>
<p class="i2">L'Architecture Françoise. <i>1727.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Briseux, Charles Étienne.</span></p>
<p class="i2">L'Art de Bâtir les Maisons de Campagne. <i>Paris, 1743.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lalonde, François Richard de.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Recueil de ses Œuvres.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Aviler, C. A. d'.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Cours d'Architecture. <i>1760.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Blondel, Jacques François.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Architecture Françoise. <i>Paris, 1752.</i></p>
<p class="i2">Cours d'Architecture. <i>Paris, 1771-77.</i></p>
<p class="i2">De la Distribution des Maisons de Plaisance et de la Décoration
des Édifices. <i>Paris, 1737.</i>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XIII" id="Page_XIII">xiii</a></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Roubo, A. J., fils.</span></p>
<p class="i2">L'Art du Menuisier.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Héré de Corny, Emmanuel.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Recueil des Plans, Élévations et Coupes des Châteaux, Jardins
et Dépendances que le Roi de Pologne occupe en Lorraine.
<i>Paris, n. d.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Percier et Fontaine.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Choix des plus Célèbres Maisons de Plaisance de Rome et
de ses Environs. <i>Paris, 1809.</i></p>
<p class="i2">Palais, Maisons, et autres Édifices Modernes dessinés à Rome.
<i>Paris, 1798.</i></p>
<p class="i2">Résidences des Souverains. <i>Paris, 1833.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Krafft et Ransonnette.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Plans, Coupes, et Élévations des plus belles Maisons et Hôtels
construits à Paris et dans les Environs. <i>Paris, 1801.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Durand, Jean Nicolas Louis.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Recueil et Parallèle des Édifices de tout Genre. <i>Paris, 1800.</i></p>
<p class="i2">Précis des Leçons d'Architecture données à l'École Royale
Polytechnique. <i>Paris, 1823.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Quatremère de Quincy, A. C.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Histoire de la Vie et des Ouvrages des plus Célèbres Architectes
du XI<sup>e</sup> siècle jusqu'à la fin du XVIII siècle. <i>Paris,
1830.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Pellassy de l'Ousle.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Histoire du Palais de Compiègne. <i>Paris, n. d.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Letarouilly, Paul Marie.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Édifices de Rome Moderne. <i>Paris, 1825-57.</i>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XIV" id="Page_XIV">xiv</a></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ramée, Daniel.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Histoire Générale de l'Architecture. <i>Paris, 1862.</i></p>
<p class="i2">Meubles Religieux et Civils Conservés dans les principaux
Monuments et Musées de l'Europe.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Viollet le Duc, Eugène Emmanuel.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Dictionnaire Raisonné de l'Architecture Française du XI<sup>e</sup>e au
XVI<sup>e</sup> siècle. <i>Paris, 1868.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sauvageot, Claude.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Palais, Châteaux, Hôtels et Maisons de France du XV<sup>e</sup> au
XVIII<sup>e</sup> siècle.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Daly, César.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Motifs Historiques d'Architecture et de Sculpture d'Ornement.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Rouyer et Darcel.</span></p>
<p class="i2">L'Art Architectural en France depuis François I<sup>er</sup> jusqu'à
Louis XIV.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Havard, Henry.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Dictionnaire de l'Ameublement et de la Décoration depuis le
XIII<sup>e</sup> siècle jusqu'à nos Jours. <i>Paris, n. d.</i></p>
<p class="i2">Les Arts de l'Ameublement.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Guilmard, D.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Les Maîtres Ornemanistes. <i>Paris, 1880.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Bauchal, Charles.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Dictionnaire des Architectes Français. <i>Paris, 1887.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Rouaix, Paul.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Les Styles. <i>Paris, n. d.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Bibliothèque de l'Enseignement des Beaux Arts.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Maison Quantin, <i>Paris</i>.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XV" id="Page_XV">xv</a></span></p>
<h4>ENGLISH</h4>
<p>
<span class="smcap">Ware, Isaac.</span></p>
<p class="i2">A Complete Body of Architecture. <i>London, 1756.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Brettingham, Matthew.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Plans, Elevations and Sections of Holkham in Norfolk, the
Seat of the late Earl of Leicester. <i>London, 1761.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Campbell, Colen.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Vitruvius Britannicus; or, The British Architect. <i>London,
1771.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Adam, Robert and James.</span></p>
<p class="i2">The Works in Architecture. <i>London, 1773-1822.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Hepplewhite, A.</span></p>
<p class="i2">The Cabinet-Maker and Upholsterer's Guide.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Sheraton, Thomas.</span></p>
<p class="i2">The Cabinet-Maker's Dictionary. <i>London, 1803.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Pain, William.</span></p>
<p class="i2">The British Palladio; or The Builder's General Assistant. <i>London,
1797.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Soane, Sir John.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Sketches in Architecture. <i>London, 1793.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Hakewill, Arthur William.</span></p>
<p class="i2">General Plan and External Details, with Picturesque Illustrations,
of Thorpe Hall, Peterborough.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Lewis, James.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Original Designs in Architecture.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XVI" id="Page_XVI">xvi</a></span></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Pyne, William Henry.</span></p>
<p class="i2">History of the Royal Residences of Windsor Castle, St. James's
Palace, Carlton House, Kensington Palace, Hampton Court,
Buckingham Palace, and Frogmore. <i>London, 1819.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Gwilt, Joseph.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Encyclopedia of Architecture. New edition. <i>Longman's,
1895.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Fergusson, James.</span></p>
<p class="i2">History of Architecture. <i>London, 1874.</i></p>
<p class="i2">History of the Modern Styles of Architecture. Third edition,
revised by Robert Kerr. <i>London, 1891.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Gotch, John Alfred.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Architecture of the Renaissance in England.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Heaton, John Aldam.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Furniture and Decoration in England in the Eighteenth
Century.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Rosengarten.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Handbook of Architectural Styles. <i>New York, 1876.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Horne, H. P.</span></p>
<p class="i2">The Binding of Books. <i>London, 1894.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Loftie, W. J.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Inigo Jones and Christopher Wren. <i>London, 1893.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Kerr, Robert.</span></p>
<p class="i2">The English Gentleman's House. <i>London, 1865.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Stevenson, J. J.</span></p>
<p class="i2">House Architecture. <i>London, 1880.</i>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XVII" id="Page_XVII">xvii</a></span></p>
<h4>GERMAN AND ITALIAN</h4>
<p>
<span class="smcap">Burckhardt, Jacob.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Architektur der Renaissance in Italien. <i>Stuttgart, 1891.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Reinhardt.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Palast Architektur von Ober Italien und Toskana.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Gurlitt, Cornelius.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Geschichte des Barockstiles in Italien. <i>Stuttgart, 1887.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Ebe, Gustav.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Die Spät-Renaissance. <i>Berlin, 1886.</i></p>
<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">La Villa Borghese, fuori di Porta Pinciana, con l'ornamenti
che si osservano nel di lei Palazzo.</span> <i>Roma, 1700.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Intra, G. B.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Mantova nei suoi Monumenti.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Luzio e Renier.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Mantova e Urbino. <i>Torino-Roma, 1893.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Molmenti, Pompeo.</span></p>
<p class="i2">La Storia di Venezia nella Vita Privata. <i>Torino, 1885.</i></p>
<p><span class="smcap">Malamani, Vittorio.</span></p>
<p class="i2">Il Settecento a Venezia. <i>Milano, 1895.</i></p>
<p class="hanging"><span class="smcap">La Vita Italiana nel Seicento. Conferenze tenute a Firenze
nel 1890.</span></p>
<h3 class="p6">INTRODUCTION</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XIX" id="Page_XIX">xix</a></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">R</span>ooms may be decorated in two ways: by a superficial application
of ornament totally independent of structure, or by
means of those architectural features which are part of the organism
of every house, inside as well as out.</p>
<p>In the middle ages, when warfare and brigandage shaped the
conditions of life, and men camped in their castles much as they
did in their tents, it was natural that decorations should be portable,
and that the naked walls of the mediæval chamber should be
hung with arras, while a <i>ciel</i>, or ceiling, of cloth stretched across
the open timbers of its roof.</p>
<p>When life became more secure, and when the Italian conquests
of the Valois had acquainted men north of the Alps with the spirit
of classic tradition, proportion and the relation of voids to masses
gradually came to be regarded as the chief decorative values of the
interior. Portable hangings were in consequence replaced by
architectural ornament: in other words, the architecture of the
room became its decoration.</p>
<p>This architectural treatment held its own through every change
of taste until the second quarter of the present century; but since
then various influences have combined to sever the natural connection
between the outside of the modern house and its interior.
In the average house the architect's task seems virtually confined
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XX" id="Page_XX">xx</a></span>
to the elevations and floor-plan. The designing of what are to-day
regarded as insignificant details, such as mouldings, architraves,
and cornices, has become a perfunctory work, hurried
over and unregarded; and when this work is done, the upholsterer
is called in to "decorate" and furnish the rooms.</p>
<p>As the result of this division of labor, house-decoration has
ceased to be a branch of architecture. The upholsterer cannot be
expected to have the preliminary training necessary for architectural
work, and it is inevitable that in his hands form should be
sacrificed to color and composition to detail. In his ignorance
of the legitimate means of producing certain effects, he is driven to
all manner of expedients, the result of which is a piling up of
heterogeneous ornament, a multiplication of incongruous effects;
and lacking, as he does, a definite first conception, his work becomes
so involved that it seems impossible for him to make an end.</p>
<p>The confusion resulting from these unscientific methods has
reflected itself in the lay mind, and house-decoration has come to
be regarded as a black art by those who have seen their rooms
subjected to the manipulations of the modern upholsterer. Now,
in the hands of decorators who understand the fundamental principles
of their art, the surest effects are produced, not at the expense
of simplicity and common sense, but by observing the requirements
of both. These requirements are identical with those
regulating domestic architecture, the chief end in both cases being
the suitable accommodation of the inmates of the house.</p>
<p>The fact that this end has in a measure been lost sight of is perhaps
sufficient warrant for the publication of this elementary
sketch. No study of <i>house-decoration as a branch of architecture</i>
has for at least fifty years been published in England or America;
and though France is always producing admirable monographs
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XXI" id="Page_XXI">xxi</a></span>
on isolated branches of this subject, there is no modern French
work corresponding with such comprehensive manuals as d'Aviler's
<i>Cours d'Architecture</i> or Isaac Ware's <i>Complete Body of
Architecture</i>.</p>
<p>The attempt to remedy this deficiency in some slight degree
has made it necessary to dwell at length upon the strictly architectural
principles which controlled the work of the old decorators.
The effects that they aimed at having been based mainly on the
due adjustment of parts, it has been impossible to explain their
methods without assuming their standpoint—that of <i>architectural
proportion</i>—in contradistinction to the modern view of house-decoration
as <i>superficial application of ornament</i>. When house-decoration
was a part of architecture all its values were founded
on structural modifications; consequently it may seem that ideas
to be derived from a study of such methods suggest changes too
radical for those who are not building, but are merely decorating.
Such changes, in fact, lie rather in the direction of alteration than
of adornment; but it must be remembered that the results attained
will be of greater decorative value than were an equal expenditure
devoted to surface-ornament. Moreover, the great decorators, if
scrupulous in the observance of architectural principles, were ever
governed, in the use of ornamental detail, by the <span class="greek" title="sôphrosynê">σωφροσύνη</span>, the
"wise moderation," of the Greeks; and the rooms of the past
were both simpler in treatment and freer from mere embellishments
than those of to-day.</p>
<p>Besides, if it be granted for the sake of argument that a reform
in house-decoration, if not necessary, is at least desirable, it must
be admitted that such reform can originate only with those whose
means permit of any experiments which their taste may suggest.
When the rich man demands good architecture his neighbors will
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_XXII" id="Page_XXII">xxii</a></span>
get it too. The vulgarity of current decoration has its source in
the indifference of the wealthy to architectural fitness. Every good
moulding, every carefully studied detail, exacted by those who can
afford to indulge their taste, will in time find its way to the carpenter-built
cottage. Once the right precedent is established, it
costs less to follow than to oppose it.</p>
<p>In conclusion, it may be well to explain the seeming lack of accord
between the arguments used in this book and the illustrations
chosen to interpret them. While much is said of simplicity, the
illustrations used are chiefly taken from houses of some importance.
This has been done in order that only such apartments as
are accessible to the traveller might be given as examples. Unprofessional
readers will probably be more interested in studying
rooms that they have seen, or at least heard of, than those in
the ordinary private dwelling; and the arguments advanced are
indirectly sustained by the most ornate rooms here shown, since
their effect is based on such harmony of line that their superficial
ornament might be removed without loss to the composition.</p>
<p>Moreover, as some of the illustrations prove, the most magnificent
palaces of Europe contain rooms as simple as those in any
private house; and to point out that simplicity is at home even
in palaces is perhaps not the least service that may be rendered
to the modern decorator.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_1" id="plate_1"></a>
<img src="images/plate_1.jpg" width="450" height="331" alt="Italian Gothic Chest" />
<p class="caption">ITALIAN GOTHIC CHEST.<br />
MUSEUM OF THE BARGELLO, FLORENCE.</p>
<p class="caption">PLATE I.</p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">I</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span></p>
<h3>THE HISTORICAL TRADITION</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he last ten years have been marked by a notable development
in architecture and decoration, and while France will
long retain her present superiority in these arts, our own advance
is perhaps more significant than that of any other country.
When we measure the work recently done in the United States
by the accepted architectural standards of ten years ago, the
change is certainly striking, especially in view of the fact that
our local architects and decorators are without the countless advantages
in the way of schools, museums and libraries which are
at the command of their European colleagues. In Paris, for instance,
it is impossible to take even a short walk without finding
inspiration in those admirable buildings, public and private, religious
and secular, that bear the stamp of the most refined
taste the world has known since the decline of the arts in Italy;
and probably all American architects will acknowledge that no
amount of travel abroad and study at home can compensate for
the lack of daily familiarity with such monuments.</p>
<p>It is therefore all the more encouraging to note the steady advance
in taste and knowledge to which the most recent architecture
in America bears witness. This advance is chiefly
due to the fact that American architects are beginning to perceive
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span>
two things that their French colleagues, among all the
modern vagaries of taste, have never quite lost sight of: first
that architecture and decoration, having wandered since 1800 in
a labyrinth of dubious eclecticism, can be set right only by a
close study of the best models; and secondly that, given the requirements
of modern life, these models are chiefly to be found
in buildings erected in Italy after the beginning of the sixteenth
century, and in other European countries after the full assimilation
of the Italian influence.</p>
<p>As the latter of these propositions may perhaps be questioned by
those who, in admiring the earlier styles, sometimes lose sight of
their relative unfitness for modern use, it must be understood at
the outset that it implies no disregard for the inherent beauties
of these styles. It would be difficult, assuredly, to find buildings
better suited to their original purpose than some of the great feudal
castles, such as Warwick in England, or Langeais in France; and
as much might be said of the grim machicolated palaces of republican
Florence or Siena; but our whole mode of life has so
entirely changed since the days in which these buildings were
erected that they no longer answer to our needs. It is only necessary
to picture the lives led in those days to see how far removed
from them our present social conditions are. Inside and
outside the house, all told of the unsettled condition of country
or town, the danger of armed attack, the clumsy means of
defence, the insecurity of property, the few opportunities of
social intercourse as we understand it. A man's house was
in very truth his castle in the middle ages, and in France and
England especially it remained so until the end of the sixteenth
century.</p>
<p>Thus it was that many needs arose: the tall keep of masonry
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span>
where the inmates, pent up against attack, awaited the signal
of the watchman who, from his platform or <i>échauguette</i>, gave
warning of assault; the ponderous doors, oak-ribbed and metal-studded,
with doorways often narrowed to prevent entrance of
two abreast, and so low that the incomer had to bend his head;
the windows that were mere openings or slits, narrow and high,
far out of the assailants' reach, and piercing the walls without
regard to symmetry—not, as Ruskin would have us believe, because
irregularity was thought artistic, but because the mediæval
architect, trained to the uses of necessity, knew that he must design
openings that should afford no passage to the besiegers'
arrows, no clue to what was going on inside the keep. But
to the reader familiar with Viollet-le-Duc, or with any of the
many excellent works on English domestic architecture, further
details will seem superfluous. It is necessary, however, to point
out that long after the conditions of life in Europe had changed,
houses retained many features of the feudal period. The survival
of obsolete customs which makes the study of sociology so interesting,
has its parallel in the history of architecture. In the
feudal countries especially, where the conflict between the great
nobles and the king was of such long duration that civilization
spread very slowly, architecture was proportionately slow to give
up many of its feudal characteristics. In Italy, on the contrary,
where one city after another succumbed to some accomplished
condottiere who between his campaigns read Virgil and collected
antique marbles, the rugged little republics were soon converted
into brilliant courts where, life being relatively secure, social
intercourse rapidly developed. This change of conditions brought
with it the paved street and square, the large-windowed palaces
with their great court-yards and stately open staircases, and the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span>
market-place with its loggia adorned with statues and marble
seats.</p>
<p>Italy, in short, returned instinctively to the Roman ideal of civic
life: the life of the street, the forum and the baths. These very
conditions, though approaching so much nearer than feudalism
to our modern civilization, in some respects make the Italian
architecture of the Renaissance less serviceable as a model than
the French and English styles later developed from it. The
very dangers and barbarities of feudalism had fostered and preserved
the idea of home as of something private, shut off from
intrusion; and while the Roman ideal flowered in the great palace
with its galleries, loggias and saloons, itself a kind of roofed-in
forum, the French or English feudal keep became, by the same
process of growth, the modern private house. The domestic
architecture of the Renaissance in Italy offers but two distinctively
characteristic styles of building: the palace and the villa or hunting-lodge.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
There is nothing corresponding in interior arrangements
with the French or English town house, or the <i>manoir</i>
where the provincial nobles lived all the year round. The villa
was a mere perch used for a few weeks of gaiety in spring or autumn;
it was never a home as the French or English country-house
was. There were, of course, private houses in Renaissance Italy,
but these were occupied rather by shopkeepers, craftsmen, and the
<i>bourgeoisie</i> than by the class which in France and England lived
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span>
in country houses or small private hôtels. The elevations of
these small Italian houses are often admirable examples of domestic
architecture, but their planning is rudimentary, and it may be
said that the characteristic tendencies of modern house-planning
were developed rather in the mezzanin or low-studded intermediate
story of the Italian Renaissance palace than in the small
house of the same period.</p>
<p>It is a fact recognized by political economists that changes in
manners and customs, no matter under what form of government,
usually originate with the wealthy or aristocratic minority, and
are thence transmitted to the other classes. Thus the <i>bourgeois</i>
of one generation lives more like the aristocrat of a previous
generation than like his own predecessors. This rule naturally
holds good of house-planning, and it is for this reason that the
origin of modern house-planning should be sought rather in the
prince's mezzanin than in the small middle-class dwelling. The
Italian mezzanin probably originated in the habit of building
certain very high-studded saloons and of lowering the ceiling
of the adjoining rooms. This created an intermediate story, or
rather scattered intermediate rooms, which Bramante was among
the first to use in the planning of his palaces; but Bramante did
not reveal the existence of the mezzanin in his façades, and it was
not until the time of Peruzzi and his contemporaries that it became,
both in plan and elevation, an accepted part of the Italian
palace. It is for this reason that the year 1500 is a convenient
point from which to date the beginning of modern house-planning;
but it must be borne in mind that this date is purely arbitrary,
and represents merely an imaginary line drawn between
mediæval and modern ways of living and house-planning, as
exemplified respectively, for instance, in the ducal palace of Urbino,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span>
built by Luciano da Laurano about 1468, and the palace
of the Massimi alle Colonne in Rome, built by Baldassare Peruzzi
during the first half of the sixteenth century.</p>
<p>The lives of the great Italian nobles were essentially open-air
lives: all was organized with a view to public pageants, ceremonies
and entertainments. Domestic life was subordinated to
this spectacular existence, and instead of building private houses
in our sense, they built palaces, of which they set aside a portion
for the use of the family. Every Italian palace has its mezzanin
or private apartment; but this part of the building is now
seldom seen by travellers in Italy. Not only is it usually inhabited
by the owners of the palace but, its decorations being simpler
than those of the <i>piano nobile</i>, or principal story, it is not thought
worthy of inspection. As a matter of fact, the treatment of the
mezzanin was generally most beautiful, because most suitable;
and while the Italian Renaissance palace can seldom serve as a
model for a modern private house, the decoration of the mezzanin
rooms is full of appropriate suggestion.</p>
<p>In France and England, on the other hand, private life was
gradually, though slowly, developing along the lines it still follows
in the present day. It is necessary to bear in mind that
what we call modern civilization was a later growth in these two
countries than in Italy. If this fact is insisted upon, it is only because
it explains the relative unsuitability of French Renaissance
or Tudor and Elizabethan architecture to modern life. In France,
for instance, it was not until the Fronde was subdued and Louis
XIV firmly established on the throne, that the elements which
compose what we call modern life really began to combine. In
fact, it might be said that the feudalism of which the Fronde was
the lingering expression had its counterpart in the architecture of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span>
the period. While long familiarity with Italy was beginning to tell
upon the practical side of house-planning, many obsolete details
were still preserved. Even the most enthusiastic admirer of the
French Renaissance would hardly maintain that the houses of that
period are what we should call in the modern sense "convenient."
It would be impossible for a modern family to occupy with any
degree of comfort the Hôtel Voguë at Dijon, one of the best examples
(as originally planned) of sixteenth-century domestic architecture
in France.<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> The same objection applies to the furniture of
the period. This arose from the fact that, owing to the unsettled
state of the country, the landed proprietor always carried his furniture
with him when he travelled from one estate to another.
Furniture, in the vocabulary of the middle ages, meant something
which may be transported: "Meubles sont apelez qu'on peut
transporter";—hence the lack of variety in furniture before the
seventeenth century, and also its unsuitableness to modern life.
Chairs and cabinets that had to be carried about on mule-back
were necessarily somewhat stiff and angular in design. It is perhaps
not too much to say that a comfortable chair, in our self-indulgent
modern sense, did not exist before the Louis XIV arm-chair
(see <a href="#plate_4">Plate IV</a>); and the cushioned <i>bergère</i>, the ancestor
of our upholstered easy-chair, cannot be traced back further
than the Regency. Prior to the time of Louis XIV, the most
luxurious people had to content themselves with hard straight-backed
seats. The necessities of transportation permitted little
variety of design, and every piece of furniture was constructed
with the double purpose of being easily carried about and of
being used as a trunk (see <a href="#plate_1">Plate I</a>). As Havard says, "Tout meuble
se traduisait par un coffre." The unvarying design of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span>
cabinets is explained by the fact that they were made to form two
trunks,<a name="FNanchor_3" id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and even the chairs and settles had hollow seats which
could be packed with the owners' wardrobe (see <a href="#plate_2">Plate II</a>). The
king himself, when he went from one château to another, carried
all his furniture with him, and it is thus not surprising that lesser
people contented themselves with a few substantial chairs and
cabinets, and enough arras or cloth of Douai to cover the
draughty walls of their country-houses. One of Madame de
Sévigné's letters gives an amusing instance of the scarceness of
furniture even in the time of Louis XIV. In describing a fire in
a house near her own hôtel in Paris, she says that one or two
of the persons from the burning house were brought to her for
shelter, because it was known in the neighborhood (at that
time a rich and fashionable one) that she had <i>an extra bed</i> in
the house!</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_2" id="plate_2"></a>
<img src="images/plate_2.jpg" width="450" height="363" alt="French Chairs" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH CHAIRS, XV AND XVI CENTURIES.<br />
FROM THE GAVET COLLECTION.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE II.</i></p>
</div>
<p>It was not until the social influences of the reign of Louis XIV
were fully established that modern domestic life really began.
Tradition ascribes to Madame de Rambouillet a leading share in
the advance in practical house-planning; but probably what she
did is merely typical of the modifications which the new social
conditions were everywhere producing. It is certain that at this
time houses and rooms first began to be comfortable. The
immense cavernous fireplaces originally meant for the roasting of
beeves and the warming of a flock of frozen retainers,—"les
grandes antiquailles de cheminées," as Madame de Sévigné called
them,—were replaced by the compact chimney-piece of modern
times. Cushioned <i>bergères</i> took the place of the throne-like seats
of Louis XIII, screens kept off unwelcome draughts, Savonnerie
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span>
or moquette carpets covered the stone or marble floors, and
grandeur gave way to luxury.<a name="FNanchor_4" id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p>
<p>English architecture having followed a line of development so
similar that it need not here be traced, it remains only to examine
in detail the opening proposition, namely, that modern architecture
and decoration, having in many ways deviated from the
paths which the experience of the past had marked out for them,
can be reclaimed only by a study of the best models.</p>
<p>It might of course be said that to attain this end originality is
more necessary than imitativeness. To this it may be replied that
no lost art can be re-acquired without at least for a time going
back to the methods and manner of those who formerly practised
it; or the objection may be met by the question, What is originality
in art? Perhaps it is easier to define what it is <i>not</i>; and
this may be done by saying that it is never a wilful rejection of
what have been accepted as the necessary laws of the various
forms of art. Thus, in reasoning, originality lies not in discarding
the necessary laws of thought, but in using them to express
new intellectual conceptions; in poetry, originality consists not in
discarding the necessary laws of rhythm, but in finding new
rhythms within the limits of those laws. Most of the features
of architecture that have persisted through various fluctuations
of taste owe their preservation to the fact that they have been
proved by experience to be necessary; and it will be found that
none of them precludes the exercise of individual taste, any more
than the acceptance of the syllogism or of the laws of rhythm prevents
new thinkers and new poets from saying what has never
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span>
been said before. Once this is clearly understood, it will be seen
that the supposed conflict between originality and tradition is no
conflict at all.<a name="FNanchor_5" id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p>
<p>In citing logic and poetry, those arts have been purposely
chosen of which the laws will perhaps best help to explain and
illustrate the character of architectural limitations. A building,
for whatever purpose erected, must be built in strict accordance
with the requirements of that purpose; in other words, it must
have a reason for being as it is and must be as it is for that reason.
Its decoration must harmonize with the structural limitations
(which is by no means the same thing as saying that all decoration
must be structural), and from this harmony of the general
scheme of decoration with the building, and of the details of
the decoration with each other, springs the rhythm that distinguishes
architecture from mere construction. Thus all good
architecture and good decoration (which, it must never be forgotten,
<i>is only interior architecture</i>) must be based on rhythm
and logic. A house, or room, must be planned as it is because
it could not, in reason, be otherwise; must be decorated as it is
because no other decoration would harmonize as well with the
plan.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_3" id="plate_3"></a>
<img src="images/plate_3.jpg" width="450" height="557" alt="French Armoire" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH ARMOIRE, XVI CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE III.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Many of the most popular features in modern house-planning
and decoration will not be found to stand this double test. Often
(as will be shown further on) they are merely survivals of earlier
social conditions, and have been preserved in obedience to that
instinct that makes people cling to so many customs the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span>
meaning of which is lost. In other cases they have been revived
by the archæologizing spirit which is so characteristic of the
present time, and which so often leads its possessors to think
that a thing must be beautiful because it is old and appropriate
because it is beautiful.</p>
<p>But since the beauty of all such features depends on their appropriateness,
they may in every case be replaced by a more
suitable form of treatment without loss to the general effect of
house or room. It is this which makes it important that each
room (or, better still, all the rooms) in a house should receive the
same style of decoration. To some people this may seem as
meaningless a piece of archaism as the habit of using obsolete
fragments of planning or decoration; but such is not the case.
It must not be forgotten, in discussing the question of reproducing
certain styles, that the essence of a style lies not in its use of
ornament, but in its handling of proportion. Structure conditions
ornament, not ornament structure. That is, a room with unsuitably
proportioned openings, wall-spaces and cornice might receive
a surface application of Louis XV or Louis XVI ornament
and not represent either of those styles of decoration; whereas a
room constructed according to the laws of proportion accepted in
one or the other of those periods, in spite of a surface application
of decorative detail widely different in character,—say Romanesque
or Gothic,—would yet maintain its distinctive style, because
the detail, in conforming with the laws of proportion
governing the structure of the room, must necessarily conform
with its style. In other words, decoration is always subservient
to proportion; and a room, whatever its decoration may be, must
represent the style to which its proportions belong. The less
cannot include the greater. Unfortunately it is usually by ornamental
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span>
details, rather than by proportion, that people distinguish
one style from another. To many persons, garlands, bow-knots,
quivers, and a great deal of gilding represent the Louis XVI
style; if they object to these, they condemn the style. To an
architect familiar with the subject the same style means something
absolutely different. He knows that a Louis XVI room
may exist without any of these or similar characteristics; and
he often deprecates their use as representing the cheaper and more
trivial effects of the period, and those that have most helped to
vulgarize it. In fact, in nine cases out of ten his use of them is a
concession to the client who, having asked for a Louis XVI room,
would not know he had got it were these details left out.<a name="FNanchor_6" id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p>
<p>Another thing which has perhaps contributed to make people
distrustful of "styles" is the garbled form in which they are
presented by some architects. After a period of eclecticism
that has lasted long enough to make architects and decorators
lose their traditional habits of design, there has arisen a sudden
demand for "style." It necessarily follows that only the most
competent are ready to respond to this unexpected summons.
Much has to be relearned, still more to be unlearned. The
essence of the great styles lay in proportion and the science of
proportion is not to be acquired in a day. In fact, in such matters
the cultivated layman, whether or not he has any special
familiarity with the different schools of architecture, is often a
better judge than the half-educated architect. It is no wonder
that people of taste are disconcerted by the so-called "colonial"
houses where stair-rails are used as roof-balustrades and mantel-friezes
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span>
as exterior entablatures, or by Louis XV rooms where the
wavy movement which, in the best rococo, was always an ornamental
incident and never broke up the main lines of the design,
is suffered to run riot through the whole treatment of the walls,
so that the bewildered eye seeks in vain for a straight line amid
the whirl of incoherent curves.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_4" id="plate_4"></a>
<img src="images/plate_4.jpg" width="450" height="333" alt="French Sofa" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH SOFA AND ARMCHAIR, LOUIS XIV PERIOD.<br />
FROM THE CHÂTEAU DE BERCY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE IV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>To conform to a style, then, is to accept those rules of proportion
which the artistic experience of centuries has established as
the best, while within those limits allowing free scope to the
individual requirements which must inevitably modify every
house or room adapted to the use and convenience of its occupants.</p>
<p>There is one thing more to be said in defence of conformity to
style; and that is, the difficulty of getting rid of style. Strive as
we may for originality, we are hampered at every turn by an
artistic tradition of over two thousand years. Does any but the
most inexperienced architect really think that he can ever rid
himself of such an inheritance? He may mutilate or misapply
the component parts of his design, but he cannot originate a
whole new architectural alphabet. The chances are that he will
not find it easy to invent one wholly new moulding.</p>
<p>The styles especially suited to modern life have already been
roughly indicated as those prevailing in Italy since 1500, in France
from the time of Louis XIV, and in England since the introduction
of the Italian manner by Inigo Jones; and as the French and English
styles are perhaps more familiar to the general reader, the
examples given will usually be drawn from these. Supposing
the argument in favor of these styles to have been accepted, at
least as a working hypothesis, it must be explained why, in each
room, the decoration and furniture should harmonize. Most
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span>
people will admit the necessity of harmonizing the colors in a
room, because a feeling for color is more general than a feeling
for form; but in reality the latter is the more important in decoration,
and it is the feeling for form, and not any archæological
affectation, which makes the best decorators insist upon the necessity
of keeping to the same style of furniture and decoration.
Thus the massive dimensions and heavy panelling of a seventeenth-century
room would dwarf a set of eighteenth-century
furniture; and the wavy, capricious movement of Louis XV decoration
would make the austere yet delicate lines of Adam furniture
look stiff and mean.</p>
<p>Many persons object not only to any attempt at uniformity of
style, but to the use of any recognized style in the decoration of a
room. They characterize it, according to their individual views,
as "servile," "formal," or "pretentious."</p>
<p>It has already been suggested that to conform within rational
limits to a given style is no more servile than to pay one's taxes or
to write according to the rules of grammar. As to the accusations
of formality and pretentiousness (which are more often made in
America than elsewhere), they may probably be explained by the
fact that most Americans necessarily form their idea of the great
European styles from public buildings and palaces. Certainly, if
an architect were to propose to his client to decorate a room in a
moderate-sized house in the Louis XIV style, and if the client had
formed his idea of that style from the state apartments in the
palace at Versailles, he would be justified in rejecting the proposed
treatment as absolutely unsuitable to modern private life;
whereas the architect who had gone somewhat more deeply into
the subject might have singled out the style as eminently suitable,
having in mind one of the simple panelled rooms, with tall
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span>
windows, a dignified fireplace, large tables and comfortable
arm-chairs, which were to be found in the private houses of the
same period (see <a href="#plate_5">Plate V</a>). It is the old story of the two knights
fighting about the color of the shield. Both architect and client
would be right, but they would be looking at the different sides
of the question. As a matter of fact, the bed-rooms, sitting-rooms,
libraries and other private apartments in the smaller dwelling-houses
built in Europe between 1650 and 1800 were far simpler,
less pretentious and more practical in treatment than those in the
average modern house.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_5" id="plate_5"></a>
<img src="images/plate_5.jpg" width="450" height="362" alt="Simple Louis XIV Decoration" />
<p class="caption">ROOM IN THE GRAND TRIANON, VERSAILLES.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF SIMPLE LOUIS XIV DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE V.</i></p>
</div>
<p>It is therefore hoped that the antagonists of "style," when they
are shown that to follow a certain style is not to sacrifice either
convenience or imagination, but to give more latitude to both,
will withdraw an opposition which seems to be based on a misapprehension
of facts.</p>
<p>Hitherto architecture and decoration have been spoken of as
one, as in any well-designed house they ought to be. Indeed, it
is one of the numerous disadvantages of the present use of styles,
that unless the architect who has built the house also decorates it,
the most hopeless discord is apt to result. This was otherwise
before our present desire for variety had thrown architects, decorators,
and workmen out of the regular routine of their business.
Before 1800 the decorator called upon to treat the interior of
a house invariably found a suitable background prepared for
his work, while much in the way of detail was intrusted to the
workmen, who were trained in certain traditions instead of being
called upon to carry out in each new house the vagaries of a
different designer.</p>
<p>But it is with the decorator's work alone that these pages are
concerned, and the above digression is intended to explain why
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span>
his task is now so difficult, and why his results are so often
unsatisfactory to himself as well as to his clients. The decorator
of the present day may be compared to a person who is called
upon to write a letter in the English language, but is ordered,
in so doing, to conform to the Chinese or Egyptian rules of
grammar, or possibly to both together.</p>
<p>By the use of a little common sense and a reasonable conformity
to those traditions of design which have been tested by
generations of architects, it is possible to produce great variety in
the decoration of rooms without losing sight of the purpose for
which they are intended. Indeed, the more closely this purpose
is kept in view, and the more clearly it is expressed in all the
details of each room, the more pleasing that room will be, so that
it is easy to make a room with tinted walls, deal furniture and
dimity curtains more beautiful, because more logical and more
harmonious, than a ball-room lined with gold and marbles, in
which the laws of rhythm and logic have been ignored.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_6" id="plate_6"></a>
<img src="images/plate_6.jpg" width="400" height="511" alt="French Armchair" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH ARMCHAIR, LOUIS XV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE VI.</i></p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">II</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span></p>
<h3>ROOMS IN GENERAL</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">B</span>efore beginning to decorate a room it is essential to consider
for what purpose the room is to be used. It is not
enough to ticket it with some such general designation as "library,"
"drawing-room," or "den." The individual tastes and
habits of the people who are to occupy it must be taken into account;
it must be not "a library," or "a drawing-room," but the
library or the drawing-room best suited to the master or mistress
of the house which is being decorated. Individuality in house-furnishing
has seldom been more harped upon than at the present
time. That cheap originality which finds expression in putting
things to uses for which they were not intended is often confounded
with individuality; whereas the latter consists not in an
attempt to be different from other people at the cost of comfort,
but in the desire to be comfortable in one's own way, even
though it be the way of a monotonously large majority. It
seems easier to most people to arrange a room like some one
else's than to analyze and express their own needs. Men, in
these matters, are less exacting than women, because their demands,
besides being simpler, are uncomplicated by the feminine
tendency to want things because other people have them, rather
than to have things because they are wanted.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span></p>
<p>But it must never be forgotten that every one is unconsciously
tyrannized over by the wants of others,—the wants of dead and
gone predecessors, who have an inconvenient way of thrusting
their different habits and tastes across the current of later existences.
The unsatisfactory relations of some people with their
rooms are often to be explained in this way. They have still in
their blood the traditional uses to which these rooms were put in
times quite different from the present. It is only an unconscious
extension of the conscious habit which old-fashioned people have
of clinging to their parents' way of living. The difficulty of
reconciling these instincts with our own comfort and convenience,
and the various compromises to which they lead in the arrangement
of our rooms, will be more fully dealt with in the following
chapters. To go to the opposite extreme and discard things
because they are old-fashioned is equally unreasonable. The
golden mean lies in trying to arrange our houses with a view to
our own comfort and convenience; and it will be found that the
more closely we follow this rule the easier our rooms will be to
furnish and the pleasanter to live in.</p>
<p>People whose attention has never been specially called to the
<i>raison d'être</i> of house-furnishing sometimes conclude that because
a thing is unusual it is artistic, or rather that through some occult
process the most ordinary things become artistic by being used in
an unusual manner; while others, warned by the visible results
of this theory of furnishing, infer that everything artistic is unpractical.
In the Anglo-Saxon mind beauty is not spontaneously
born of material wants, as it is with the Latin races. We have to
<i>make</i> things beautiful; they do not grow so of themselves. The
necessity of making this effort has caused many people to put
aside the whole problem of beauty and fitness in household decoration
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span>
as something mysterious and incomprehensible to the
uninitiated. The architect and decorator are often aware that
they are regarded by their clients as the possessors of some
strange craft like black magic or astrology.</p>
<p>This fatalistic attitude has complicated the simple and intelligible
process of house-furnishing, and has produced much of
the discomfort which causes so many rooms to be shunned by
everybody in the house, in spite (or rather because) of all the
money and ingenuity expended on their arrangement. Yet to
penetrate the mystery of house-furnishing it is only necessary
to analyze one satisfactory room and to notice wherein its charm
lies. To the fastidious eye it will, of course, be found in fitness
of proportion, in the proper use of each moulding and in the
harmony of all the decorative processes; and even to those
who think themselves indifferent to such detail, much of the
sense of restfulness and comfort produced by certain rooms
depends on the due adjustment of their fundamental parts.
Different rooms minister to different wants and while a room
may be made very livable without satisfying any but the material
requirements of its inmates it is evident that the perfect
room should combine these qualities with what corresponds to
them in a higher order of needs. At present, however, the
subject deals only with the material livableness of a room, and
this will generally be found to consist in the position of the
doors and fireplace, the accessibility of the windows, the arrangement
of the furniture, the privacy of the room and the absence
of the superfluous.</p>
<p>The position of doors and fireplace, though the subject comes
properly under the head of house-planning, may be included in
this summary, because in rearranging a room it is often possible
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span>
to change its openings, or at any rate, in the case of doors,
to modify their dimensions.</p>
<p>The fireplace must be the focus of every rational scheme of
arrangement. Nothing is so dreary, so hopeless to deal with,
as a room in which the fireplace occupies a narrow space between
two doors, so that it is impossible to sit about the hearth.<a name="FNanchor_7" id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a>
Next in importance come the windows. In town houses especially,
where there is so little light that every ray is precious
to the reader or worker, window-space is invaluable. Yet in
few rooms are the windows easy of approach, free from useless
draperies and provided with easy-chairs so placed that the light
falls properly on the occupant's work.</p>
<p>It is no exaggeration to say that many houses are deserted by
the men of the family for lack of those simple comforts which
they find at their clubs: windows unobscured by layers of muslin,
a fireplace surrounded by easy-chairs and protected from
draughts, well-appointed writing-tables and files of papers and
magazines. Who cannot call to mind the dreary drawing-room,
in small town houses the only possible point of reunion for the
family, but too often, in consequence of its exquisite discomfort,
of no more use as a meeting-place than the vestibule or the cellar?
The windows in this kind of room are invariably supplied with
two sets of muslin curtains, one hanging against the panes, the
other fulfilling the supererogatory duty of hanging against the
former; then come the heavy stuff curtains, so draped as to cut
off the upper light of the windows by day, while it is impossible
to drop them at night: curtains that have thus ceased to serve
the purpose for which they exist. Close to the curtains stands
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span>
the inevitable lamp or jardinière, and the wall-space between the
two windows, where a writing-table might be put, is generally
taken up by a cabinet or console, surmounted by a picture made
invisible by the dark shadow of the hangings. The writing-table
might find place against the side-wall near either window; but
these spaces are usually sacred to the piano and to that modern
futility, the silver-table. Thus of necessity the writing-table is
either banished or put in some dark corner, where it is little
wonder that the ink dries unused and a vase of flowers grows
in the middle of the blotting-pad.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_7" id="plate_7"></a>
<img src="images/plate_7.jpg" width="450" height="584" alt="French Bergère" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH BERGÈRE, LOUIS XVI PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE VII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The hearth should be the place about which people gather; but
the mantelpiece in the average American house, being ugly, is
usually covered with inflammable draperies; the fire is, in consequence,
rarely lit, and no one cares to sit about a fireless hearth.
Besides, on the opposite side of the room is a gap in the wall
eight or ten feet wide, opening directly upon the hall, and exposing
what should be the most private part of the room to the
scrutiny of messengers, servants and visitors. This opening is
sometimes provided with doors; but these, as a rule, are either
slid into the wall or are unhung and replaced by a curtain
through which every word spoken in the room must necessarily
pass. In such a room it matters very little how the rest of the
furniture is arranged, since it is certain that no one will ever sit in
it except the luckless visitor who has no other refuge.</p>
<p>Even the visitor might be thought entitled to the solace of a
few books; but as all the tables in the room are littered with
knick-knacks, it is difficult for the most philanthropic hostess to
provide even this slight alleviation.</p>
<p>When the town-house is built on the basement plan, and
the drawing-room or parlor is up-stairs, the family, to escape
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span>
from its discomforts, habitually take refuge in the small room
opening off the hall on the ground floor; so that instead of sitting
in a room twenty or twenty-five feet wide, they are packed into
one less than half that size and exposed to the frequent intrusions
from which, in basement houses, the drawing-room is free. But
too often even the "little room down-stairs" is arranged less like
a sitting-room in a private house than a waiting-room at a fashionable
doctor's or dentist's. It has the inevitable yawning gap
in the wall, giving on the hall close to the front door, and is
either the refuge of the ugliest and most uncomfortable furniture
in the house, or, even if furnished with taste, is arranged with so
little regard to comfort that one might as well make it part of the
hall, as is often done in rearranging old houses. This habit of
sacrificing a useful room to the useless widening of the hall is
indeed the natural outcome of furnishing rooms of this kind in so
unpractical a way that their real usefulness has ceased to be
apparent. The science of restoring wasted rooms to their proper
uses is one of the most important and least understood branches
of house-furnishing.</p>
<p>Privacy would seem to be one of the first requisites of civilized
life, yet it is only necessary to observe the planning and arrangement
of the average house to see how little this need is recognized.
Each room in a house has its individual uses: some are
made to sleep in, others are for dressing, eating, study, or conversation;
but whatever the uses of a room, they are seriously
interfered with if it be not preserved as a small world by itself.
If the drawing-room be a part of the hall and the library a part
of the drawing-room, all three will be equally unfitted to serve
their special purpose. The indifference to privacy which has
sprung up in modern times, and which in France, for instance,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span>
has given rise to the grotesque conceit of putting sheets of plate-glass
between two rooms, and of replacing doorways by openings
fifteen feet wide, is of complex origin. It is probably due in part
to the fact that many houses are built and decorated by people
unfamiliar with the habits of those for whom they are building.
It may be that architect and decorator live in a simpler manner
than their clients, and are therefore ready to sacrifice a kind of
comfort of which they do not feel the need to the "effects" obtainable
by vast openings and extended "vistas." To the untrained
observer size often appeals more than proportion and
costliness than suitability. In a handsome house such an observer
is attracted rather by the ornamental detail than by the
underlying purpose of planning and decoration. He sees the
beauty of the detail, but not its relation to the whole. He therefore
regards it as elegant but useless; and his next step is to infer
that there is an inherent elegance in what is useless.</p>
<p>Before beginning to decorate a house it is necessary to make a
prolonged and careful study of its plan and elevations, both as
a whole and in detail. The component parts of an undecorated
room are its floor, ceiling, wall-spaces and openings. The openings
consist of the doors, windows and fireplace; and of these,
as has already been pointed out, the fireplace is the most important
in the general scheme of decoration.</p>
<p>No room can be satisfactory unless its openings are properly
placed and proportioned, and the decorator's task is much easier
if he has also been the architect of the house he is employed to
decorate; but as this seldom happens his ingenuity is frequently
taxed to produce a good design upon the background of a faulty
and illogical structure. Much may be done to overcome this
difficulty by making slight changes in the proportions of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span>
openings; and the skilful decorator, before applying his scheme
of decoration, will do all that he can to correct the fundamental
lines of the room. But the result is seldom so successful as if
he had built the room, and those who employ different people to
build and decorate their houses should at least try to select an
architect and a decorator trained in the same school of composition,
so that they may come to some understanding with regard
to the general harmony of their work.</p>
<p>In deciding upon a scheme of decoration, it is necessary to keep
in mind the relation of furniture to ornament, and of the room
as a whole to other rooms in the house. As in a small house
a very large room dwarfs all the others, so a room decorated
in a very rich manner will make the simplicity of those about
it look mean. Every house should be decorated according to a
carefully graduated scale of ornamentation culminating in the
most important room of the house; but this plan must be carried
out with such due sense of the relation of the rooms to each
other that there shall be no violent break in the continuity of
treatment. If a white-and-gold drawing-room opens on a hall
with a Brussels carpet and papered walls, the drawing-room will
look too fine and the hall mean.</p>
<p>In the furnishing of each room the same rule should be as
carefully observed. The simplest and most cheaply furnished
room (provided the furniture be good of its kind, and the walls and
carpet unobjectionable in color) will be more pleasing to the fastidious
eye than one in which gilded consoles and cabinets of buhl
stand side by side with cheap machine-made furniture, and delicate
old marquetry tables are covered with trashy china ornaments.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_8" id="plate_8"></a>
<img src="images/plate_8.jpg" width="450" height="633" alt="French Bergère" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH BERGÈRE, LOUIS XVI PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE VIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>It is, of course, not always possible to refurnish a room when
it is redecorated. Many people must content themselves with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span>
using their old furniture, no matter how ugly and ill-assorted it
may be; and it is the decorator's business to see that his background
helps the furniture to look its best. It is a mistake to
think that because the furniture of a room is inappropriate or ugly
a good background will bring out these defects. It will, on the
contrary, be a relief to the eye to escape from the bad lines of the
furniture to the good lines of the walls; and should the opportunity
to purchase new furniture ever come, there will be a
suitable background ready to show it to the best advantage.</p>
<p>Most rooms contain a mixture of good, bad, and indifferent furniture.
It is best to adapt the decorative treatment to the best
pieces and to discard those which are in bad taste, replacing
them, if necessary, by willow chairs and stained deal tables until it
is possible to buy something better. When the room is to be
refurnished as well as redecorated the client often makes his purchases
without regard to the decoration. Besides being an injustice
to the decorator, inasmuch as it makes it impossible for him
to harmonize his decoration with the furniture, this generally produces
a result unsatisfactory to the owner of the house. Neither
decoration nor furniture, however good of its kind, can look its
best unless each is chosen with reference to the other. It is therefore
necessary that the decorator, before planning his treatment of
a room, should be told what it is to contain. If a gilt set is put in
a room the walls of which are treated in low relief and painted
white, the high lights of the gilding will destroy the delicate values
of the mouldings, and the walls, at a little distance, will look like
flat expanses of whitewashed plaster.</p>
<p>When a room is to be furnished and decorated at the smallest
possible cost, it must be remembered that the comfort of its occupants
depends more on the nature of the furniture than of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span>
wall-decorations or carpet. In a living-room of this kind it is best
to tint the walls and put a cheerful drugget on the floor, keeping
as much money as possible for the purchase of comfortable chairs
and sofas and substantial tables. If little can be spent in buying
furniture, willow arm-chairs<a name="FNanchor_8" id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> with denim cushions and solid
tables with stained legs and covers of denim or corduroy will be
more satisfactory than the "parlor suit" turned out in thousands
by the manufacturer of cheap furniture, or the pseudo-Georgian
or pseudo-Empire of the dealer in "high-grade goods." Plain
bookcases may be made of deal, painted or stained; and a room
treated in this way, with a uniform color on the wall, and plenty
of lamps and books, is sure to be comfortable and can never
be vulgar.</p>
<p>It is to be regretted that, in this country and in England, it
should be almost impossible to buy plain but well-designed and
substantial furniture. Nothing can exceed the ugliness of the
current designs: the bedsteads with towering head-boards fretted
by the versatile jig-saw; the "bedroom suits" of "mahoganized"
cherry, bird's-eye maple, or some other crude-colored wood; the
tables with meaninglessly turned legs; the "Empire" chairs and
consoles stuck over with ornaments of cast bronze washed in
liquid gilding; and, worst of all, the supposed "Colonial" furniture,
that unworthy travesty of a plain and dignified style. All
this showy stuff has been produced in answer to the increasing
demand for cheap "effects" in place of unobtrusive merit in
material and design; but now that an appreciation of better things
in architecture is becoming more general, it is to be hoped that
the "artistic" furniture disfiguring so many of our shop-windows
will no longer find a market.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span></p>
<p>There is no lack of models for manufacturers to copy, if their
customers will but demand what is good. France and England,
in the eighteenth century, excelled in the making of plain, inexpensive
furniture of walnut, mahogany, or painted beechwood
(see Plates <a href="#plate_7">VII</a>-<a href="#plate_10">X</a>). Simple in shape and substantial in construction,
this kind of furniture was never tricked out with moulded
bronzes and machine-made carving, or covered with liquid gilding,
but depended for its effect upon the solid qualities of good
material, good design and good workmanship. The eighteenth-century
cabinet-maker did not attempt cheap copies of costly
furniture; the common sense of his patrons would have resented
such a perversion of taste. Were the modern public as fastidious,
it would soon be easy to buy good furniture for a moderate price;
but until people recognize the essential vulgarity of the pinchbeck
article flooding our shops and overflowing upon our sidewalks,
manufacturers will continue to offer such wares in preference to
better but less showy designs.</p>
<p>The worst defects of the furniture now made in America
are due to an Athenian thirst for novelty, not always regulated
by an Athenian sense of fitness. No sooner is it known that
beautiful furniture was made in the time of Marie-Antoinette
than an epidemic of supposed "Marie-Antoinette" rooms breaks
out over the whole country. Neither purchaser nor manufacturer
has stopped to inquire wherein the essentials of the style consist.
They know that the rooms of the period were usually painted in
light colors, and that the furniture (in palaces) was often gilt and
covered with brocade; and it is taken for granted that plenty of
white paint, a pale wall-paper with bow-knots, and fragile
chairs dipped in liquid gilding and covered with a flowered silk-and-cotton
material, must inevitably produce a "Marie-Antoinette"
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span>
room. According to the creed of the modern manufacturer,
you have only to combine certain "goods" to obtain
a certain style.</p>
<p>This quest of artistic novelties would be encouraging were it
based on the desire for something better, rather than for something
merely different. The tendency to dash from one style to another,
without stopping to analyze the intrinsic qualities of any,
has defeated the efforts of those who have tried to teach the true
principles of furniture-designing by a return to the best models.
If people will buy the stuff now offered them as Empire, Sheraton
or Louis XVI, the manufacturer is not to blame for making it.
It is not the maker but the purchaser who sets the standard; and
there will never be any general supply of better furniture until
people take time to study the subject, and find out wherein lies
the radical unfitness of what now contents them.</p>
<p>Until this golden age arrives the householder who cannot afford
to buy old pieces, or to have old models copied by a skilled
cabinet-maker, had better restrict himself to the plainest of furniture,
relying for the embellishment of his room upon good
bookbindings and one or two old porcelain vases for his lamps.</p>
<p>Concerning the difficult question of color, it is safe to say that
the fewer the colors used in a room, the more pleasing and restful
the result will be. A multiplicity of colors produces the same
effect as a number of voices talking at the same time. The voices
may not be discordant, but continuous chatter is fatiguing in the
long run. Each room should speak with but one voice: it should
contain one color, which at once and unmistakably asserts its
predominance, in obedience to the rule that where there is a
division of parts one part shall visibly prevail over all the others.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_9" id="plate_9"></a>
<img src="images/plate_9.jpg" width="450" height="338" alt="French Sofa" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH SOFA, LOUIS XV PERIOD.<br />
TAPESTRY DESIGNED BY BOUCHER.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE IX.</i></p>
</div>
<p>To attain this result, it is best to use the same color and, if
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span>
possible, the same material, for curtains and chair-coverings. This
produces an impression of unity and gives an air of spaciousness
to the room. When the walls are simply panelled in oak or walnut,
or are painted in some neutral tones, such as gray and white,
the carpet may contrast in color with the curtains and chair-coverings.
For instance, in an oak-panelled room crimson curtains
and chair-coverings may be used with a dull green carpet, or with
one of dark blue patterned in subdued tints; or the color-scheme
may be reversed, and green hangings and chair-coverings combined
with a plain crimson carpet.</p>
<p>Where the walls are covered with tapestry, or hung with a large
number of pictures, or, in short, are so treated that they present
a variety of colors, it is best that curtains, chair-coverings and
carpet should all be of one color and without pattern. Graduated
shades of the same color should almost always be avoided;
theoretically they seem harmonious, but in reality the light shades
look faded in proximity with the darker ones. Though it is well,
as a rule, that carpet and hangings should match, exception must
always be made in favor of a really fine old Eastern rug. The
tints of such rugs are too subdued, too subtly harmonized by time,
to clash with any colors the room may contain; but those who
cannot cover their floors in this way will do well to use carpets
of uniform tint, rather than the gaudy rugs now made in the East.
The modern red and green Smyrna or Turkey carpet is an exception.
Where the furniture is dark and substantial, and the predominating
color is a strong green or crimson, such a carpet is
always suitable. These Smyrna carpets are usually well designed;
and if their colors be restricted to red and green, with small admixture
of dark blue, they harmonize with almost any style of
decoration. It is well, as a rule, to shun the decorative schemes
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span>
concocted by the writers who supply our newspapers with hints
for "artistic interiors." The use of such poetic adjectives as jonquil-yellow,
willow-green, shell-pink, or ashes-of-roses, gives to
these descriptions of the "unique boudoir" or "ideal summer
room" a charm which the reality would probably not possess.
The arrangements suggested are usually cheap devices based
upon the mistaken idea that defects in structure or design may be
remedied by an overlaying of color or ornament. This theory
often leads to the spending of much more money than would
have been required to make one or two changes in the plan of
the room, and the result is never satisfactory to the fastidious.</p>
<p>There are but two ways of dealing with a room which is fundamentally
ugly: one is to accept it, and the other is courageously
to correct its ugliness. Half-way remedies are a waste
of money and serve rather to call attention to the defects of the
room than to conceal them.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_10" id="plate_10"></a>
<img src="images/plate_10.jpg" width="400" height="375" alt="French Marquetry Table" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH MARQUETRY TABLE, LOUIS XVI PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE X.</i></p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">III</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span></p>
<h3>WALLS</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">P</span>roportion is the good breeding of architecture. It is
that something, indefinable to the unprofessional eye, which
gives repose and distinction to a room: in its origin a matter of
nice mathematical calculation, of scientific adjustment of voids
and masses, but in its effects as intangible as that all-pervading
essence which the ancients called the soul.</p>
<p>It is not proposed to enter here into a technical discussion of
the delicate problem of proportion. The decorator, with whom
this book is chiefly concerned, is generally not consulted until
the house that he is to decorate has been built—and built, in all
probability, quite without reference to the interior treatment it is
destined to receive. All he can hope to do is, by slight modifications
here and there in the dimensions or position of the openings,
to re-establish that harmony of parts so frequently disregarded
in modern house-planning. It often happens, however,
that the decorator's desire to make these slight changes, upon
which the success of his whole scheme depends, is a source
of perplexity and distress to his bewildered client, who sees in it
merely the inclination to find fault with another's work. Nothing
can be more natural than this attitude on the part of the client.
How is he to decide between the architect, who has possibly disregarded
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span>
in some measure the claims of symmetry and proportion
in planning the interior of the house, and the decorator who insists
upon those claims without being able to justify his demands
by any explanation comprehensible to the unprofessional? It is
inevitable that the decorator, who comes last, should fare worse,
especially as he makes his appearance at a time when contractors'
bills are pouring in, and the proposition to move a mantelpiece
or change the dimensions of a door opens fresh vistas of expense
to the client's terrified imagination.</p>
<p>Undoubtedly these difficulties have diminished in the last few
years. Architects are turning anew to the lost tradition of symmetry
and to a scientific study of the relation between voids and
masses, and the decorator's task has become correspondingly
easier. Still, there are many cases where his work is complicated
by some trifling obstacle, the removal of which the client opposes
only because he cannot in imagination foresee the improvement
which would follow. If the client permits the change to be made,
he has no difficulty in appreciating the result: he cannot see it in
advance.</p>
<p>A few words from Isaac Ware's admirable chapter on "The
Origin of Proportions in the Orders"<a name="FNanchor_9" id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> may serve to show the importance
of proportion in all schemes of decoration, and the necessity
of conforming to certain rules that may at first appear both
arbitrary and incomprehensible.</p>
<p>"An architect of genius," Ware writes (alluding to the latitude
which the ancients allowed themselves in using the orders), "will
think himself happy, in designing a building that is to be enriched
with the Doric order, that he has all the latitude between two and
a half and seventeen for the projecture of its capital; that he can
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span>
proportion this projecture to the general idea of his building anywhere
between these extremes and show his authority. This is
an happiness to the person of real genius;... but as all architects
are not, nor can be expected to be, of this stamp, it is needful
some standard should be established, founded upon what a good
taste shall most admire in the antique, and fixed as a model from
which to work, or as a test to which we may have recourse in
disputes and controversies."</p>
<p>If to these words be added his happy definition of the sense of
proportion as "fancy under the restraint and conduct of judgment,"
and his closing caution that "it is mean in the undertaker
of a great work to copy strictly, and it is dangerous to give a
loose to fancy <i>without a perfect knowledge how far a variation
may be justified</i>," the unprofessional reader may form some idea
of the importance of proportion and of the necessity for observing
its rules.</p>
<p>If proportion is the good breeding of architecture, symmetry,
or the answering of one part to another, may be defined as the
sanity of decoration. The desire for symmetry, for balance, for
rhythm in form as well as in sound, is one of the most inveterate
of human instincts. Yet for years Anglo-Saxons have been taught
that to pay any regard to symmetry in architecture or decoration
is to truckle to one of the meanest forms of artistic hypocrisy.
The master who has taught this strange creed, in words magical
enough to win acceptance for any doctrine, has also revealed to
his generation so many of the forgotten beauties of early art that
it is hard to dispute his principles of æsthetics. As a guide
through the byways of art, Mr. Ruskin is entitled to the reverence
and gratitude of all; but as a logical exponent of the causes and
effects of the beauty he discovers, his authority is certainly open
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span>
to question. For years he has spent the full force of his unmatched
prose in denouncing the enormity of putting a door or
a window in a certain place in order that it may correspond to another;
nor has he scrupled to declare to the victims of this practice
that it leads to abysses of moral as well as of artistic
degradation.</p>
<p>Time has taken the terror from these threats and architects are
beginning to see that a regard for external symmetry, far from
interfering with the requirements of house-planning, tends to
produce a better, because a more carefully studied, plan, as well
as a more convenient distribution of wall-space; but in the lay
mind there still lingers not only a vague association between outward
symmetry and interior discomfort, between a well-balanced
facade and badly distributed rooms, but a still vaguer notion that
regard for symmetry indicates poverty of invention, lack of ingenuity
and weak subservience to a meaningless form.</p>
<p>What the instinct for symmetry means, philosophers may be
left to explain; but that it does exist, that it means something,
and that it is most strongly developed in those races which have
reached the highest artistic civilization, must be acknowledged by
all students of sociology. It is, therefore, not superfluous to point
out that, in interior decoration as well as in architecture, a regard
for symmetry, besides satisfying a legitimate artistic requirement,
tends to make the average room not only easier to furnish, but
more comfortable to live in.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_11" id="plate_11"></a>
<img src="images/plate_11.jpg" width="450" height="345" alt=" Drawing-Room" />
<p class="caption">DRAWING-ROOM IN BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON. XVIII CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>As the effect produced by a room depends chiefly upon the
distribution of its openings, it will be well to begin by considering
the treatment of the walls. It has already been said that the
decorator can often improve a room, not only from the artistic
point of view, but as regards the comfort of its inmates, by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span>
making some slight change in the position of its openings. Take,
for instance, a library in which it is necessary to put the two
principal bookcases one on each side of a door or fireplace. If this
opening is in the <i>centre</i> of one side of the room, the wall-decorations
may be made to balance, and the bookcases may be of the same
width,—an arrangement which will give to the room an air of
spaciousness and repose. Should the wall-spaces on either side
of the opening be of unequal extent, both decorations and bookcases
must be modified in size and design; and not only does
the problem become more difficult, but the result, because necessarily
less simple, is certain to be less satisfactory. Sometimes,
on the other hand, convenience is sacrificed to symmetry; and in
such cases it is the decorator's business to remedy this defect,
while preserving to the eye the aspect of symmetry. A long
narrow room may be taken as an example. If the fireplace is in
the centre of one of the long sides of the room, with a door directly
opposite, the hearth will be without privacy and the room
virtually divided into two parts, since, in a narrow room, no one
cares to sit in a line with the doorway. This division of the room
makes it more difficult to furnish and less comfortable to live in,
besides wasting all the floor-space between the chimney and the
door. One way of overcoming the difficulty is to move the door
some distance down the long side of the room, so that the space
about the fireplace is no longer a thoroughfare, and the privacy of
the greater part of the room is preserved, even if the door be left
open. The removal of the door from the centre of one side of the
room having disturbed the equilibrium of the openings, this equilibrium
may be restored by placing in a line with the door, at the
other end of the same side-wall, a piece of furniture corresponding
as nearly as possible in height and width to the door. This
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span>
will satisfy the eye, which in matters of symmetry demands, not
absolute similarity of detail, but merely correspondence of outline
and dimensions.</p>
<p>It is idle to multiply examples of the various ways in which
such readjustments of the openings may increase the comfort and
beauty of a room. Every problem in house decoration demands a
slightly different application of the same general principles, and
the foregoing instances are intended only to show how much
depends upon the placing of openings and how reasonable is the
decorator's claim to have a share in planning the background
upon which his effects are to be produced.</p>
<p>It may surprise those whose attention has not been turned to
such matters to be told that in all but the most cheaply constructed
houses the interior walls are invariably treated as an
order. In all houses, even of the poorest kind, the walls of the
rooms are finished by a plain projecting board adjoining the
floor, surmounted by one or more mouldings. This base, as it is
called, is nothing more nor less than the part of an order between
shaft and floor, or shaft and pedestal, as the case may be. If it
be next remarked that the upper part of the wall, adjoining the
ceiling, is invariably finished by a moulded projection corresponding
with the crowning member of an order, it will be clear
that the shaft, with its capital, has simply been omitted, or that
the uniform wall-space between the base and cornice has been
regarded as replacing it. In rooms of a certain height and importance
the column or pilaster is frequently restored to its proper
place between base and cornice; but where such treatment is
too monumental for the dimensions of the room, the main lines of
the wall-space should none the less be regarded as distinctly
architectural, and the decoration applied should be subordinate to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span>
the implied existence of an order. (For the application of an
order to walls, see Plates <a href="#plate_42">XLII</a> and <a href="#plate_50">L</a>.)</p>
<p>Where the shafts are omitted, the eye undoubtedly feels a lack
of continuity in the treatment: the cornice seems to hang in air
and the effect produced is unsatisfactory. This is obviated by
the use of panelling, the vertical lines carried up at intervals from
base to cornice satisfying the need for some visible connection between
the upper and lower members of the order. Moreover, if
the lines of the openings are carried up to the cornice (as they are
in all well-designed schemes of decoration), the openings may be
considered as intercolumniations and the intermediate wall-spaces
as the shafts or piers supporting the cornice.</p>
<p>In well-finished rooms the order is usually imagined as resting,
not on the floor, but on pedestals, or rather on a continuous
pedestal. This continuous pedestal, or "dado" as it is usually
called, is represented by a plinth surmounted by mouldings, by
an intermediate member often decorated with tablets or sunk
panels with moulded margins, and by a cornice. The use of
the dado raises the chief wall-decoration of the room to a level
with the eye and prevents its being interrupted or concealed by
the furniture which may be placed against the walls. This fact
makes it clear that in all well-designed rooms there should be
a dado about two and a half feet high. If lower than this, it
does not serve its purpose of raising the wall-decoration to a
line above the furniture; while the high dado often seen in
modern American rooms throws all the rest of the panelling
out of scale and loses its own significance as the pedestal supporting
an order.</p>
<p>In rooms of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when little
furniture was used, the dado was often richly ornamented, being
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span>
sometimes painted with delicate arabesques corresponding with
those on the doors and inside shutters. As rooms grew smaller
and the quantity of furniture increased so much that the dado
was almost concealed, the treatment of the latter was wisely
simplified, being reduced, as a rule, to sunk panels and a few
strongly marked mouldings. The decorator cannot do better
than plan the ornamentation of his dado according to the amount
of furniture to be placed against the walls. In corridor or antechamber,
or in a ball-room, the dado may receive a more elaborate
treatment than is necessary in a library or drawing-room, where
probably much less of it will be seen. It was not unusual, in
the decoration of lobbies and corridors in old French and Italian
houses, to omit the dado entirely if an order was used, thus bringing
the wall-decoration down to the base-board; but this was
done only in rooms or passage-ways not meant to contain any
furniture.</p>
<p>The three noblest forms of wall-decoration are fresco-painting,
panelling, and tapestry hangings. In the best period of
decoration all three were regarded as subordinate to the architectural
lines of the room. The Italian fresco-painters, from
Giotto to Tiepolo, never lost sight of the interrelation between
painting and architecture. It matters not if the connection between
base and cornice be maintained by actual pilasters or
mouldings, or by their painted or woven imitations. The line,
and not the substance, is what the eye demands. It is a curious
perversion of artistic laws that has led certain critics to
denounce painted architecture or woven mouldings. As in
imaginative literature the author may present to his reader as
possible anything that he has the talent to make the reader
accept, so in decorative art the artist is justified in presenting to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span>
the eye whatever his skill can devise to satisfy its requirements;
nor is there any insincerity in this proceeding. Decorative art is
not an exact science. The decorator is not a chemist or a physiologist;
it is part of his mission, not to explain illusions, but to
produce them. Subject only to laws established by the limitations
of the eye, he is master of the domain of fancy, of that <i>pays bleu</i>
of the impossible that it is his privilege to throw open to the
charmed imagination.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_12" id="plate_12"></a>
<img src="images/plate_12.jpg" width="450" height="341" alt="Frescoed Ceiling" />
<p class="caption">
ROOM IN THE VILLA VERTEMATI, NEAR CHIAVENNA.<br />
XVI OR EARLY XVII CENTURY.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF FRESCOED CEILING.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Of the means of wall-decoration already named, fresco-painting
and stucco-panelling were generally preferred by Italian decorators,
and wood-panelling and tapestries by those of northern
Europe. The use of arras naturally commended itself to the
northern noble, shivering in his draughty castles and obliged
to carry from one to another the furniture and hangings that
the unsettled state of the country made it impossible to leave
behind him. Italy, however, long supplied the finest designs
to the tapestry-looms of northern Europe, as the Italian painters
provided ready-made backgrounds of peaked hills, winding
torrents and pinnacled cities to the German engravers and the
Flemish painters of their day.</p>
<p>Tapestry, in the best periods of house-decoration, was always
subordinated to the architectural lines of the room (see<a href="#plate_11"> Plate
XI</a>). Where it was not specially woven for the panels it was
intended to fill, the subdivisions of the wall-spaces were adapted
to its dimensions. It was carefully fitted into the panelling of the
room, and never made to turn an angle, as wall-paper does in
modern rooms, nor combined with other odds and ends of decoration.
If a room was tapestried, it was tapestried, not decorated
in some other way, with bits of tapestry hung here and there at
random over the fundamental lines of the decoration. Nothing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span>
can be more beautiful than tapestry properly used; but hung up
without regard to the composition of the room, here turning an
angle, there covering a part of the dado or overlapping a pilaster,
it not only loses its own value, but destroys the whole scheme of
decoration with which it is thus unmeaningly combined.</p>
<p>Italian panelling was of stone, marble or stucco, while in northern
Europe it was so generally of wood that (in England especially)
the term <i>panelling</i> has become almost synonymous with
<i>wood-panelling</i>, and in some minds there is a curious impression
that any panelling not of wood is a sham. As a matter of fact,
wood-panelling was used in northern Europe simply because it
kept the cold out more successfully than a <i>revêtement</i> of stone or
plaster; while south of the Alps its use was avoided for the
equally good reason that in hot climates it attracts vermin.</p>
<p>If priority of use be held as establishing a standard in decoration,
wood-panelling should be regarded as a sham and plaster-panelling
as its lawful prototype; for the use of stucco in the
panelling of walls and ceilings is highly characteristic of Roman
interior decoration, and wood-panelling as at present used is certainly
of later origin. But nothing can be more idle than such
comparisons, nor more misleading than the idea that stucco is a
sham because it seeks to imitate wood. It does not seek to imitate
wood. It is a recognized substance, of incalculable value for
decorative effect, and no more owes its place in decoration to
a fancied resemblance to some other material than the nave of a
cathedral owes its place in architecture to the fancied resemblance
to a ship.</p>
<p>In the hands of a great race of artistic <i>virtuosi</i> like the Italians,
stucco has produced effects of beauty which in any other substance
would have lost something of their freshness, their plastic
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span>
spontaneity. From the delicate traceries of the Roman baths and
the loveliness of Agostino da Duccio's chapel-front at Perugia, to
the improvised bravura treatment of the Farnese theatre at Parma,
it has served, through every phase of Italian art, to embody the
most refined and studied, as well as the most audacious and
ephemeral, of decorative conceptions.</p>
<p>It must not be supposed that because painting, panelling and
tapestry are the noblest forms of wall-decoration, they are necessarily
the most unattainable. Good tapestry is, of course, very
expensive, and even that which is only mediocre is beyond the
reach of the average purchaser; while stuff hangings and wall-papers,
its modern successors, have less to recommend them than
other forms of wall-decoration. With painting and panelling
the case is different. When painted walls were in fashion, there
existed, below the great creative artists, schools of decorative designers
skilled in the art of fresco-decoration, from the simplest
kind to the most ornate. The demand for such decoration would
now call forth the same order of talent, and many artists who are
wasting their energies on the production of indifferent landscapes
and unsuccessful portraits might, in the quite different field of
decorative painting, find the true expression of their talent.</p>
<p>To many minds the mention of a frescoed room suggests the
image of a grandiose saloon, with gods and goddesses of heroic
size crowding the domed ceiling and lofty walls; but the heroic
style of fresco-painting is only one of its many phases. To see
how well this form of decoration may be adapted to small modern
rooms and to our present way of living, it is only necessary to
study the walls of the little Pompeian houses, with their delicate
arabesques and slender, fanciful figures, or to note the manner in
which the Italian painters treated the small rooms of the casino or
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span>
garden-pavilion which formed part of every Italian country-seat.
Examples of this light style of decoration may be found in the
Casino del grotto in the grounds of the Palazzo del T at Mantua,
in some of the smaller rooms of the hunting-lodge of Stupinigi
near Turin, and in the casino of the Villa Valmarana near Vicenza,
where the frescoes are by Tiepolo; while in France a pleasing
instance of the same style of treatment is seen in the small octagonal
pavilion called the Belvédère, frescoed by Le Riche, in the
gardens of the Petit Trianon at Versailles.</p>
<p>As regards panelling, it has already been said that if the effect
produced be satisfactory to the eye, the substance used is a matter
of indifference. Stone-panelling has the merit of solidity, and the
outlines of massive stone mouldings are strong and dignified; but
the same effect may be produced in stucco, a material as well
suited to the purpose as stone, save for its greater fragility.
Wood-panelling is adapted to the most delicate carving, greater
sharpness of edge and clearness of undercutting being obtainable
than in stucco: though this qualification applies only to the
moulded stucco ornaments used from economy, not to those
modelled by hand. Used in the latter way, stucco may be made
to produce the same effects as carved wood, and for delicacy of
modelling in low relief it is superior to any other material. There
is, in short, little to choose between the different substances, except
in so far as one or the other may commend itself to the
artist as more peculiarly suited to the special requirements of his
design, or to the practical conditions regulating his work.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_13" id="plate_13"></a>
<img src="images/plate_13.jpg" width="450" height="358" alt="Stucco Decoration" />
<p class="caption">DRAWING-ROOM AT EASTON NESTON HALL, ENGLAND.<br />
BUILT BY NICHOLAS HAWKESMOOR, 1702.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF STUCCO DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>It is to this regard for practical conditions, and not to any
fancied superiority over other materials, that the use of wood-panelling
in northern Europe may most reasonably be attributed.
Not only was wood easy to obtain, but it had the additional
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span>
merit of keeping out the cold: two qualities sufficient to recommend
it to the common sense of French and English architects.
From the decorative point of view it has, when unpainted, one
undeniable advantage over stucco—that is, beauty of color and
veining. As a background for the dull gilding of old picture-frames,
or as a setting for tapestry, nothing can surpass the soft
rich tones of oak or walnut panelling, undefaced by the application
of a shiny varnish.</p>
<p>With the introduction of the orders into domestic architecture
and the treatment of interior walls with dado and cornice, the
panelling of the wall-space between those two members began
to assume definite proportions. In England and France, before
that time, wall-panels were often divided into small equal-sized
rectangles which, from lack of any central motive, produced
a most inadequate impression. Frequently, too, in the
houses of the Renaissance the panelling, instead of being carried
up to the ceiling, was terminated two or three feet below it a
form of treatment that reduced the height of the room and
broke the connection between walls and ceiling. This awkward
device of stunted panelling, or, as it might be called, of an unduly
heightened dado, has been revived by modern decorators; and it
is not unusual to see the walls of a room treated, as regards their
base-board and cornice, as part of an order, and then panelled up
to within a foot or two of the cornice, without apparent regard
to the true <i>raison d'être</i> of the dado (see <a href="#plate_12">Plate XII</a>).</p>
<p>If, then, the design of the wall-panelling is good, it matters
little whether stone, stucco, or wood be used. In all three it is
possible to obtain effects ranging from the grandeur of the great
loggia of the Villa Madama to the simplicity of any wood-panelled
parlor in a New England country-house, and from the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span>
greatest costliness to an outlay little larger than that required
for the purchase of a good wall-paper.</p>
<p>It was well for the future of house-decoration when medical
science declared itself against the use of wall-papers. These
hangings have, in fact, little to recommend them. Besides being
objectionable on sanitary grounds, they are inferior as a wall-decoration
to any form of treatment, however simple, that maintains,
instead of effacing, the architectural lines of a room. It was the
use of wall-paper that led to the obliteration of the over-door
and over-mantel, and to the gradual submerging under a flood
of pattern of all the main lines of the wall-spaces. Its merits
are that it is cheap, easy to put on and easy to remove. On the
other hand, it is readily damaged, soon fades, and cannot be
cleaned; while from the decorative point of view there can be
no comparison between the flat meanderings of wall-paper pattern
and the strong architectural lines of any scheme of panelling,
however simple. Sometimes, of course, the use of wall-paper
is a matter of convenience, since it saves both time and trouble;
but a papered room can never, decoratively or otherwise, be as
satisfactory as one in which the walls are treated in some other
manner.</p>
<p>The hanging of walls with chintz or any other material is even
more objectionable than the use of wall-paper, since it has not the
saving merit of cheapness. The custom is probably a survival of
the time when wall-decorations had to be made in movable
shape; and this facility of removal points to the one good reason
for using stuff hangings. In a hired house, if the wall-decorations
are ugly, and it is necessary to hide them, the rooms may
be hung with stuff which the departing tenant can take away.
In other words, stuff hangings are serviceable if used as a tent;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span>
as a permanent mode of decoration they are both unhealthy and
inappropriate. There is something unpleasant in the idea of a
dust-collecting fabric fixed to the wall, so that it cannot be
shaken out at will like a curtain. Textile fabrics are meant to be
moved, folded, shaken: they have none of the qualities of permanence
and solidity which we associate with the walls of a
room. The much-derided marble curtains of the Jesuit church in
Venice are no more illogical than stuff wall-hangings.</p>
<p>In decorating the walls of a room, the first point to be considered
is whether they are to form a background for its contents, or
to be in themselves its chief decoration. In many cases the disappointing
effects of wall-decoration are due to the fact that this
important distinction has been overlooked. In rooms that are
to be hung with prints or pictures, the panelling or other treatment
of the walls should be carefully designed with a view to the
size and number of the pictures. Pictures should never be hung
against a background of pattern. Nothing is more distressing
than the sight of a large oil-painting in a ponderous frame seemingly
suspended from a spray of wild roses or any of the other
naturalistic vegetation of the modern wall-paper. The overlaying
of pattern is always a mistake. It produces a confusion of line in
which the finest forms lose their individuality and significance.</p>
<p>It is also important to avoid hanging pictures or prints too close
to each other. Not only do the colors clash, but the different
designs of the frames, some of which may be heavy, with deeply
recessed mouldings, while others are flat and carved in low relief,
produce an equally discordant impression. Every one recognizes
the necessity of selecting the mouldings and other ornamental
details of a room with a view to their position in the scheme of
decoration; but few stop to consider that in a room hung with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span>
pictures, the frames take the place of wall-mouldings, and consequently
must be chosen and placed as though they were part of a
definite decorative composition.</p>
<p>Pictures and prints should be fastened to the wall, not hung by
a cord or wire, nor allowed to tilt forward at an angle. The latter
arrangement is specially disturbing since it throws the picture-frames
out of the line of the wall. It must never be forgotten
that pictures on a wall, whether set in panels or merely framed
and hung, inevitably become a part of the wall-decoration. In
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, in rooms of any importance,
pictures were always treated as a part of the decoration,
and frequently as panels sunk in the wall in a setting of carved
wood or stucco mouldings (see paintings in Plates <a href="#plate_5">V</a> and <a href="#plate_19">XIX</a>).
Even when not set in panels, they were always fixed to the wall,
and their frames, whether of wood or stucco, were made to correspond
with the ornamental detail of the rest of the room. Beautiful
examples of this mode of treatment are seen in many English
interiors of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,<a name="FNanchor_10" id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> and some
of the finest carvings of Grinling Gibbons were designed for this
purpose.</p>
<p>Even where the walls are not to be hung with pictures, it is
necessary to consider what kind of background the furniture and
objects of art require. If the room is to be crowded with cabinets,
bookcases and other tall pieces, and these, as well as the
tables and mantel-shelf, are to be covered with porcelain vases,
bronze statuettes, ivories, Chinese monsters and Chelsea groups,
a plain background should be provided for this many-colored
medley. Should the room contain only a few important pieces
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span>
of furniture, and one or two vases or busts, the walls against
which these strongly marked objects are to be placed may receive
a more decorative treatment. It is only in rooms used for
entertaining, dining, or some special purpose for which little furniture
is required, that the walls should receive a more elaborate
scheme of decoration.</p>
<p>Where the walls are treated in an architectural manner, with a
well-designed dado and cornice, and an over-mantel and over-doors
connecting the openings with the cornice, it will be found
that in a room of average size the intervening wall-spaces may
be tinted in a uniform color and left unornamented. If the fundamental
lines are right, very little decorative detail is needed to
complete the effect; whereas, when the lines are wrong, no overlaying
of ornamental odds and ends, in the way of pictures, bric-à-brac
and other improvised expedients, will conceal the structural
deficiencies.</p>
<h3 class="p6">IV</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span></p>
<h3>DOORS</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he fate of the door in America has been a curious one, and
had the other chief features of the house—such as windows,
fireplaces, and stairs—been pursued with the same relentless
animosity by architects and decorators, we should no longer
be living in houses at all. First, the door was slid into the wall;
then even its concealed presence was resented, and it was unhung
and replaced by a portière; while of late it has actually
ceased to form a part of house-building, and many recently built
houses contain doorways <i>without doors</i>. Even the front door,
which might seem to have too valid a reason for existence to be
disturbed by the variations of fashion, has lately had to yield its
place, in the more pretentious kind of house, to a wrought-iron
gateway lined with plate-glass, against which, as a climax of inconsequence,
a thick curtain is usually hung.</p>
<p>It is not difficult to explain such architectural vagaries. In
general, their origin is to be found in the misapplication of some
serviceable feature and its consequent rejection by those who did
not understand that it had ceased to be useful only because it
was not properly used.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_14" id="plate_14"></a>
<img src="images/plate_14.jpg" width="450" height="578" alt="Marble Architrave" />
<p class="caption">DOORWAY WITH MARBLE ARCHITRAVE,<br />
DUCAL PALACE, MANTUA. XVI CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XIV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In the matter of doors, such an explanation at once presents
itself. During the latter half of the eighteenth century it occurred
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span>
to some ingenious person that when two adjoining rooms were
used for entertaining, and it was necessary to open the doors between
them, these doors might be in the way; and to avoid
this possibility, a recess was formed in the thickness of the wall,
and the door was made to slide into it.</p>
<p>This idea apparently originated in England, for sliding doors,
even in the present day, are virtually unknown on the continent;
and Isaac Ware, in the book already quoted, speaks of the sliding
door as having been used "at the house, late Mr. de Pestre's, near
Hanover Square," and adds that "the manner of it there may
serve as an example to other builders," showing it to have been
a novelty which he thought worthy of imitation.</p>
<p>English taste has never been so sure as that of the Latin races;
and it has, moreover, been perpetually modified by a passion for
contriving all kinds of supposed "conveniences," which instead
of simplifying life not unfrequently tend to complicate it. Americans
have inherited this trait, and in both countries the architect or
upholsterer who can present a new and more intricate way of
planning a house or of making a piece of furniture, is more sure
of a hearing than he who follows the accepted lines.</p>
<p>It is doubtful if the devices to which so much is sacrificed in
English and American house-planning always offer the practical
advantages attributed to them. In the case of the sliding door
these advantages are certainly open to question, since there is no
reason why a door should not open into a room. Under ordinary
circumstances, doors should always be kept shut; it is only, as
Ware points out, when two adjoining rooms are used for entertaining
that it is necessary to leave the door between them open.
Now, between two rooms destined for entertaining, a double door
(<i>à deux battants</i>) is always preferable to a single one; and as an
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span>
opening four feet six inches wide is sufficient in such cases, each
of the doors will be only two feet three inches wide, and therefore
cannot encroach to any serious extent on the floor-space of the
room. On the other hand, much has been sacrificed to the
supposed "convenience" of the sliding door: first, the decorative
effect of a well-panelled door, with hinges, box-locks and handle
of finely chiselled bronze; secondly, the privacy of both rooms,
since the difficulty of closing a heavy sliding door always leads to
its being left open, with the result that two rooms are necessarily
used as one. In fact, the absence of privacy in modern houses
is doubtless in part due to the difficulty of closing the doors between
the rooms.</p>
<p>The sliding door has led to another abuse in house-planning:
the exaggerated widening of the doorway. While doors were
hung on hinges, doorways were of necessity restricted to their
proper dimensions; but with the introduction of the sliding door,
openings eight or ten feet wide became possible. The planning
of a house is often modified by a vague idea on the part of its
owners that they may wish to give entertainments on a large
scale. As a matter of fact, general entertainments are seldom
given in a house of average size; and those who plan their houses
with a view to such possibilities sacrifice their daily comfort to
an event occurring perhaps once a year. But even where many
entertainments are to be given large doorways are of little use.
Any architect of experience knows that ease of circulation depends
far more on the planning of the house and on the position
of the openings than on the actual dimensions of the latter.
Indeed, two moderate-sized doorways leading from one room
to another are of much more use in facilitating the movements
of a crowd than one opening ten feet wide.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span></p>
<p>Sliding doors have been recommended on the ground that their
use preserves a greater amount of wall-space; but two doorways
of moderate dimensions, properly placed, will preserve as much
wall-space as one very large opening and will probably permit a
better distribution of panelling and furniture. There was far more
wall-space in seventeenth and eighteenth-century rooms than there
is in rooms of the same dimensions in the average modern American
house; and even where this space was not greater in actual
measurement, more furniture could be used, since the openings
were always placed with a view to the proper arrangement of
what the room was to contain.</p>
<p>According to the best authorities, the height of a well-proportioned
doorway should be twice its width; and as the height is
necessarily regulated by the stud of the room, it follows that the
width varies; but it is obvious that no doorway should be less
than six feet high nor less than three feet wide.</p>
<p>When a doorway is over three feet six inches wide, a pair of
doors should always be used; while a single door is preferable in
a narrow opening.</p>
<p>In rooms twelve feet or less in height, doorways should not be
more than nine feet high. The width of openings in such rooms
is therefore restricted to four feet six inches; indeed, it is permissible
to make the opening lower and thus reduce its width to
four feet; six inches of additional wall-space are not to be despised
in a room of average dimensions.</p>
<p>The treatment of the door forms one of the most interesting
chapters in the history of house-decoration. In feudal castles the
interior doorway, for purposes of defense, was made so small and
narrow that only one person could pass through at a time, and
was set in a plain lintel or architrave of stone, the door itself being
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span>
fortified by bands of steel or iron, and by heavy bolts and bars.
Even at this early period it seems probable that in the chief apartments
the lines of the doorway were carried up to the ceiling by
means of an over-door of carved wood, or of some painted decorative
composition.<a name="FNanchor_11" id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> This connection between the doorway and
the ceiling, maintained through all the subsequent phases of house-decoration,
was in fact never disregarded until the beginning of
the present century.</p>
<p>It was in Italy that the door, in common with the other features
of private dwellings, first received a distinctly architectural treatment.
In Italian palaces of the fifteenth century the doorways
were usually framed by architraves of marble, enriched with
arabesques, medallions and processional friezes in low relief,
combined with disks of colored marble. Interesting examples
of this treatment are seen in the apartments of Isabella of Este in
the ducal palace at Mantua (see <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV</a>), in the ducal palace at
Urbino, and in the Certosa of Pavia—some of the smaller doorways
in this monastery being decorated with medallion portraits
of the Sforzas, and with other low reliefs of extraordinary beauty.</p>
<p>The doors in Italian palaces were usually of inlaid wood, elaborate
in composition and affording in many cases beautiful instances
of that sense of material limitation that preserves one
art from infringing upon another. The intarsia doors of the
palace at Urbino are among the most famous examples of this
form of decoration. It should be noted that many of the woods
used in Italian marquetry were of a light shade, so that the blending
of colors in Renaissance doors produces a sunny golden-brown
tint in perfect harmony with the marble architrave of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span>
doorway. The Italian decorator would never have permitted so
harsh a contrast as that between the white trim and the mahogany
doors of English eighteenth-century houses. This juxtaposition
of colors was disapproved by French decorators also, and
was seldom seen except in England and in the American houses
built under English influence. It should be observed, too, that
the polish given to hard-grained wood in England, and imitated
in the wood-varnish of the present day, was never in favor in
Italy and France. Shiny surfaces were always disliked by the
best decorators.</p>
<p>The classic revival in Italy necessarily modified the treatment
of the doorway. Flat arabesques and delicately chiselled medallions
gave way to a plain architrave, frequently masked by an
order; while the over-door took the form of a pediment, or, in
the absence of shafts, of a cornice or entablature resting on
brackets. The use of a pediment over interior doorways was
characteristic of Italian decoration.</p>
<p>In studying Italian interiors of this period from photographs or
modern prints, or even in visiting the partly dilapidated palaces
themselves, it may at first appear that the lines of the doorway
were not always carried up to the cornice. Several causes have
combined to produce this impression. In the first place, the
architectural treatment of the over-door was frequently painted on
the wall, and has consequently disappeared with the rest of the
wall-decoration (see <a href="#plate_15">Plate XV</a>). Then, again, Italian rooms
were often painted with landscapes and out-of-door architectural
effects, and when this was done the doorways were combined
with these architectural compositions, and were not treated as
part of the room, but as part of what the room <i>pretended to be</i>.
In the suppressed Scuola della Carità (now the Academy of Fine
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span>
Arts) at Venice, one may see a famous example of this treatment
in the doorway under the stairs leading up to the temple, in
Titian's great painting of the "Presentation of the Virgin."<a name="FNanchor_12" id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>
Again, in the high-studded Italian saloons containing a musician's
gallery, or a clerestory, a cornice was frequently carried
around the walls at suitable height above the lower range of
openings, and the decorative treatment above the doors, windows
and fireplace extended only to this cornice, not to the
actual ceiling of the room.</p>
<p>Thus it will be seen that the relation between the openings and
cornice in Italian decoration was in reality always maintained
except where the decorator chose to regard them as forming a
part, not of the room, but of some other architectural composition.</p>
<p>In the sixteenth century the excessive use of marquetry was
abandoned, doors being panelled, and either left undecorated or
painted with those light animated combinations of figure and arabesque
which Raphael borrowed from the Roman fresco-painters,
and which since his day have been peculiarly characteristic of
Italian decorative painting.<a name="FNanchor_13" id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p>
<p>Wood-carving in Italy was little used in house-decoration, and,
as a rule, the panelling of doors was severely architectural in character,
with little of the delicate ornamentation marking the French
work of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.<a name="FNanchor_14" id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_15" id="plate_15"></a>
<img src="images/plate_15.jpg" width="450" height="345" alt="Sala dei Cavalli" />
<p class="caption">SALA DEI CAVALLI, PALAZZO DEL T, MANTUA. XVI CENTURY.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF PAINTED ARCHITECTURAL DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In France the application of the orders to interior doorways
was never very popular, though it figures in French architectural
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span>
works of the eighteenth century. The architrave, except in
houses of great magnificence, was usually of wood, sometimes
very richly carved. It was often surmounted by an entablature
with a cornice resting on carved brackets; while the panel between
this and the ceiling-cornice was occupied by an over-door
consisting either of a painting, of a carved panel or of a stucco or
marble bas-relief. These over-doors usually corresponded with
the design of the over-mantel.</p>
<p>Great taste and skill were displayed in the decoration of door-panels
and embrasure. In the earlier part of the seventeenth
century, doors and embrasures were usually painted, and nothing
in the way of decorative painting can exceed in beauty and fitness
the French compositions of this period.<a name="FNanchor_15" id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p>
<p>During the reign of Louis XIV, doors were either carved or
painted, and their treatment ranged from the most elaborate decoration
to the simplest panelling set in a plain wooden architrave.
In some French doors of this period painting and carving were
admirably combined; and they were further ornamented by the
chiselled locks and hinges for which French locksmiths were
famous. So important a part did these locks and hinges play in
French decoration that Lebrun himself is said to have designed
those in the Galerie d'Apollon, in the Louvre, when he composed
the decoration of the room. Even in the simplest private houses,
where chiselled bronze was too expensive a luxury, and wrought-iron
locks and hinges, with plain knobs of brass or iron, were used
instead, such attention was paid to both design and execution
that it is almost impossible to find in France an old lock or hinge,
however plain, that is not well designed and well made (see
<a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII</a>). The miserable commercial article that disgraces
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span>
our modern doors would not have been tolerated in the most unpretentious
dwelling.</p>
<p>The mortise-lock now in use in England and America first
made its appearance toward the end of the eighteenth century
in England, where it displaced the brass or iron box-lock; but on
the Continent it has never been adopted. It is a poor substitute
for the box-lock, since it not only weakens but disfigures the
door, while a well-designed box-lock is both substantial and
ornamental (see <a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII</a>).</p>
<p>In many minds the Louis XV period is associated with a general
waviness of line and excess of carving. It has already been
pointed out that even when the rocaille manner was at its height
the main lines of a room were seldom allowed to follow the capricious
movement of the ornamental accessories. Openings
being the leading features of a room, their main lines were almost
invariably respected; and while considerable play of movement
was allowed in some of the accessory mouldings of the over-doors
and over-mantels, the plan of the panel, in general symmetrical,
was in many cases a plain rectangle.<a name="FNanchor_16" id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p>
<p>During the Louis XV period the panelling of doors was frequently
enriched with elaborate carving; but such doors are to be
found only in palaces, or in princely houses like the Hôtels de
Soubise, de Rohan, or de Toulouse (see <a href="#plate_18">Plate XVIII</a>). In the
most magnificent apartments, moreover, plain panelled doors
were as common as those adorned with carving; while in the
average private hôtel, even where much ornament was lavished
on the panelling of the walls, the doors were left plain.</p>
<p>Towards the close of this reign, when the influence of Gabriel
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span>
began to simplify and restrain the ornamental details of house-decoration,
the panelled door was often made without carving
and was sometimes painted with attenuated arabesques and
grisaille medallions, relieved against a gold ground. Gabriel gave
the key-note of what is known as Louis XVI decoration, and the
treatment of the door in France followed the same general lines
until the end of the eighteenth century. As the classic influence
became more marked, paintings in the over-door and over-mantel
were replaced by low or high reliefs in stucco: and towards the
end of the Louis XVI period a processional frieze in the classic
manner often filled the entablature above the architrave of the
door (see <a href="#plate_16">Plate XVI</a>).</p>
<p>Doors opening upon a terrace, or leading from an antechamber
into a summer-parlor, or <i>salon frais</i>, were frequently made of glass;
while in gala rooms, doors so situated as to correspond with the
windows of the room were sometimes made of looking-glass.
In both these instances the glass was divided into small panes,
with such strongly marked mouldings that there could not be a
moment's doubt of the apparent, as well as the actual, solidity of
the door. In good decorative art first impressions are always
taken into account, and the immediate satisfaction of the eye is
provided for.</p>
<p>In England the treatment of doorway and door followed in a
general way the Italian precedent. The architrave, as a rule, was
severely architectural, and in the eighteenth century the application
of an order was regarded as almost essential in rooms of a
certain importance. The door itself was sometimes inlaid,<a name="FNanchor_17" id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> but
oftener simply panelled (see <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI</a>).</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span></p>
<p>In the panelling of doors, English taste, except when it closely
followed Italian precedents, was not always good. The use of a
pair of doors in one opening was confined to grand houses, and in
the average dwelling single doors were almost invariably used,
even in openings over three feet wide. The great width of some
of these single doors led to a curious treatment of the panels, the
door being divided by a central stile, which was sometimes
beaded, as though, instead of a single door, it were really a pair
held together by some invisible agency. This central stile is
almost invariably seen in the doors of modern American houses.</p>
<p>Towards the middle of the eighteenth century the use of highly
polished mahogany doors became general in England. It has
already been pointed out that the juxtaposition of a dark-colored
door and a white architrave was not approved by French and
Italian architects. Blondel, in fact, expressly states that such
contrasts are to be avoided, and that where walls are pale in
tint the door should never be dark: thus in vestibules and antechambers
panelled with Caen stone he recommends painting the
doors a pale shade of gray.</p>
<p>In Italy, when doors were left unpainted they were usually
made of walnut, a wood of which the soft, dull tone harmonizes
well with almost any color, whether light or dark; while in
France it would not be easy to find an unpainted door, except
in rooms where the wall-panelling is also of natural wood.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_16" id="plate_16"></a>
<img src="images/plate_16.jpg" width="450" height="576" alt="Sala Dello Zodiaco" />
<p class="caption">DOOR IN THE SALA DELLO ZODIACO,<br />
DUCAL PALACE, MANTUA. XVIII CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XVI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In the better type of house lately built in America there is seen
a tendency to return to the use of doors hung on hinges. These,
however, have been so long out of favor that the rules regulating
their dimensions have been lost sight of, and the modern door
and architrave are seldom satisfactory in these respects. The
principles of proportion have been further disturbed by a return
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span>
to the confused and hesitating system of panelling prevalent in
England during the Tudor and Elizabethan periods.</p>
<p>The old French and Italian architects never failed to respect
that rule of decorative composition which prescribes that where
there is any division of parts, one part shall unmistakably predominate.
In conformity with this rule, the principal panel in
doors of French or Italian design is so much higher than the
others that these are at once seen to be merely accessory;
whereas many of our modern doors are cut up into so many
small panels, and the central one so little exceeds the others
in height, that they do not "compose."</p>
<p>The architrave of the modern door has been neglected for
the same reasons as the window-architrave. The use of the
heavy sliding door, which could not be opened or shut without
an effort, led to the adoption of the portière; and the architrave,
being thus concealed, was no longer regarded as a feature of any
importance in the decoration of the room.</p>
<p>The portière has always been used, as old prints and pictures
show; but, like the curtain, in earlier days it was simply intended
to keep out currents of air, and was consequently seldom seen in
well-built houses, where double sets of doors served far better to
protect the room from draughts. In less luxurious rooms, where
there were no double doors, and portières had to be used, these
were made as scant and unobtrusive as possible. The device
of draping stuffs about the doorway, thus substituting a textile
architrave for one of wood or stone, originated with the modern
upholsterer; and it is now not unusual to see a wide opening
with no door in it, enclosed in yards and yards of draperies
which cannot even be lowered at will.</p>
<p>The portière, besides causing a break in architectural lines,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span>
has become one of the chief expenses in the decoration of the
modern room; indeed, the amount spent in buying yards of
plush or damask, with the addition of silk cord, tassels, gimp
and fringe, often makes it necessary to slight the essential features
of the room; so that an ugly mantelpiece or ceiling is preserved
because the money required to replace it has been used in the
purchase of portières. These superfluous draperies are, in fact,
more expensive than a well-made door with hinges and box-lock
of chiselled bronze.</p>
<p>The general use of the portière has also caused the disappearance
of the over-door. The lines of the opening being hidden
under a mass of drapery, the need of connecting them with the
cornice was no longer felt, and one more feature of the room
passed out of the architect's hands into those of the upholsterer,
or, as he might more fitly be called, the house-dressmaker.</p>
<p>The return to better principles of design will do more than
anything else to restore the architectural lines of the room.
Those who use portières generally do so from an instinctive feeling
that a door is an ugly thing that ought to be hidden, and
modern doors are in fact ugly; but when architects give to the
treatment of openings the same attention they formerly received,
it will soon be seen that this ugliness is not a necessity, and
portières will disappear with the return of well-designed doors.</p>
<p>Some general hints concerning the distribution of openings
have been given in the chapter on walls. It may be noted in addition
that while all doorways in a room should, as a rule, be
of one height, there are cases where certain clearly subordinate
openings may be lower than those which contain doors <i>à deux
battants</i>. In such cases the panelling of the door must be carefully
modified in accordance with the dimensions of the opening,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span>
and the treatment of the over-doors in their relation to each
other must be studied with equal attention. Examples of such
adaptations are to be found in many old French and Italian
rooms.<a name="FNanchor_18" id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_17" id="plate_17"></a>
<img src="images/plate_17.jpg" width="450" height="586" alt="French Locks" />
<p class="caption">EXAMPLES OF MODERN FRENCH LOCKSMITHS' WORK.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XVII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Doors should always swing <i>into</i> a room. This facilitates entrance
and gives the hospitable impression that everything is
made easy to those who are coming in. Doors should furthermore
be so hung that they screen that part of the room in which
the occupants usually sit. In small rooms, especially those in
town houses, this detail cannot be too carefully considered. The
fact that so many doors open in the wrong way is another excuse
for the existence of portières.</p>
<p>A word must also be said concerning the actual making of the
door. There is a general impression that veneered doors or furniture
are cheap substitutes for articles made of solid blocks of wood.
As a matter of fact, owing to the high temperature of American
houses, all well-made wood-work used in this country is of necessity
composed of at least three, and often of five, layers of wood.
This method of veneering, in which the layers are so placed that
the grain runs in different directions, is the only way of counteracting
the shrinking and swelling of the wood under artificial heat.</p>
<p>To some minds the concealed door represents one of those
architectural deceptions which no necessity can excuse. It is certain
that the concealed door is an expedient, and that in a well-planned
house there should be no need for expedients, unless the
architect is hampered by limitations of space, as is the case in
designing the average American town house. Architects all
know how many principles of beauty and fitness must be sacrificed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span>
to the restrictions of a plot of ground twenty-five feet wide
by seventy-five or a hundred in length. Under such conditions,
every device is permissible that helps to produce an effect of
spaciousness and symmetry without interfering with convenience:
chief among these contrivances being the concealed door.</p>
<p>Such doors are often useful in altering or adding to a badly
planned house. It is sometimes desirable to give increased facilities
of communication without adding to the visible number of
openings in any one room; while in other cases the limited
amount of wall-space may make it difficult to find place for a
doorway corresponding in dimensions with the others; or, again,
where it is necessary to make a closet under the stairs, the architrave
of a visible door may clash awkwardly with the stringboard.</p>
<p>Under such conditions the concealed door naturally suggests
itself. To those who regard its use as an offense against artistic
integrity, it must once more be pointed out that architecture
addresses itself not to the moral sense, but to the eye. The existing
confusion on this point is partly due to the strange analogy
drawn by modern critics between artistic sincerity and moral law.
Analogies are the most dangerous form of reasoning: they connect
resemblances, but disguise facts; and in this instance nothing
can be more fallacious than to measure the architect's action by
an ethical standard.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_18" id="plate_18"></a>
<img src="images/plate_18.jpg" width="377" height="550" alt="Carved Door at Versailles" />
<p class="caption">CARVED DOOR, PALACE OF VERSAILLES.<br />
LOUIS XV PERIOD.<br />
(SHOWING PAINTED OVER-DOOR.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XVIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>"Sincerity," in many minds, is chiefly associated with speaking
the truth; but architectural sincerity is simply obedience to certain
visual requirements, one of which demands that what are at once
seen to be the main lines of a room or house shall be acknowledged
as such in the application of ornament. The same architectural
principles demand that the main lines of a room shall not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span>
be unnecessarily interrupted; and in certain cases it would be bad
taste to disturb the equilibrium of wall-spaces and decoration by
introducing a visible door leading to some unimportant closet or
passageway, of which the existence need not be known to any
but the inmates of the house. It is in such cases that the concealed
door is a useful expedient. It can hardly be necessary to
point out that it would be a great mistake to place a concealed
door in a main opening. These openings should always be
recognized as one of the chief features of the room, and so treated
by the decorator; but this point has already been so strongly
insisted upon that it is reverted to here only in order to show how
different are the requirements which justify concealment.</p>
<p>The concealed door has until recently been used so little by
American architects that its construction is not well understood,
and it is often hung on ordinary visible hinges, instead of being
swung on a pivot. There is no reason why, with proper care, a
door of this kind should not be so nicely adjusted to the wall-panelling
as to be practically invisible; and to fulfil this condition
is the first necessity of its construction (see concealed door in
<a href="#plate_45">Plate XLV</a>).</p>
<h3 class="p6">V</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span></p>
<h3>WINDOWS</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">I</span>n the decorative treatment of a room the importance of openings
can hardly be overestimated. Not only do they represent
the three chief essentials of its comfort,—light, heat and means
of access,—but they are the leading features in that combination
of voids and masses that forms the basis of architectural harmony.
In fact, it is chiefly because the decorative value of openings has
ceased to be recognized that modern rooms so seldom produce a
satisfactory and harmonious impression. It used to be thought
that the effect of a room depended on the treatment of its
wall-spaces and openings; now it is supposed to depend on its
curtains and furniture. Accessory details have crowded out the
main decorative features; and, as invariably happens when the
relation of parts is disturbed, everything in the modern room has
been thrown out of balance by this confusion between the essential
and the incidental in decoration.<a name="FNanchor_19" id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p>
<p>The return to a more architectural treatment of rooms and
to a recognition of the decorative value of openings, besides producing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span>
much better results, would undoubtedly reduce the
expense of house-decoration. A small quantity of ornament,
properly applied, will produce far more effect than ten times its
amount used in the wrong way; and it will be found that when
decorators rely for their effects on the treatment of openings,
the rest of the room will require little ornamentation. The
crowding of rooms with furniture and bric-à-brac is doubtless
partly due to an unconscious desire to fill up the blanks caused
by the lack of architectural composition in the treatment of
the walls.</p>
<p>The importance of connecting the main lines of the openings
with the cornice having been explained in the previous chapter,
it is now necessary to study the different openings in turn, and to
see in how many ways they serve to increase the dignity and
beauty of their surroundings.</p>
<p>As light-giving is the main purpose for which windows are
made, the top of the window should be as near the ceiling as the
cornice will allow. Ventilation, the secondary purpose of the
window, is also better served by its being so placed, since an
opening a foot wide near the ceiling will do more towards airing
a room than a space twice as large near the floor. In our northern
States, where the dark winter days and the need of artificial
heat make light and ventilation so necessary, these considerations
are especially important. In Italian palaces the windows are generally
lower than in more northern countries, since the greater
intensity of the sunshine makes a much smaller opening sufficient;
moreover, in Italy, during the summer, houses are not kept
cool by letting in the air, but by shutting it out.</p>
<p>Windows should not exceed five feet in width, while in small
rooms openings three feet wide will be found sufficient. There
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span>
are practical as well as artistic reasons for observing this rule,
since a sash-window containing a sheet of glass more than five
feet wide cannot be so hung that it may be raised without effort;
while a casement, or French window, though it may be made
somewhat wider, is not easy to open if its width exceeds six feet.</p>
<p>The next point to consider is the distance between the bottom
of the window and the floor. This must be decided by circumstances,
such as the nature of the view, the existence of a balcony
or veranda, or the wish to have a window-seat. The outlook
must also be considered, and the window treated in one way if
it looks upon the street, and in another if it gives on the garden
or informal side of the house. In the country nothing is more
charming than the French window opening to the floor. On the
more public side of the house, unless the latter gives on an enclosed
court, it is best that the windows should be placed about
three feet from the floor, so that persons approaching the house
may not be able to look in. Windows placed at this height
should be provided with a fixed seat, or with one of the little
settees with arms, but without a back, formerly used for this
purpose.</p>
<p>Although for practical reasons it may be necessary that the
same room should contain some windows opening to the floor
and others raised several feet above it, the tops of all the windows
should be on a level. To place them at different heights serves
no useful end, and interferes with any general scheme of decoration
and more specially with the arrangement of curtains.</p>
<p>Mullions dividing a window in the centre should be avoided
whenever possible, since they are an unnecessary obstruction to
the view. The chief drawback to a casement window is that its
sashes join in the middle; but as this is a structural necessity, it
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span>
is less objectionable. If mullions are required, they should be so
placed as to divide the window into three parts, thus preserving
an unobstructed central pane. The window called Palladian illustrates
this point.</p>
<p>Now that large plate-glass windows have ceased to be a novelty,
it will perhaps be recognized that the old window with subdivided
panes had certain artistic and practical merits that have
of late been disregarded.</p>
<p>Where there is a fine prospect, windows made of a single plate
of glass are often preferred; but it must be remembered that the
subdivisions of a sash, while obstructing the view, serve to establish
a relation between the inside of the house and the landscape,
making the latter what, <i>as seen from a room</i>, it logically ought to
be: a part of the wall-decoration, in the sense of being subordinated
to the same general lines. A large unbroken sheet of plate-glass
interrupts the decorative scheme of the room, just as in verse,
if the distances between the rhymes are so great that the ear cannot
connect them, the continuity of sound is interrupted. Decoration
must rhyme to the eye, and to do so must be subject to the
limitations of the eye, as verse is subject to the limitations of the
ear. Success in any art depends on a due regard for the limitations
of the sense to which it appeals.</p>
<p>The effect of a perpetually open window, produced by a large
sheet of plate-glass, while it gives a sense of coolness and the
impression of being out of doors, becomes for these very reasons
a disadvantage in cold weather.</p>
<p>It is sometimes said that the architects of the eighteenth century
would have used large plates of glass in their windows had
they been able to obtain them; but as such plates were frequently
used for mirrors, it is evident that they were not difficult to get,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span>
and that there must have been other reasons for not employing
them in windows; while the additional expense could hardly
have been an obstacle in an age when princes and nobles built
with such royal disregard of cost. The French, always logical
in such matters, having tried the effect of plate-glass, are now
returning to the old fashion of smaller panes; and in many of the
new houses in Paris, where the windows at first contained large
plates of glass, the latter have since been subdivided by a network
of narrow mouldings applied to the glass.</p>
<p>As to the comparative merits of French, or casement, and
sash windows, both arrangements have certain advantages. In
houses built in the French or Italian style, casement windows
are best adapted to the general treatment; while the sash-window
is more in keeping in English houses. Perhaps the best
way of deciding the question is to remember that "les fenêtres
sont intimement liées aux grandes lignes de l'architecture," and
to conform to the rule suggested by this axiom.</p>
<p>The two common objections to French windows—that they
are less convenient for ventilation, and that they cannot be opened
without letting in cold air near the floor—are both unfounded.
All properly made French windows have at the top an impost
or stationary part containing small panes, one of which is made
to open, thus affording perfect ventilation without draught. Another
expedient, seen in one of the rooms of Mesdames de France
at Versailles, is a small pane in the main part of the window,
opening on hinges of its own. (For examples of well-designed
French windows, see Plates <a href="#plate_30">XXX</a> and <a href="#plate_31">XXXI</a>.)</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_19" id="plate_19"></a>
<img src="images/plate_19.jpg" width="450" height="339" alt="Salon des Malachites" />
<p class="caption">SALON DES MALACHITES, GRAND TRIANON, VERSAILLES.<br />
LOUIS XIV PERIOD.<br />
(SHOWING WELL-DESIGNED WINDOW WITH SOLID INSIDE SHUTTER, AND PICTURES
FORMING PART OF WALL-DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XIX.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Sash-windows have the disadvantage of not opening more than
half-way, a serious drawback in our hot summer climate. It is
often said that French windows cannot be opened wide without
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span>
interfering with the curtains; but this difficulty is easily met by
the use of curtains made with cords and pulleys, in the sensible
old-fashioned manner. The real purpose of the window-curtain
is to regulate the amount of light admitted to the room, and a
curtain so arranged that it cannot be drawn backward and forward
at will is but a meaningless accessory. It was not until the
beginning of the present century that curtains were used without
regard to their practical purpose. The window-hangings of the
middle ages and of the Renaissance were simply straight pieces
of cloth or tapestry hung across the window without any attempt
at drapery, and regarded not as part of the decoration of the
room, but as a necessary protection against draughts. It is probably
for this reason that in old prints and pictures representing the
rooms of wealthy people, curtains are so seldom seen. The better
the house, the less need there was for curtains. In the engravings
of Abraham Bosse, which so faithfully represent the interior decoration
of every class of French house during the reign of Louis
XIII, it will be noticed that in the richest apartments there are no
window-curtains. In all the finest rooms of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries the inside shutters and embrasures of the
windows were decorated with a care which proves that they
were not meant to be concealed by curtains (see the painted
embrasures of the saloon in the Villa Vertemati, <a href="#plate_44">Plate XLIV</a>).
The shutters in the state apartments of Fouquet's château of
Vaux-le-Vicomte, near Melun, are painted on both sides with
exquisite arabesques; while those in the apartments of Mesdames
de France, on the ground floor of the palace of Versailles, are
examples of the most beautiful carving. In fact, it would be more
difficult to cite a room of any importance in which the windows
were not so treated, than to go on enumerating examples of what
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span>
was really a universal custom until the beginning of the present
century. It is known, of course, that curtains were used in
former times: prints, pictures and inventories alike prove this
fact; but the care expended on the decorative treatment of windows
makes it plain that the curtain, like the portière, was regarded
as a necessary evil rather than as part of the general scheme of decoration.
The meagreness and simplicity of the curtains in old
pictures prove that they were used merely as window shades or
sun-blinds. The scant straight folds pushed back from the tall
windows of the Prince de Conti's salon, in Olivier's charming
picture of "Le Thé à l'Anglaise chez le Prince de Conti," are as
obviously utilitarian as the strip of green woollen stuff hanging
against the leaded casement of the mediæval bed-chamber in Carpaccio's
"Dream of St. Ursula."</p>
<p>Another way of hanging window-curtains in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries was to place them inside the architrave,
so that they did not conceal it. The architectural treatment of
the trim, and the practice prevalent at that period of carrying the
windows up to the cornice, made this a satisfactory way of arranging
the curtain; but in the modern American house, where
the trim is usually bad, and where there is often a dreary waste
of wall-paper between the window and the ceiling, it is better
to hang the curtains close under the cornice.</p>
<p>It was not until the eighteenth century that the window-curtain
was divided in the middle; and this change was intended
only to facilitate the drawing of the hangings, which, owing to
the increased size of the windows, were necessarily wider and
heavier. The curtain continued to hang down in straight folds,
pulled back at will to permit the opening of the window, and
drawn at night. Fixed window-draperies, with festoons and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span>
folds so arranged that they cannot be lowered or raised, are an
invention of the modern upholsterer. Not only have these fixed
draperies done away with the true purpose of the curtain, but
they have made architects and decorators careless in their treatment
of openings. The architrave and embrasure of a window
are now regarded as of no more importance in the decorative
treatment of a room than the inside of the chimney.</p>
<p>The modern use of the lambrequin as an ornamental finish to
window-curtains is another instance of misapplied decoration.
Its history is easy to trace. The mediæval bed was always enclosed
in curtains hanging from a wooden framework, and the
lambrequin was used as a kind of cornice to conceal it. When
the use of gathered window-shades became general in Italy, the
lambrequin was transferred from the bed to the window, in
order to hide the clumsy bunches of folds formed by these shades
when drawn up. In old prints, lambrequins over windows are
almost always seen in connection with Italian shades, and this is
the only logical way of using them; though they are often of
service in concealing the defects of badly-shaped windows and
unarchitectural trim.</p>
<p>Those who criticize the architects and decorators of the past are
sometimes disposed to think that they worked in a certain way
because they were too ignorant to devise a better method;
whereas they were usually controlled by practical and artistic
considerations which their critics are prone to disregard, not only
in judging the work of the past, but in the attempt to make good
its deficiencies. Thus the cabinet-makers of the Renaissance did
not make straight-backed wooden chairs because they were incapable
of imagining anything more comfortable, but because
the former were better adapted than cushioned arm-chairs to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span>
the <i>déplacements</i> so frequent at that period. In like manner, the
decorator who regarded curtains as a necessity rather than as
part of the decoration of the room knew (what the modern upholsterer
fails to understand) that, the beauty of a room depending
chiefly on its openings, to conceal these under draperies is to
hide the key of the whole decorative scheme.</p>
<p>The muslin window-curtain is a recent innovation. Its only
purpose is to protect the interior of the room from public view:
a need not felt before the use of large sheets of glass, since it is
difficult to look through a subdivided sash from the outside.
Under such circumstances muslin curtains are, of course, useful;
but where they may be dispensed with, owing to the situation
of the room or the subdivision of panes, they are no loss. Lingerie
effects do not combine well with architecture, and the more
architecturally a window is treated, the less it need be dressed up
in ruffles. To put such curtains in a window, and then loop them
back so that they form a mere frame to the pane, is to do away
with their real purpose, and to substitute a textile for an architectural
effect. Where muslin curtains are necessary, they should
be a mere transparent screen hung against the glass. In town
houses especially all outward show of richness should be
avoided; the use of elaborate lace-figured curtains, besides
obstructing the view, seems an attempt to protrude the luxury
of the interior upon the street. It is needless to point out the
futility of the second layer of muslin which, in some houses,
hangs inside the sash-curtains.</p>
<p>The solid inside shutter, now so generally discarded, save in
France, formerly served the purposes for which curtains and
shades are used, and, combined with outside blinds, afforded all
the protection that a window really requires (see <a href="#plate_19">Plate XIX</a>).
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span>
These shutters should be made with solid panels, not with slats,
their purpose being to darken the room and keep out the cold,
while the light is regulated by the outside blinds. The best
of these is the old-fashioned hand-made blind, with wide fixed
slats, still to be seen on old New England houses and always
used in France and Italy: the frail machine-made substitute
now in general use has nothing to recommend it.</p>
<h3 class="p6">VI</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span></p>
<h3>FIREPLACES</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he fireplace was formerly always regarded as the chief
feature of the room, and so treated in every well-thought-out
scheme of decoration.</p>
<p>The practical reasons which make it important that the windows
in a room should be carried up to the cornice have already
been given, and it has been shown that the lines of the other
openings should be extended to the same height. This applies
to fireplaces as well as to doors, and, indeed, as an architectural
principle concerning all kinds of openings, it has never been
questioned until the present day. The hood of the vast Gothic
fireplace always descended from the springing of the vaulted roof,
and the monumental chimney-pieces of the Renaissance followed
the same lines (see <a href="#plate_20">Plate XX</a>). The importance of giving an
architectural character to the chimney-piece is insisted on by
Blondel, whose remark, "Je voudrais n'appliquer à une cheminée
que des ornements convenables à l'architecture," is a
valuable axiom for the decorator. It is a mistake to think that
this treatment necessitates a large mantel-piece and a monumental
style of panelling. The smallest mantel, surmounted by a picture
or a mirror set in simple mouldings, may be as architectural as the
great chimney-pieces at Urbino or Cheverny: all depends on the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span>
spirit of the treatment and on the proper relation of the different
members used. Pajou's monument to Madame du Barry's canary-bird
is far more architectural than the Albert Memorial.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_20" id="plate_20"></a>
<img src="images/plate_20.jpg" width="450" height="578" alt="Mantelpiece" />
<p class="caption">MANTELPIECE IN DUCAL PALACE, URBINO.<br />
XV CENTURY.<br />
(TRANSITION BETWEEN GOTHIC AND RENAISSANCE.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XX.</i></p>
</div>
<p>When, in the middle ages, the hearth in the centre of the room
was replaced by the wall-chimney, the fireplace was invariably
constructed with a projecting hood of brick or stone, generally
semicircular in shape, designed to carry off the smoke which in
earlier times had escaped through a hole in the roof. The opening
of the fireplace, at first of moderate dimensions, was gradually enlarged
to an enormous size, from the erroneous idea that the larger
the fire the greater would be the warmth of the room. By degrees
it was discovered that the effect of the volume of heat projected
into the room was counteracted by the strong draught and by the
mass of cold air admitted through the huge chimney; and to obviate
this difficulty iron doors were placed in the opening and kept
closed when the fire was not burning (see <a href="#plate_21">Plate XXI</a>). But this
was only a partial remedy, and in time it was found expedient to
reduce the size of both chimney and fireplace.</p>
<p>In Italy the strong feeling for architectural lines and the invariable
exercise of common sense in construction soon caused the
fireplace to be sunk into the wall, thus ridding the room of the
Gothic hood, while the wall-space above the opening received a
treatment of panelling, sometimes enclosed in pilasters, and usually
crowned by an entablature and pediment. When the chimney
was not sunk in the wall, the latter was brought forward around
the opening, thus forming a flat chimney-breast to which the same
style of decoration could be applied. This projection was seldom
permitted in Italy, where the thickness of the walls made it easy
to sink the fireplace, while an unerring feeling for form rejected
the advancing chimney-breast as a needless break in the wall-surface
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span>
of the room. In France, where Gothic methods of construction
persisted so long after the introduction of classic ornament,
the habit of building out the chimney-breast continued until the
seventeenth century, and even a hundred years later French decorators
described the plan of sinking the fireplace into the thickness
of the wall as the "Italian manner." The thinness of modern
walls has made the projecting chimney-breast a structural necessity;
but the composition of the room is improved by "furring
out" the wall on each side of the fireplace in such a way as to
conceal the projection and obviate a break in the wall-space.
Where the room is so small that every foot of space is valuable,
a niche may be formed in either angle of the chimney-breast, thus
preserving the floor-space which would be sacrificed by advancing
the wall, and yet avoiding the necessity of a break in the
cornice. The Italian plan of panelling the space between mantel
and cornice continued in favor, with various modifications, until
the beginning of the present century. In early Italian Renaissance
over-mantels the central panel was usually filled by a bas-relief;
but in the sixteenth century this was frequently replaced by a
picture, not hung on the panelling, but forming a part of it.<a name="FNanchor_20" id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> In
France the sculptured over-mantel followed the same general lines
of development, though the treatment, until the time of Louis
XIII, showed traces of the Gothic tendency to overload with ornament
without regard to unity of design, so that the main lines of
the composition were often lost under a mass of ill-combined
detail.</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span></p>
<p>In Italy the early Renaissance mantels were usually of marble.
French mantels of the same period were of stone; but this material
was so unsuited to the elaborate sculpture then in fashion
that wood was sometimes used instead. For a season richly carved
wooden chimney-pieces, covered with paint and gilding, were in
favor; but when the first marble mantels were brought from Italy,
that sense of fitness in the use of material for which the French
have always been distinguished, led them to recognize the superiority
of marble, and the wooden mantel-piece was discarded: nor
has it since been used in France.</p>
<p>With the seventeenth century, French mantel-pieces became
more architectural in design and less florid in ornament, and the
ponderous hood laden with pinnacles, escutcheons, fortified castles
and statues of saints and warriors, was replaced by a more
severe decoration.</p>
<p>Thackeray's gibe at Louis XIV and his age has so long been
accepted by the English-speaking races as a serious estimate of
the period, that few now appreciate the artistic preponderance
of France in the seventeenth century. As a matter of fact, it is to
the schools of art founded by Louis XIV and to his magnificent
patronage of the architects and decorators trained in these schools
that we owe the preservation, in northern Europe, of that sense
of form and spirit of moderation which mark the great classic tradition.
To disparage the work of men like Levau, Mansart, de
Cotte and Lebrun, shows an insufficient understanding, not only
of what they did, but of the inheritance of confused and turgid
ornament from which they freed French art.<a name="FNanchor_21" id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> Whether our individual
tastes incline us to the Gothic or to the classic style, it is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span>
easy to see that a school which tried to combine the structure of the
one with the ornament of the other was likely to fall into incoherent
modes of expression; and this was precisely what happened
to French domestic architecture at the end of the Renaissance
period. It has been the fashion to describe the art of the Louis
XIV period as florid and bombastic; but a comparison of the designs
of Philibert de Lorme and Androuet Ducerceau with those
of such men as Levau and Robert de Cotte will show that what
the latter did was not to introduce a florid and bombastic manner,
but to discard it for what Viollet-le-Duc, who will certainly not
be suspected of undue partiality for this school of architects, calls
"une grandeur solide, sans faux ornements." No better illustration
of this can be obtained than by comparing the mantel-pieces
of the respective periods.<a name="FNanchor_22" id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> The Louis XIV mantel-pieces are much
simpler and more coherent in design. The caryatides supporting
the entablature above the opening of the earlier mantels, and the
full-length statues flanking the central panel of the over-mantel,
are replaced by massive and severe mouldings of the kind which
the French call <i>mâle</i> (see mantels in Plates <a href="#plate_5">V</a> and <a href="#plate_36">XXXVI</a>).
Above the entablature there is usually a kind of attic or high concave
member of marble, often fluted, and forming a ledge or shelf
just wide enough to carry the row of porcelain vases with which
it had become the fashion to adorn the mantel. These vases, and
the bas-relief or picture occupying the central panel above, form
the chief ornament of the chimney-piece, though occasionally the
crowning member of the over-mantel is treated with a decoration
of garlands, masks, trophies or other strictly architectural ornament,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span>
while in Italy and England the broken pediment is frequently
employed. The use of a mirror over the fireplace is said
to have originated with Mansart; but according to Blondel it was
Robert de Cotte who brought about this innovation, thus producing
an immediate change in the general scheme of composition.
The French were far too logical not to see the absurdity of placing
a mirror too high to be looked into; and the concave Louis XIV
member, which had raised the mantel-shelf six feet from the floor,
was removed<a name="FNanchor_23" id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> and the shelf placed directly over the entablature.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_21" id="plate_21"></a>
<img src="images/plate_21.jpg" width="450" height="574" alt="Mantelpiece" />
<p class="caption">MANTELPIECE IN THE VILLA GIACOMELLI,<br />
AT MASER, NEAR TREVISO. XVI CENTURY.<br />
(SHOWING IRON DOORS IN OPENING.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Somewhat later the introduction of clocks and candelabra as
mantel ornaments made it necessary to widen the shelf, and this
further modified the general design; while the suites of small
rooms which had come into favor under the Regent led to a reduction
in the size of mantel-pieces, and to the use of less massive
and perhaps less architectural ornament.</p>
<p>In the eighteenth century, mantel-pieces in Italy and France
were almost always composed of a marble or stone architrave
surmounted by a shelf of the same material, while the over-mantel
consisted of a mirror, framed in mouldings varying in
design from the simplest style to the most ornate. This over-mantel,
which was either of the exact width of the mantel-shelf
or some few inches narrower, ended under the cornice, and its
upper part was usually decorated in the same way as the over-doors
in the room. If these contained paintings, a picture carrying
out the same scheme of decoration was often placed in the
upper part of the over-mantel; or the ornaments of carved wood
or stucco filling the panels over the doors were repeated in the
upper part of the mirror-frame.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span></p>
<p>In France, mirrors had by this time replaced pictures in the central
panel of the over-mantel; but in Italian decoration of the
same period oval pictures were often applied to the centre of the
mirror, with delicate lines of ornament connecting the picture and
mirror frames.<a name="FNanchor_24" id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a></p>
<p>The earliest fireplaces were lined with stone or brick, but in
the sixteenth century the more practical custom of using iron
fire-backs was introduced. At first this fire-back consisted of a
small plaque of iron, shaped like a headstone, and fixed at the
back of the fireplace, where the brick or stone was most likely
to be calcined by the fire. When chimney-building became more
scientific, the size of the fireplace was reduced, and the sides of
the opening were brought much nearer the flame, thus making it
necessary to extend the fire-back into a lining for the whole fireplace.</p>
<p>It was soon seen that besides resisting the heat better than any
other substance, the iron lining served to radiate it into the room.
The iron back consequently held its own through every subsequent
change in the treatment of the fireplace; and the recent
return, in England and America, to brick or stone is probably due
to the fact that the modern iron lining is seldom well designed.
Iron backs were adopted because they served their purpose better
than any others; and as no new substance offering greater advantages
has since been discovered, there is no reason for discarding
them, especially as they are not only more practical but more
decorative than any other lining. The old fire-backs (of which
reproductions are readily obtained) were decorated with charming
bas-reliefs, and their dark bosses, in the play of the firelight,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span>
form a more expressive background than the dead and unresponsive
surface of brick or stone.</p>
<p>It was not uncommon in England to treat the mantel as an
order crowned by its entablature. Where this was done, an intermediate
space was left between mantel and over-mantel, an
arrangement which somewhat weakened the architectural effect.
A better plan was that of surmounting the entablature with an
attic, and making the over-mantel spring directly from the latter.
Fine examples of this are seen at Holkham, built by Brettingham
for the Earl of Leicester about the middle of the eighteenth
century.</p>
<p>The English fireplace was modified at the end of the seventeenth
century, when coal began to replace wood. Chippendale
gives many designs for beautiful basket-grates, such as were set
in the large fireplaces originally intended for wood; for it was
not until later that chimneys with smaller openings were specially
constructed to receive the fixed grate and the hob-grate.</p>
<p>It was in England that the architectural treatment of the over-mantel
was first abandoned. The use of a mirror framed in a
panel over the fireplace had never become general in England,
and toward the end of the eighteenth century the mantel-piece
was frequently surmounted by a blank wall-space, on which a
picture or a small round mirror was hung high above the shelf
(see <a href="#plate_47">Plate XLVII</a>). Examples are seen in Moreland's pictures,
and in prints of simple eighteenth-century English interiors; but
this treatment is seldom found in rooms of any architectural
pretensions.</p>
<p>The early American fireplace was merely a cheap provincial
copy of English models of the same period. The application of
the word "Colonial" to pre-Revolutionary architecture and decoration
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span>
has created a vague impression that there existed at that
time an American architectural style. As a matter of fact, "Colonial"
architecture is simply a modest copy of Georgian models;
and "Colonial" mantel-pieces were either imported from England
by those who could afford it, or were reproduced in wood from
current English designs. Wooden mantels were, indeed, not
unknown in England, where the use of a wooden architrave
led to the practice of facing the fireplace with Dutch tiles; but
wood was used, both in England and America, only from motives
of cheapness, and the architrave was set back from the opening
only because it was unsafe to put an inflammable material so near
the fire.</p>
<p>After 1800 all the best American houses contained imported
marble mantel-pieces. These usually consisted of an entablature
resting on columns or caryatides, with a frieze in low relief
representing some classic episode, or simply ornamented with
bucranes and garlands. In the general decline of taste which
marked the middle of the present century, these dignified and
well-designed mantel-pieces were replaced by marble arches containing
a fixed grate. The hideousness of this arched opening
soon produced a distaste for marble mantels in the minds of a
generation unacquainted with the early designs. This distaste led
to a reaction in favor of wood, resulting in the displacement of
the architrave and the facing of the space between architrave and
opening with tiles, iron or marble.</p>
<p>People are beginning to see that the ugliness of the marble
mantel-pieces of 1840-60 does not prove that wood is the more
suitable material to employ. There is indeed something of unfitness
in the use of an inflammable material surrounding a fireplace.
Everything about the hearth should not only be, but <i>look</i>,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span>
fire-proof. The chief objection to wood is that its use necessitates
the displacement of the architrave, thus leaving a flat intermediate
space to be faced with some fire-proof material. This
is an architectural fault. A door of which the architrave should
be set back eighteen inches or more to admit of a facing of tiles
or marble would be pronounced unarchitectural; and it is usually
admitted that all classes of openings should be subject to the
same general treatment.</p>
<p>Where the mantel-piece is of wood, the setting back of the architrave
is a necessity; but, curiously enough, the practice has become
so common in England and America that even where the
mantel is made of marble or stone it is set back in the same way;
so that it is unusual to see a modern fireplace in which the architrave
defines the opening. In France, also, the use of an inner
facing (called a <i>retrécissement</i>) has become common, probably
because such a device makes it possible to use less fuel, while not
disturbing the proportions of the mantel as related to the room.</p>
<p>The reaction from the bare stiff rooms of the first quarter of the
present century—the era of mahogany and horsehair—resulted,
some twenty years since, in a general craving for knick-knacks;
and the latter soon spread from the tables to the mantel, especially
in England and America, where the absence of the architectural
over-mantel left a bare expanse of wall above the chimney-piece.</p>
<p>The use of the mantel as a bric-à-brac shelf led in time to the
lengthening and widening of this shelf, and in consequence to the
enlargement of the whole chimney-piece.</p>
<p>Mantels which in the eighteenth century would have been
thought in scale with rooms of certain dimensions would now
be considered too small and insignificant. The use of large mantel-pieces,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span>
besides throwing everything in the room out of scale, is
a structural mistake, since the excessive projection of the mantel
has a tendency to make the fire smoke; indeed, the proportions
of the old mantels, far from being arbitrary, were based as much
on practical as on artistic considerations. Moreover, the use of
long, wide shelves has brought about the accumulation of superfluous
knick-knacks, whereas a smaller mantel, if architecturally
designed, would demand only its conventional <i>garniture</i> of clock
and candlesticks.</p>
<p>The device of concealing an ugly mantel-piece by folds of drapery
brings an inflammable substance so close to the fire that
there is a suggestion of danger even where there is no actual risk.
The lines of a mantel, however bad, represent some kind of solid
architrave,—a more suitable setting for an architectural opening
than flimsy festoons of brocade or plush. Any one who can
afford to replace an ugly chimney-piece by one of good design
will find that this change does more than any other to improve
the appearance of a room. Where a badly designed mantel cannot
be removed, the best plan is to leave it unfurbelowed, simply
placing above it a mirror or panel to connect the lines of the
opening with the cornice.</p>
<p>The effect of a fireplace depends much upon the good taste and
appropriateness of its accessories. Little attention is paid at present
to the design and workmanship of these and like necessary
appliances; yet if good of their kind they add more to the adornment
of a room than a multiplicity of useless knick-knacks.</p>
<p>Andirons should be of wrought-iron, bronze or ormolu. Substances
which require constant polishing, such as steel or brass,
are unfitted to a fireplace. It is no longer easy to buy the old
bronze andirons of French or Italian design, with pedestals surmounted
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span>
by statuettes of nymph or faun, to which time has
given the iridescence that modern bronze-workers vainly try to
reproduce with varnish. These bronzes, and the old ormolu
andirons, are now almost <i>introuvables</i>; but the French artisan
still copies the old models with fair success (see Plates <a href="#plate_5">V</a> and
<a href="#plate_36">XXXVI</a>). Andirons should not only harmonize with the design
of the mantel but also be in scale with its dimensions. In the
fireplace of a large drawing-room, boudoir andirons would look
insignificant; while the monumental Renaissance fire-dogs would
dwarf a small mantel and make its ornamentation trivial.</p>
<p>If andirons are gilt, they should be of ormolu. The cheaper
kinds of gilding are neither durable nor good in tone, and plain
iron is preferable to anything but bronze or fire-gilding. The
design of shovel and tongs should accord with that of the andirons:
in France such details are never disregarded. The shovel
and tongs should be placed upright against the mantel-piece, or
rest upon hooks inserted in the architrave: the brass or gilt stands
now in use are seldom well designed. Fenders, being merely
meant to protect the floor from sparks, should be as light and
easy to handle as possible: the folding fender of wire-netting is
for this reason preferable to any other, since it may be shut and
put away when not in use. The low guards of solid brass in
favor in England and America not only fail to protect the floor,
but form a permanent barrier between the fire and those who
wish to approach it; and the latter objection applies also to the
massive folding fender that is too heavy to be removed.</p>
<p>Coal-scuttles, like andirons, should be made of bronze, ormolu
or iron. The unnecessary use of substances which require constant
polishing is one of the mysteries of English and American
housekeeping: it is difficult to see why a housemaid should spend
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span>
hours in polishing brass or steel fenders, andirons, coal-scuttles
and door-knobs, when all these articles might be made of some
substance that does not need daily cleaning.</p>
<p>Where wood is burned, no better wood-box can be found than
an old carved chest, either one of the Italian <i>cassoni</i>, with their
painted panels and gilded volutes, or a plain box of oak or walnut
with well-designed panels and old iron hasps. The best substitute
for such a chest is a plain wicker basket, without ornamentation,
enamel paint or gilding. If an article of this kind is not
really beautiful, it had better be as obviously utilitarian as possible
in design and construction.</p>
<p>A separate chapter might be devoted to the fire-screen, with its
carved frame and its panel of tapestry, needlework, or painted
arabesques. Of all the furniture of the hearth, it is that upon
which most taste and variety of invention have been spent; and
any of the numerous French works on furniture and house-decoration
will supply designs which the modern decorator might
successfully reproduce (see <a href="#plate_22">Plate XXII</a>). So large is the field
from which he may select his models, that it is perhaps more to
the purpose to touch upon the styles of fire-screens to be avoided:
such as the colossal brass or ormolu fan, the stained-glass screen,
the embroidered or painted banner suspended on a gilt rod, or the
stuffed bird spread out in a broiled attitude against a plush
background.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_22" id="plate_22"></a>
<img src="images/plate_22.jpg" width="450" height="470" alt="French Fire-Screen" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH FIRE-SCREEN, LOUIS XIV PERIOD.<br />
FROM THE CHÂTEAU OF ANET.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In connection with the movable fire-screen, a word may be
said of the fire-boards which, until thirty or forty years ago, were
used to close the opening of the fireplace in summer. These fire-boards
are now associated with old-fashioned boarding-house
parlors, where they are still sometimes seen, covered with a
paper like that on the walls, and looking ugly enough to justify
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span>
their disuse. The old fire-boards were very different: in rooms
of any importance they were beautifully decorated, and in Italian
interiors, where the dado was often painted, the same decoration
was continued on the fire-boards. Sometimes the latter were
papered; but the paper used was designed expressly for the purpose,
with a decorative composition of flowers, landscapes, or
the ever-amusing <i>chinoiseries</i> on which the eighteenth-century
designer played such endless variations.</p>
<p>Whether the fireplace in summer should be closed by a board,
or left open, with the logs laid on the irons, is a question for individual
taste; but it is certain that if the painted fire-board were
revived, it might form a very pleasing feature in the decoration of
modern rooms. The only possible objection to its use is that it
interferes with ventilation by closing the chimney-opening; but
as fire-boards are used only at a season when all the windows are
open, this drawback is hardly worth considering.</p>
<p>In spite of the fancied advancement in refinement and luxury
of living, the development of the modern heating apparatus seems
likely, especially in America, to do away with the open fire.
The temperature maintained in most American houses by means
of hot-air or hot-water pipes is so high that even the slight additional
warmth of a wood fire would be unendurable. Still there
are a few exceptions to this rule, and in some houses the healthy
glow of open fires is preferred to the parching atmosphere of
steam. Indeed, it might almost be said that the good taste and
<i>savoir-vivre</i> of the inmates of a house may be guessed from the
means used for heating it. Old pictures, old furniture and fine
bindings cannot live in a furnace-baked atmosphere; and those
who possess such treasures and know their value have an additional
motive for keeping their houses cool and well ventilated.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span></p>
<p>No house can be properly aired in winter without the draughts
produced by open fires. Fortunately, doctors are beginning to
call attention to this neglected detail of sanitation; and as dry
artificial heat is the main source of throat and lung diseases,
it is to be hoped that the growing taste for open-air life and out-door
sports will bring about a desire for better ventilation, and a
dislike for air-tight stoves, gas-fires and steam-heat.</p>
<p>Aside from the question of health and personal comfort, nothing
can be more cheerless and depressing than a room without fire
on a winter day. The more torrid the room, the more abnormal
is the contrast between the cold hearth and the incandescent temperature.
Without a fire, the best-appointed drawing-room is as
comfortless as the shut-up "best parlor" of a New England
farm-house. The empty fireplace shows that the room is not
really lived in and that its appearance of luxury and comfort is
but a costly sham prepared for the edification of visitors.</p>
<h3 class="p6">VII</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span></p>
<h3>CEILINGS AND FLOORS</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>o attempt even an outline of the history of ceilings in domestic
architecture would exceed the scope of this book;
nor would it serve any practical purpose to trace the early forms
of vaulting and timbering which preceded the general adoption of
the modern plastered ceiling. To understand the development
of the modern ceiling, however, one must trace the two very
different influences by which it has been shaped: that of the
timber roof of the North and that of the brick or stone vault of
the Latin builders. This twofold tradition has curiously affected
the details of the modern ceiling. During the Renaissance, flat
plaster ceilings were not infrequently coffered with stucco panels
exactly reproducing the lines of timber framing; and in the Villa
Vertemati, near Chiavenna, there is a curious and interesting
ceiling of carved wood made in imitation of stucco (see <a href="#plate_23">Plate
XXIII</a>); while one of the rooms in the Palais de Justice at Rennes
contains an elaborate vaulted ceiling constructed entirely of wood,
with mouldings nailed on (see <a href="#plate_24">Plate XXIV</a>).</p>
<p>In northern countries, where the ceiling was simply the under
side of the wooden floor,<a name="FNanchor_25" id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> it was natural that its decoration
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span>
should follow the rectangular subdivisions formed by open
timber-framing. In the South, however, where the floors were
generally of stone, resting on stone vaults, the structural conditions
were so different that although the use of caissons based on
the divisions of timber-framing was popular both in the Roman
and Renaissance periods, the architect always felt himself free to
treat the ceiling as a flat, undivided surface prepared for the application
of ornament.</p>
<p>The idea that there is anything unarchitectural in this method
comes from an imperfect understanding of the construction of
Roman ceilings. The vault was the typical Roman ceiling, and
the vault presents a smooth surface, without any structural projections
to modify the ornament applied to it. The panelling of
a vaulted or flat ceiling was as likely to be agreeable to the eye
as a similar treatment of the walls; but the Roman coffered ceiling
and its Renaissance successors were the result of a strong
sense of decorative fitness rather than of any desire to adhere to
structural limitations.</p>
<p>Examples of the timbered ceiling are, indeed, to be found in
Italy as well as in France and England; and in Venice the flat
wooden ceiling, panelled upon structural lines, persisted throughout
the Renaissance period; but in Rome, where the classic
influences were always much stronger, and where the discovery
of the stucco ceilings of ancient baths and palaces produced such
lasting effects upon the architecture of the early Renaissance, the
decorative treatment of the stone vault was transferred to the flat
or coved Renaissance ceiling without a thought of its being
inapplicable or "insincere." The fear of insincerity, in the sense
of concealing the anatomy of any part of a building, troubled the
Renaissance architect no more than it did his Gothic predecessor,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span>
who had never hesitated to stretch a "ciel" of cloth or tapestry
over the naked timbers of the mediæval ceiling. The duty of exposing
structural forms—an obligation that weighs so heavily
upon the conscience of the modern architect—is of very recent
origin. Mediæval as well as Renaissance architects thought first
of adapting their buildings to the uses for which they were intended
and then of decorating them in such a way as to give
pleasure to the eye; and the maintenance of that relation which
the eye exacts between main structural lines and their ornamentation
was the only form of sincerity which they knew or cared
about.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_23" id="plate_23"></a>
<img src="images/plate_23.jpg" width="450" height="470" alt="Carved Wooden Ceiling" />
<p class="caption">CARVED WOODEN CEILING, VILLA VERTEMATI.<br />
XVI CENTURY.<br />
(SHOWING INFLUENCE OF STUCCO DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>If a flat ceiling rested on a well-designed cornice, or if a
vaulted or coved ceiling sprang obviously from walls capable
of supporting it, the Italian architect did not allow himself to be
hampered by any pedantic conformity to structural details. The
eye once satisfied that the ceiling had adequate support, the fit
proportioning of its decoration was considered far more important
than mere technical fidelity to the outline of floor-beams and
joists. If the Italian decorator wished to adorn a ceiling with
carved or painted panels he used the lines of the timbering to
frame his panels, because they naturally accorded with his decorative
scheme; while, were a large central painting to be employed,
or the ceiling to be covered with reliefs in stucco, he felt
no more hesitation in deviating from the lines of the timbering
than he would have felt in planning the pattern of a mosaic or
a marble floor without reference to the floor-beams beneath it.</p>
<p>In France and England it was natural that timber-construction
should long continue to regulate the design of the ceiling. The
Roman vault lined with stone caissons, or with a delicate tracery
of stucco-work, was not an ever-present precedent in northern
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span>
Europe. Tradition pointed to the open-timbered roof; and as Italy
furnished numerous and brilliant examples of decorative treatment
adapted to this form of ceiling, it was to be expected that both in
France and England the national form should be preserved long
after Italian influences had established themselves in both countries.
In fact, it is interesting to note that in France, where the
artistic feeling was much finer, and the sense of fitness and power
of adaptation were more fully developed, than in England, the
lines of the timbered ceiling persisted throughout the Renaissance
and Louis XIII periods; whereas in England the Elizabethan
architects, lost in the mazes of Italian detail, without a
guiding perception of its proper application, abandoned the timbered
ceiling, with its eminently architectural subdivisions, for a
flat plaster surface over which geometrical flowers in stucco
meandered in endless sinuosities, unbroken by a single moulding,
and repeating themselves with the maddening persistency of
wall-paper pattern. This style of ornamentation was done away
with by Inigo Jones and his successors, who restored the architectural
character of the ceiling, whether flat or vaulted; and
thereafter panelling persisted in England until the French Revolution
brought about the general downfall of taste.<a name="FNanchor_26" id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a></p>
<p>In France, at the beginning of the eighteenth century, the liking
for <i>petits appartements</i> led to greater lightness in all kinds of decorative
treatment; and the ceilings of the Louis XV period, while
pleasing in detail, are open to the criticism of being somewhat
weak in form. Still, they are always <i>compositions</i>, and their
light traceries, though perhaps too dainty and fragile in themselves,
are so disposed as to form a clearly marked design, instead
of being allowed to wander in a monotonous network over
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span>
the whole surface of the ceiling, like the ubiquitous Tudor rose.
Isaac Ware, trained in the principles of form which the teachings
of Inigo Jones had so deeply impressed upon English architects,
ridicules the "petty wildnesses" of the French style; but if the
Louis XV ceiling lost for a time its architectural character, this
was soon to be restored by Gabriel and his followers, while at
the same period in England the forcible mouldings of Inigo Jones's
school were fading into the ineffectual grace of Adam's laurel-wreaths
and velaria.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_24" id="plate_24"></a>
<img src="images/plate_24.jpg" width="450" height="338" alt="Wooden Ceiling" />
<p class="caption">CEILING IN THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE, RENNES.<br />
LOUIS XIV PERIOD.<br />
(WOODEN CEILING IMITATING MASONRY VAULTING AND STUCCO ORNAMENTATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXIV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In the general effect of the room, the form of the ceiling is of
more importance than its decoration. In rooms of a certain size
and height, a flat surface overhead looks monotonous, and the
ceiling should be vaulted or coved.<a name="FNanchor_27" id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> Endless modifications of
this form of treatment are to be found in the architectural treatises
of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, as well as in the
buildings of that period.</p>
<p>A coved ceiling greatly increases the apparent height of a low-studded
room; but rooms of this kind should not be treated with
an order, since the projection of the cornice below the springing
of the cove will lower the walls so much as to defeat the purpose
for which the cove has been used. In such rooms the cove
should rise directly from the walls; and this treatment suggests
the important rule that where the cove is not supported by a cornice
the ceiling decoration should be of very light character. A
heavy panelled ceiling should not rest on the walls without the
intervention of a strongly profiled cornice. The French Louis
XV decoration, with its fanciful embroidery of stucco ornament,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span>
is well suited to coved ceilings springing directly from the walls
in a room of low stud; while a ceiling divided into panels with
heavy architectural mouldings, whether it be flat or vaulted,
looks best when the walls are treated with a complete order.</p>
<p>Durand, in his lectures on architecture, in speaking of cornices
lays down the following excellent rules: "Interior cornices must
necessarily differ more or less from those belonging to the orders
as used externally, though in rooms of reasonable height these
differences need be but slight; but if the stud be low, as sometimes
is inevitable, the cornice must be correspondingly narrowed,
and given an excessive projection, in order to increase the apparent
height of the room. Moreover, as in the interior of the house
the light is much less bright than outside, the cornice should be
so profiled that the juncture of the mouldings shall form not right
angles, but acute angles, with spaces between the mouldings
serving to detach the latter still more clearly from each other."</p>
<p>The choice of the substance out of which a ceiling is to be
made depends somewhat upon the dimensions of the room, the
height of the stud and the decoration of the walls. A heavily
panelled wooden ceiling resting upon walls either frescoed or
hung with stuff is likely to seem oppressive; but, as in all other
kinds of decoration, the effect produced depends far more upon
the form and the choice of ornamental detail than upon the material
used. Wooden ceilings, however, both from the nature of
the construction and the kind of ornament which may most suitably
be applied to them, are of necessity rather heavy in appearance,
and should therefore be used only in large and high-studded rooms
the walls of which are panelled in wood.<a name="FNanchor_28" id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span></p>
<p>Stucco and fresco-painting are adapted to every variety of decoration,
from the light traceries of a boudoir ceiling to the dome
of the <i>salon à l'Italienne</i>; but the design must be chosen with
strict regard to the size and height of the room and to the proposed
treatment of its walls. The cornice forms the connecting
link between walls and ceiling and it is essential to the harmony
of any scheme of decoration that this important member should
be carefully designed. It is useless to lavish money on the adornment
of walls and ceiling connected by an ugly cornice.</p>
<p>The same objections extend to the clumsy plaster mouldings
which in many houses disfigure the ceiling. To paint or gild a
ceiling of this kind only attracts attention to its ugliness. When
the expense of removing the mouldings and filling up the holes in
the plaster is considered too great, it is better to cover the bulbous
rosettes and pendentives with kalsomine than to attempt their
embellishment by means of any polychrome decoration. The cost
of removing plaster ornaments is not great, however, and a small
outlay will replace an ugly cornice by one of architectural design;
so that a little economy in buying window-hangings or chair-coverings
often makes up for the additional expense of these
changes. One need only look at the ceilings in the average
modern house to see what a thing of horror plaster may become
in the hands of an untrained "designer."</p>
<p>The same general principles of composition suggested for the
treatment of walls may be applied to ceiling-decoration. Thus it
is essential that where there is a division of parts, one part shall
perceptibly predominate; and this, in a ceiling, should be the
central division. The chief defect of the coffered Renaissance
ceiling is the lack of this predominating part. Great as may have
been the decorative skill expended on the treatment of beams and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span>
panels, the coffered ceiling of equal-sized divisions seems to press
down upon the spectator's head; whereas the large central panel
gives an idea of height that the great ceiling-painters were quick
to enhance by glimpses of cloud and sky, or some aerial effect, as
in Mantegna's incomparable ceiling of the Sala degli Sposi in the
ducal palace of Mantua.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_25" id="plate_25"></a>
<img src="images/plate_25.jpg" width="441" height="600" alt="Sala degli Sposi" />
<p class="caption">CEILING OF THE SALA DEGLI SPOSI, DUCAL
PALACE, MANTUA.<br />
BY ANDREA MANTEGNA, 1474.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Ceiling-decoration should never be a literal reproduction of wall-decoration.
The different angle and greater distance at which
ceilings are viewed demand a quite different treatment and it is
to the disregard of this fact that most badly designed ceilings owe
their origin. Even in the high days of art there was a tendency
on the part of some decorators to confound the two plane surfaces
of wall and ceiling, and one might cite many wall-designs which
have been transferred to the ceiling without being rearranged to
fit their new position. Instances of this kind have never been so
general as in the present day. The reaction from the badly
designed mouldings and fungoid growths that characterized the
ceilings of forty years ago has led to the use of attenuated
laurel-wreaths combined with other puny attributes taken from
Sheraton cabinets and Adam mantel-pieces. These so-called ornaments,
always somewhat lacking in character, become absolutely
futile when viewed from below.</p>
<p>This pressed-flower ornamentation is a direct precedent to the
modern ceiling covered with wall-paper. One would think that
the inappropriateness of this treatment was obvious; but since it
has become popular enough to warrant the manufacture of specially
designed ceiling-papers, some protest should be made. The
necessity for hiding cracks in the plaster is the reason most often
given for papering ceilings; but the cost of mending cracks is
small and a plaster ceiling lasts much longer than is generally
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span>
thought. It need never be taken down unless it is actually falling;
and as well-made repairs strengthen and improve the entire surface,
a much-mended ceiling is stronger than one that is just
beginning to crack. If the cost of repairing must be avoided, a
smooth white lining-paper should be chosen in place of one of
the showy and vulgar papers which serve only to attract attention.</p>
<p>Of all forms of ceiling adornment painting is the most beautiful.
Italy, which contains the three perfect ceilings of the world—those
of Mantegna in the ducal palace of Mantua (see <a href="#plate_25">Plate XXV</a>),
of Perugino in the Sala del Cambio at Perugia and of Araldi in
the Convent of St. Paul at Parma—is the best field for the study
of this branch of art. From the semi-classical vaults of the fifteenth
century, with their Roman arabesques and fruit-garlands framing
human figures detached as mere ornament against a background
of solid color, to the massive goddesses and broad Virgilian landscapes
of the Carracci and to the piled-up perspectives of Giordano's
school of prestidigitators, culminating in the great Tiepolo,
Italian art affords examples of every temperament applied to the
solution of one of the most interesting problems in decoration.</p>
<p>Such ceilings as those on which Raphael and Giovanni da
Udine worked together, combining painted arabesques and
medallions with stucco reliefs, are admirably suited to small
low-studded rooms and might well be imitated by painters incapable
of higher things.</p>
<p>There is but one danger in adapting this decoration to modern
use—that is, the temptation to sacrifice scale and general composition
to the search after refinement of detail. It cannot be denied
that some of the decorations of the school of Giovanni da Udine
are open to this criticism. The ornamentation of the great loggia
of the Villa Madama is unquestionably out of scale with the dimensions
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span>
of the structure. Much exquisite detail is lost in looking up
past the great piers and the springing of the massive arches to the
lace-work that adorns the vaulting. In this case the composition
is less at fault than the scale: the decorations of the semi-domes
at the Villa Madama, if transferred to a small mezzanin
room, would be found to "compose" perfectly. Charming examples
of the use of this style in small apartments may be studied
in the rooms of the Casino del Grotto, near Mantua.</p>
<p>The tendency of many modern decorators to sacrifice composition
to detail, and to neglect the observance of proportion between
ornament and structure, makes the adaptation of Renaissance
stucco designs a somewhat hazardous undertaking; but the very
care required to preserve the scale and to accentuate the general
lines of the design affords good training in the true principles of
composition.</p>
<p>Equally well suited to modern use are the designs in arabesque
with which, in France, Bérain and his followers painted the ceilings
of small rooms during the Louis XIV period (see <a href="#plate_26">Plate XXVI</a>).
With the opening of the eighteenth century the Bérain arabesques,
animated by the touch of Watteau, Huet and J.-B. Leprince,
blossomed into trellis-like designs alive with birds and monkeys,
Chinese mandarins balancing umbrellas, and nymphs and shepherdesses
under slender classical ruins. Side by side with the
monumental work of such artists as Lebrun and Lesueur, Coypel,
Vouet and Natoire, this light style of composition was always in
favor for the decoration of <i>petits appartements</i>: the most famous
painters of the day did not think it beneath them to furnish designs
for such purposes (see <a href="#plate_27">Plate XXVII</a>).</p>
<p>In moderate-sized rooms which are to be decorated in a simple
and inexpensive manner, a plain plaster ceiling with well-designed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span>
cornice is preferable to any device for producing showy effects at
small cost. It may be laid down as a general rule in house-decoration
that what must be done cheaply should be done simply.
It is better to pay for the best plastering than to use a cheaper
quality and then to cover the cracks with lincrusta or ceiling-paper.
This is true of all such expedients: let the fundamental
work be good in design and quality and the want of ornament
will not be felt.</p>
<p>In America the return to a more substantial way of building
and the tendency to discard wood for brick or stone whenever
possible will doubtless lead in time to the use of brick, stone or
marble floors. These floors, associated in the minds of most
Americans with shivering expeditions through damp Italian palaces,
are in reality perfectly suited to the dry American climate,
and even the most anæmic person could hardly object to brick or
marble covered by heavy rugs.</p>
<p>The inlaid marble floors of the Italian palaces, whether composed
of square or diamond-shaped blocks, or decorated with a
large design in different colors, are unsurpassed in beauty; while
in high-studded rooms where there is little pattern on the walls
and a small amount of furniture, elaborately designed mosaic
floors with sweeping arabesques and geometrical figures are of
great decorative value.</p>
<p>Floors of these substances have the merit of being not only
more architectural in character, more solid and durable, but also
easier to keep clean. This should especially commend them to
the hygienically-minded American housekeeper, since floors that
may be washed are better suited to our climate than those which
must be covered with a nailed-down carpet.</p>
<p>Next in merit to brick or marble comes the parquet of oak or
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span>
other hard wood; but even this looks inadequate in rooms of
great architectural importance. In ball-rooms a hard-wood floor
is generally regarded as a necessity; but in vestibule, staircase,
dining-room or saloon, marble is superior to anything else. The
design of the parquet floor should be simple and unobtrusive.
The French, who brought this branch of floor-laying to perfection,
would never have tolerated the crudely contrasted woods
that make the modern parquet so aggressive. Like the walls
of a room, the floor is a background: it should not furnish pattern,
but set off whatever is placed upon it. The perspective
effects dear to the modern floor-designer are the climax of extravagance.
A floor should not only be, but appear to be, a perfectly
level surface, without simulated bosses or concavities.</p>
<p>In choosing rugs and carpets the subject of design should be
carefully studied. The Oriental carpet-designers have always
surpassed their European rivals. The patterns of Eastern rugs are
invariably well composed, with skilfully conventionalized figures
in flat unshaded colors. Even the Oriental rug of the present
day is well drawn; but the colors used by Eastern manufacturers
since the introduction of aniline dyes are so discordant that these
rugs are inferior to most modern European carpets.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_26" id="plate_26"></a>
<img src="images/plate_26.jpg" width="450" height="531" alt="Bérain Style Ceiling" />
<p class="caption">CEILING IN THE STYLE OF BÉRAIN.<br />
LOUIS XIV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXVI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In houses with deal floors, nailed-down carpets are usually considered
a necessity, and the designing of such carpets has improved
so much in the last ten or fifteen years that a sufficient
choice of unobtrusive geometrical patterns may now be found.
The composition of European carpets woven in one piece, like
rugs, has never been satisfactory. Even the splendid <i>tapis de
Savonnerie</i> made in France at the royal manufactory during the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were not so true to the best
principles of design as the old Oriental rugs. In Europe there
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span>
was always a tendency to transfer wall or ceiling-decoration to
floor-coverings. Such incongruities as architectural mouldings,
highly modelled trophies and human masks appear in most of
the European carpets from the time of Louis XIV to the present
day; and except when copying Eastern models the European designers
were subject to strange lapses from taste. There is no
reason why a painter should not simulate loggia and sky on a flat
plaster ceiling, since no one will try to use this sham opening as
a means of exit; but the carpet-designer who puts picture-frames
and human faces under foot, though he does not actually deceive,
produces on the eye a momentary startling sense of obstruction.
Any <i>trompe-l'œil</i> is permissible in decorative art if it gives an impression
of pleasure; but the inherent sense of fitness is shocked
by the act of walking upon upturned faces.</p>
<p>Recent carpet-designs, though usually free from such obvious
incongruities, have seldom more than a negative merit. The unconventionalized
flower still shows itself, and even when banished
from the centre of the carpet lingers in the border which accompanies
it. The vulgarity of these borders is the chief objection to
using carpets of European manufacture as rugs, instead of nailing
them to the floor. It is difficult to find a border that is not too
wide, and of which the design is a simple conventional figure in
flat unshaded colors. If used at all, a carpet with a border should
always be in the form of a rug, laid in the middle of the room,
and not cut to follow all the ins and outs of the floor, as such
adaptation not only narrows the room but emphasizes any irregularity
in its plan.</p>
<p>In houses with deal floors, where nailed-down carpets are used
in all the rooms, a restful effect is produced by covering the whole
of each story with the same carpet, the door-sills being removed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span>
so that the carpet may extend from one room to another. In
small town houses, especially, this will be found much less fatiguing
to the eye than the usual manner of covering the floor of each
room with carpets differing in color and design.</p>
<p>Where several rooms are carpeted alike, the floor-covering
chosen should be quite plain, or patterned with some small geometrical
figure in a darker shade of the foundation color; and
green, dark blue or red will be found most easy to combine with
the different color-schemes of the rooms.</p>
<p>Pale tints should be avoided in the selection of carpets. It is
better that the color-scale should ascend gradually from the dark
tone of floor or carpet to the faint half-tints of the ceiling. The
opposite combination—that of a pale carpet with a dark ceiling—lowers
the stud and produces an impression of top-heaviness and
gloom; indeed, in a room where the ceiling is overladen, a dark
rich-toned carpet will do much to lighten it, whereas a pale floor-covering
will bring it down, as it were, on the inmates' heads.</p>
<p>Stair-carpets should be of a strong full color and, if possible,
without pattern. It is fatiguing to see a design meant for a horizontal
surface constrained to follow the ins and outs of a flight
of steps; and the use of pattern where not needed is always
meaningless, and interferes with a decided color-effect where the
latter might have been of special advantage to the general scheme
of decoration.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_27" id="plate_27"></a>
<img src="images/plate_27.jpg" width="450" height="350" alt="Chinoiserie Style Ceiling" />
<p class="caption">CEILING IN THE CHÂTEAU OF CHANTILLY.<br />
LOUIS XV PERIOD.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF CHINOISERIE DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXVII.</i></p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">VIII</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span></p>
<h3>ENTRANCE AND VESTIBULE</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he decoration of the entrance necessarily depends on the
nature of the house and its situation. A country house,
where visitors are few and life is simple, demands a less formal
treatment than a house in a city or town; while a villa in a watering-place
where there is much in common with town life has
necessarily many points of resemblance to a town house.</p>
<p>It should be borne in mind of entrances in general that, while
the main purpose of a door is to admit, its secondary purpose is
to exclude. The outer door, which separates the hall or vestibule
from the street, should clearly proclaim itself an effectual barrier.
It should look strong enough to give a sense of security, and be
so plain in design as to offer no chance of injury by weather and
give no suggestion of interior decoration.</p>
<p>The best ornamentation for an entrance-door is simple panelling,
with bold architectural mouldings and as little decorative
detail as possible. The necessary ornament should be contributed
by the design of locks, hinges and handles. These, like the door
itself, should be strong and serviceable, with nothing finikin in
their treatment, and made of a substance which does not require
cleaning. For the latter reason, bronze and iron are more fitting
than brass or steel.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span></p>
<p>In treating the vestibule, careful study is required to establish a
harmony between the decorative elements inside and outside the
house. The vestibule should form a natural and easy transition
from the plain architecture of the street to the privacy of the interior
(see <a href="#plate_28">Plate XXVIII</a>).</p>
<p>No portion of the inside of the house being more exposed to
the weather, great pains should be taken to avoid using in its
decoration materials easily damaged by rain or dust, such as
carpets or wall-paper. The decoration should at once produce
the impression of being weather-proof.</p>
<p>Marble, stone, scagliola, or painted stucco are for this reason
the best materials. If wood is used, it should be painted, as dust
and dirt soon soil it, and unless its finish be water-proof it
will require continual varnishing. The decorations of the vestibule
should be as permanent as possible in character, in order to
avoid incessant small repairs.</p>
<p>The floor should be of stone, marble, or tiles; even a linoleum
or oil-cloth of sober pattern is preferable to a hard-wood floor in
so exposed a situation. For the same reason, it is best to treat the
walls with a decoration of stone or marble. In simpler houses
the same effect may be produced at much less cost by dividing
the wall-spaces into panels, with wooden mouldings applied directly
to the plaster, the whole being painted in oil, either in one
uniform tint or in varying shades of some cold sober color. This
subdued color-scheme will produce an agreeable contrast with the
hall or staircase, which, being a degree nearer the centre of the
house, should receive a gayer and more informal treatment than
the vestibule.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_28" id="plate_28"></a>
<img src="images/plate_28.jpg" width="450" height="570" alt="Alessi Antechamber" />
<p class="caption">ANTECHAMBER IN THE VILLA CAMBIASO, GENOA.<br />
BUILT BY ALESSI, XVI CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXVIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The vestibule usually has two doors: an outer one opening toward
the street and an inner one giving into the hall; but when
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span>
the outer is entirely of wood, without glass, and must therefore
be left open during the day, the vestibule is usually subdivided by
an inner glass door placed a few feet from the entrance. This arrangement
has the merit of keeping the house warm and of affording
a shelter to the servants who, during an entertainment,
are usually compelled to wait outside. The French architect
always provides an antechamber for this purpose.</p>
<p>No furniture which is easily soiled or damaged, or difficult to
keep clean, is appropriate in a vestibule. In large and imposing
houses marble or stone benches and tables should be used, and
the ornamentation may consist of statues, vases, or busts on
pedestals (see <a href="#plate_29">Plate XXIX</a>). When the decoration is simpler and
wooden benches are used, they should resemble those made for
French gardens, with seats of one piece of wood, or of broad
thick slats; while in small vestibules, benches and chairs with
cane seats are appropriate.</p>
<p>The excellent reproductions of Robbia ware made by Cantagalli
of Florence look well against painted walls; while plaster or terra-cotta
bas-reliefs are less expensive and equally decorative, especially
against a pale-blue or green background.</p>
<p>The lantern, the traditional form of fixture for lighting vestibules,
is certainly the best in so exposed a situation; and though
where electric light is used draughts need not be considered, the
sense of fitness requires that a light in such a position should
always have the semblance of being protected.</p>
<h3 class="p6">IX</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span></p>
<h3>HALL AND STAIRS</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">W</span>hat is technically known as the staircase (in German
the <i>Treppenhaus</i>) has, in our lax modern speech, come to
be designated as the hall.</p>
<p>In Gwilt's <i>Encyclopedia of Architecture</i> the staircase is defined
as "that part or subdivision of a building containing the stairs
which enable people to ascend or descend from one floor to another";
while the hall is described as follows: "The first large
apartment on entering a house.... In magnificent edifices,
where the hall is larger and loftier than usual, and is placed in the
middle of the house, it is called a saloon; and a royal apartment
consists of a hall, or chamber of guards, etc."</p>
<p>It is clear that, in the technical acceptance of the term, a hall is
something quite different from a staircase; yet the two words
were used interchangeably by so early a writer as Isaac Ware,
who, in his <i>Complete Body of Architecture</i>, published in 1756,
continually speaks of the staircase as the hall. This confusion of
terms is difficult to explain, for in early times the staircase was as
distinct from the hall as it continued to be in France and Italy, and,
with rare exceptions, in England also, until the present century.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_29" id="plate_29"></a>
<img src="images/plate_29.jpg" width="450" height="343" alt="Durazzo Palace Antechamber" />
<p class="caption">ANTECHAMBER IN THE DURAZZO PALACE, GENOA.<br />
DECORATED BY TORRIGIANI. LATE XVIII CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXIX.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In glancing over the plans of the feudal dwellings of northern
Europe it will be seen that, far from being based on any definite
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span>
conception, they were made up of successive accretions about the
nobleman's keep. The first room to attach itself to the keep was
the "hall," a kind of microcosm in which sleeping, eating, entertaining
guests and administering justice succeeded each other or
went on simultaneously. In the course of time various rooms,
such as the parlor, the kitchen, the offices, the muniment-room
and the lady's bower, were added to the primitive hall; but these
were rather incidental necessities than parts of an organized
scheme of planning.<a name="FNanchor_29" id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> In this agglomeration of apartments the
stairs found a place where they could. Space being valuable,
they were generally carried up spirally in the thickness of the wall,
or in an angle-turret. Owing to enforced irregularity of plan, and
perhaps to the desire to provide numerous separate means of access
to the different parts of the dwelling, each castle usually contained
several staircases, no one of which was more important
than the others.</p>
<p>It was in Italy that stairs first received attention as a feature in
the general composition of the house. There, from the outset, all
the conditions had been different. The domestic life of the upper
classes having developed from the eleventh century onward in
the comparative security of the walled town, it was natural that
house-planning should be less irregular,<a name="FNanchor_30" id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> and that more regard
should be given to considerations of comfort and dignity. In early
Italian palaces the stairs either ascended through the open central
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span>
<i>cortile</i> to an arcaded gallery on the first floor, as in the Gondi
palace and the Bargello at Florence, or were carried up in straight
flights between walls.<a name="FNanchor_31" id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> This was, in fact, the usual way of building
stairs in Italy until the end of the fifteenth century. These
enclosed stairs usually started near the vaulted entranceway leading
from the street to the <i>cortile</i>. Gradually the space at the foot
of the stairs, which at first was small, increased in size and in importance
of decorative treatment; while the upper landing opened
into an antechamber which became the centre of the principal
suite of apartments. With the development of the Palladian
style, the whole staircase (provided the state apartments were not
situated on the ground floor) assumed more imposing dimensions;
though it was not until a much later date that the monumental
staircase so often regarded as one of the chief features of the Italian
Renaissance began to be built. Indeed, a detailed examination
of the Italian palaces shows that even in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries such staircases as were built by Fontana in
the royal palace at Naples, by Juvara in the Palazzo Madama at
Turin and by Vanvitelli at Caserta, were seen only in royal palaces.
Even Morelli's staircase in the Braschi palace in Rome,
magnificent as it is, hardly reaches the popular conception of
the Italian state staircase—a conception probably based rather
upon the great open stairs of the Genoese <i>cortili</i> than upon any
actually existing staircases. It is certain that until late in the
seventeenth century (as Bernini's Vatican staircase shows) inter-mural
stairs were thought grand enough for the most splendid
palaces of Italy (see <a href="#plate_30">Plate XXX</a>).</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_30" id="plate_30"></a>
<img src="images/plate_30.jpg" width="481" height="600" alt="Parodi Palace Staircase" />
<p class="caption">STAIRCASE IN THE PARODI PALACE, GENOA.<br />
XVI CENTURY.<br />
(SHOWING INTER-MURAL STAIRS AND MARBLE FLOOR.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXX.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The spiral staircase, soon discarded by Italian architects save as a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span>
means of secret communication or for the use of servants, held its
own in France throughout the Renaissance. Its structural difficulties
afforded scope for the exercise of that marvellous, if sometimes
superfluous, ingenuity which distinguished the Gothic builders.
The spiral staircase in the court-yard at Blois is an example of this
kind of skilful engineering and of the somewhat fatiguing use of
ornament not infrequently accompanying it; while such anomalies
as the elaborate out-of-door spiral staircase enclosed within the
building at Chambord are still more in the nature of a <i>tour de
force</i>,—something perfect in itself, but not essential to the organism
of the whole.</p>
<p>Viollet-le-Duc, in his dictionary of architecture, under the heading
<i>Château</i>, has given a sympathetic and ingenious explanation
of the tenacity with which the French aristocracy clung to the
obsolete complications of Gothic house-planning and structure
long after frequent expeditions across the Alps had made them
familiar with the simpler and more rational method of the Italian
architects. It may be, as he suggests, that centuries of feudal life,
with its surface of savagery and violence and its undercurrent
treachery, had fostered in the nobles of northern Europe a desire
for security and isolation that found expression in the intricate
planning of their castles long after the advance of civilization had
made these precautions unnecessary. It seems more probable,
however, that the French architects of the Renaissance made the
mistake of thinking that the essence of the classic styles lay in the
choice and application of ornamental details. This exaggerated
estimate of the importance of detail is very characteristic of an imperfect
culture; and the French architects who in the fifteenth
century were eagerly taking their first lessons from their contemporaries
south of the Alps, had behind them nothing like the great
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span>
synthetic tradition of the Italian masters. Certainly it was not
until the Northern builders learned that the beauty of the old buildings
was, above all, a matter of proportion, that their own style,
freed from its earlier incoherencies, set out on the line of unbroken
national development which it followed with such harmonious
results until the end of the eighteenth century.</p>
<p>In Italy the staircase often gave directly upon the entranceway;
in France it was always preceded by a vestibule, and the upper
landing invariably led into an antechamber.</p>
<p>In England the relation between vestibule, hall and staircase
was never so clearly established as on the Continent. The old
English hall, so long the centre of feudal life, preserved its somewhat
composite character after the <i>grand'salle</i> of France and
Italy had been broken up into the vestibule, the guard-room and
the saloon. In the grandest Tudor houses the entrance-door usually
opened directly into this hall. To obtain in some measure the
privacy which a vestibule would have given, the end of the hall
nearest the entrance-door was often cut off by a screen that supported
the musicians' gallery. The corridor formed by this screen
led to the staircase, usually placed behind the hall, and the gallery
opened on the first landing of the stairs. This use of the screen
at one end of the hall had so strong a hold upon English habits
that it was never quite abandoned. Even after French architecture
and house-planning had come into fashion in the eighteenth
century, a house with a vestibule remained the rarest of exceptions
in England; and the relative privacy afforded by the Gothic
screen was then lost by substituting for the latter an open arcade,
of great decorative effect, but ineffectual in shutting off the hall
from the front door.</p>
<p>The introduction of the Palladian style by Inigo Jones transformed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span>
the long and often narrow Tudor hall into the many-storied
central saloon of the Italian villa, with galleries reached by concealed
staircases, and lofty domed ceiling; but it was still called the
hall, it still served as a vestibule, or means of access to the rest
of the house, and, curiously enough, it usually adjoined another
apartment, often of the same dimensions, called a saloon. Perhaps
the best way of defining the English hall of this period is to
say that it was really an Italian saloon, but that it was used as a
vestibule and called a hall.</p>
<p>Through all these changes the staircase remained shut off from
the hall, upon which it usually opened. It was very unusual,
except in small middle-class houses or suburban villas, to put the
stairs in the hall, or, more correctly speaking, to make the front
door open into the staircase. There are, however, several larger
houses in which the stairs are built in the hall. Inigo Jones, in
remodelling Castle Ashby for the Earl of Northampton, followed
this plan; though this is perhaps not a good instance to cite, as it
may have been difficult to find place for a separate staircase. At
Chevening, in Kent, built by Inigo Jones for the Earl of Sussex,
the stairs are also in the hall; and the same arrangement is seen at
Shobden Court, at West Wycombe, built by J. Donowell for Lord
le Despencer (where the stairs are shut off by a screen) and at
Hurlingham, built late in the eighteenth century by G. Byfield.</p>
<p>This digression has been made in order to show the origin of
the modern English and American practice of placing the stairs in
the hall and doing away with the vestibule. The vestibule never
formed part of the English house, but the stairs were usually
divided from the hall in houses of any importance; and it is difficult
to see whence the modern architect has derived his idea of the
combined hall and staircase. The tendency to merge into one any
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span>
two apartments designed for different uses shows a retrogression
in house-planning; and while it is fitting that the vestibule or hall
should adjoin the staircase, there is no good reason for uniting
them and there are many for keeping them apart.</p>
<p>The staircase in a private house is for the use of those who inhabit
it; the vestibule or hall is necessarily used by persons in no
way concerned with the private life of the inmates. If the stairs,
the main artery of the house, be carried up through the vestibule,
there is no security from intrusion. Even the plan of making the
vestibule precede the staircase, though better, is not the best. In
a properly planned house the vestibule should open on a hall or
antechamber of moderate size, giving access to the rooms on the
ground floor, and this antechamber should lead into the staircase.
It is only in houses where all the living-rooms are up-stairs that the
vestibule may open directly into the staircase without lessening
the privacy of the house.</p>
<p>In Italy, where wood was little employed in domestic architecture,
stairs were usually of stone. Marble came into general use
in the grander houses when, in the seventeenth century, the
stairs, instead of being carried up between walls, were often
placed in an open staircase. The balustrade was usually of stone
or marble, iron being much less used than in France.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_31" id="plate_31"></a>
<img src="images/plate_31.jpg" width="450" height="568" alt="Staircase of the Hotel de Ville, Nancy" />
<p class="caption">STAIRCASE OF THE HÔTEL DE VILLE, NANCY.<br />
LOUIS XV PERIOD.<br />
BUILT BY HÉRÉ DE CORNY; STAIR-RAIL BY JEAN LAMOUR.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>In the latter country the mediæval stairs, especially in the
houses of the middle class, were often built of wood; but this
material was soon abandoned, and from the time of Louis XIV
stairs of stone with wrought-iron rails are a distinctive feature of
French domestic architecture. The use of wrought-iron in French
decoration received a strong impulse from the genius of Jean
Lamour, who, when King Stanislas of Poland remodelled the
town of Nancy early in the reign of Louis XV, adorned its
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span>
streets and public buildings with specimens of iron-work unmatched
in any other part of the world. Since then French decorators
have expended infinite talent in devising the beautiful
stair-rails and balconies which are the chief ornament of innumerable
houses throughout France (see Plates <a href="#plate_31">XXXI</a> and <a href="#plate_32">XXXII</a>).</p>
<p>Stair-rails of course followed the various modifications of taste
which marked the architecture of the day. In the seventeenth
and early eighteenth centuries they were noted for severe richness
of design. With the development of the rocaille manner their lines
grew lighter and more fanciful, while the influence of Gabriel,
which, toward the end of the reign of Louis XV, brought about
a return to classic models, manifested itself in a simplified mode
of treatment. At this period the outline of a classic baluster
formed a favorite motive for the iron rail. Toward the close of
the eighteenth century the designs for these rails grew thin and
poor, with a predominance of upright iron bars divided at long
intervals by some meagre medallion or geometrical figure. The
exuberant sprays and volutes of the rococo period and the architectural
lines of the Louis XVI style were alike absent from these
later designs, which are chiefly marked by the negative merit of
inoffensiveness.</p>
<p>In the old French stair-rails steel was sometimes combined with
gilded iron. The famous stair-rail of the Palais Royal, designed
by Coutant d'Ivry, is made of steel and iron, and the Duc d'Aumale
copied this combination in the stair-rail at Chantilly. There is
little to recommend the substitution of steel for iron in such cases.
It is impossible to keep a steel stair-rail clean and free from rust,
except by painting it; and since it must be painted, iron is the
more suitable material.</p>
<p>In France the iron rail is usually painted black, though a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span>
very dark blue is sometimes preferred. Black is the better color,
as it forms a stronger contrast with the staircase walls, which
are presumably neutral in tint and severe in treatment. Besides,
as iron is painted, not to improve its appearance, but to prevent
its rusting, the color which most resembles its own is more
appropriate. In French houses of a certain importance the iron
stair-rail often had a few touches of gilding, but these were sparingly
applied.</p>
<p>In England wooden stair-rails were in great favor during the
Tudor and Elizabethan period. These rails were marked rather
by fanciful elaboration of detail than by intrinsic merit of design,
and are doubtless more beautiful now that time has given them
its patina, than they were when first made.</p>
<p>With the Palladian style came the classic balustrade of stone
or marble, or sometimes, in simpler houses, of wood. Iron rails
were seldom used in England, and those to be found in some of
the great London houses (as in Carlton House, Chesterfield House
and Norfolk House) were probably due to the French influence
which made itself felt in English domestic architecture during the
eighteenth century. This influence, however, was never more
than sporadic; and until the decline of decorative art at the close
of the eighteenth century, Italian rather than French taste gave the
note to English decoration.</p>
<p>The interrelation of vestibule, hall and staircase having been
explained, the subject of decorative detail must next be considered;
but before turning to this, it should be mentioned that hereafter
the space at the foot of the stairs, though properly a part of
the staircase, will for the sake of convenience be called <i>the hall</i>,
since in the present day it goes by that name in England and
America.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span></p>
<p>In contrasting the vestibule with the hall, it was pointed out that
the latter might be treated in a gayer and more informal manner
than the former. It must be remembered, however, that as the
vestibule is the introduction to the hall, so the hall is the introduction
to the living-rooms of the house; and it follows that the hall
must be as much more formal than the living-rooms as the vestibule
is more formal than the hall. It is necessary to emphasize this
because the tendency of recent English and American decoration
has been to treat the hall, not as a hall, but as a living-room.
Whatever superficial attractions this treatment may possess, its inappropriateness
will be seen when the purpose of the hall is considered.
The hall is a means of access to all the rooms on each
floor; on the ground floor it usually leads to the chief living-rooms
of the house as well as to the vestibule and street; in addition to
this, in modern houses even of some importance it generally
contains the principal stairs of the house, so that it is the centre
upon which every part of the house directly or indirectly opens.
This publicity is increased by the fact that the hall must be crossed
by the servant who opens the front door, and by any one admitted
to the house. It follows that the hall, in relation to the rooms of
the house, is like a public square in relation to the private houses
around it. For some reason this obvious fact has been ignored by
many recent decorators, who have chosen to treat halls like rooms
of the most informal character, with open fireplaces, easy-chairs
for lounging and reading, tables with lamps, books and magazines,
and all the appointments of a library. This disregard of the purpose
of the hall, like most mistakes in household decoration, has
a very natural origin. When, in the first reaction from the discomfort
and formality of sixty years ago, people began, especially
in England, to study the arrangement of the old Tudor and Elizabethan
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span>
houses, many of these were found to contain large panelled
halls opening directly upon the porch or the terrace. The mellow
tones of the wood-work; the bold treatment of the stairs, shut off
as they were merely by a screen; the heraldic imagery of the
hooded stone chimney-piece and of the carved or stuccoed ceiling,
made these halls the chief feature of the house; while the rooms
opening from them were so often insufficient for the requirements
of modern existence, that the life of the inmates necessarily centred
in the hall. Visitors to such houses saw only the picturesqueness
of the arrangement—the huge logs glowing on the hearth, the
books and flowers on the old carved tables, the family portraits on
the walls; and, charmed with the impression received, they ordered
their architects to reproduce for them a hall which, even in the
original Tudor houses, was a survival of older social conditions.</p>
<p>One might think that the recent return to classic forms of architecture
would have done away with the Tudor hall; but, except
in a few instances, this has not been the case. In fact, in the
greater number of large houses, and especially of country houses,
built in America since the revival of Renaissance and Palladian
architecture, a large many-storied hall communicating directly
with the vestibule, and containing the principal stairs of the
house, has been the distinctive feature. If there were any practical
advantages in this overgrown hall, it might be regarded as
one of those rational modifications in plan which mark the difference
between an unreasoning imitation of a past style and the intelligent
application of its principles; but the Tudor hall, in its
composite character as vestibule, parlor and dining-room, is only
another instance of the sacrifice of convenience to archaism.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_32" id="plate_32"></a>
<img src="images/plate_32.jpg" width="550" height="432" alt="Staircase in Fontainebleau" />
<p class="caption">STAIRCASE IN THE PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU.<br />
LOUIS XV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The abnormal development of the modern staircase-hall cannot
be defended on the plea sometimes advanced that it is a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span>
roofed-in adaptation of the great open <i>cortile</i> of the Genoese palace,
since there is no reason for adapting a plan so useless and so
unsuited to our climate and way of living. The beautiful central
<i>cortile</i> of the Italian palace, with its monumental open stairs, was
in no sense part of a "private house" in our interpretation of the
term. It was rather a thoroughfare like a public street, since the
various stories of the Italian palace were used as separate houses
by different branches of the family.</p>
<p>In most modern houses the hall, in spite of its studied resemblance
to a living-room, soon reverts to its original use as a passageway;
and this fact should indicate the treatment best suited
to it. In rooms where people sit, and where they are consequently
at leisure to look about them, delicacy of treatment and refinement
of detail are suitable; but in an anteroom or a staircase only the
first impression counts, and forcible simple lines, with a vigorous
massing of light and shade, are essential. These conditions point
to the use of severe strongly-marked panelling, niches for vases or
statues, and a stair-rail detaching itself from the background in
vigorous decisive lines.<a name="FNanchor_32" id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a></p>
<p>The furniture of the hall should consist of benches or straight-backed
chairs, and marble-topped tables and consoles. If a press
is used, it should be architectural in design, like the old French
and Italian <i>armoires</i> painted with arabesques and architectural
motives, or the English seventeenth-century presses made of some
warm-toned wood like walnut and surmounted by a broken
pediment with a vase or bust in the centre (see <a href="#plate_33">Plate XXXIII</a>).</p>
<p>The walls of the staircase in large houses should be of panelled
stone or marble, as in the examples given in the plates accompanying
this chapter.</p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span></p>
<p>In small houses, where an expensive decoration is out of the
question, a somewhat similar architectural effect may be obtained
by the use of a few plain mouldings fixed to the plaster, the whole
being painted in one uniform tint, or in two contrasting colors,
such as white for the mouldings, and buff, gray, or pale green for
the wall. To this scheme may be added plaster medallions, as
suggested for the vestibule, or garlands and other architectural
motives made of staff, in imitation of the stucco ornaments of the
old French and Italian decorators. When such ornaments are
used, they should invariably be simple and strong in design. The
modern decorator is too often tempted by mere prettiness of detail
to forget the general effect of his composition. In a staircase,
where only the general effect is seized, prettiness does not count,
and the effect produced should be strong, clear and telling.</p>
<p>For the same reason, a stair-carpet, if used, should be of one
color, without pattern. Masses of plain color are one of the chief
means of producing effect in any scheme of decoration.</p>
<p>When the floor of the hall is of marble or mosaic,—as, if possible,
it should be,—the design, like that of the walls, should be clear and
decided in outline (see <a href="#plate_30">Plate XXX</a>). On the other hand, if the
hall is used as an antechamber and carpeted, the carpet should be
of one color, matching that on the stairs.</p>
<p>In many large houses the stairs are now built of stone or marble,
while the floor of the landings is laid in wood, apparently owing
to the idea that stone or marble floors are cold. In the tropically-heated
American house not even the most sensitive person could
be chilled by passing contact with a stone floor; but if it is
thought to "look cold," it is better to lay a rug or a strip of
carpet on the landing than to permit the proximity of two such
different substances as wood and stone.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span></p>
<p>Unless the stairs are of wood, that material should never be
used for the rail; nor should wooden stairs be put in a staircase
of which the walls are of stone, marble, or scagliola. If the stairs
are of wood, it is better to treat the walls with wood or plaster
panelling. In simple staircases the best wall-decoration is a
wooden dado-moulding nailed on the plaster, the dado thus
formed being painted white, and the wall above it in any uniform
color. Continuous pattern, such as that on paper or stuff hangings,
is specially objectionable on the walls of a staircase, since it
disturbs the simplicity of composition best fitted to this part of the
house.</p>
<p>For the lighting of the hall there should be a lantern like that in
the vestibule, but more elaborate in design. This mode of lighting
harmonizes with the severe treatment of the walls and indicates
at once that the hall is not a living-room, but a thoroughfare.<a name="FNanchor_33" id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a></p>
<p>If lights be required on the stairs, they should take the form of
fire-gilt bronze sconces, as architectural as possible in design,
without any finikin prettiness of detail. (For good examples, see the
<i>appliques</i> in Plates <a href="#plate_5">V</a> and <a href="#plate_34">XXXIV</a>). It is almost impossible to obtain
well-designed <i>appliques</i> of this kind in America; but the
increasing interest shown in house-decoration will in time doubtless
cause a demand for a better type of gas and electric fixtures.
Meantime, unless imported sconces can be obtained, the plainest
brass fixtures should be chosen in preference to the more elaborate
models now to be found here.</p>
<p>Where the walls of a hall are hung with pictures, these should
be few in number, and decorative in composition and coloring.
No subject requiring thought and study is suitable in such a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span>
position. The mythological or architectural compositions of the
Italian and French schools of the last two centuries, with their
superficial graces of color and design, are for this reason well
suited to the walls of halls and antechambers.</p>
<p>The same may be said of prints. These should not be used in
a large high-studded hall; but they look well in a small entranceway,
if hung on plain-tinted walls. Here again such architectural
compositions as Piranesi's, with their bold contrasts of light and
shade, Marc Antonio's classic designs, or some frieze-like procession,
such as Mantegna's "Triumph of Julius Caesar," are especially
appropriate; whereas the subtle detail of the German Little
Masters, the symbolism of Dürer's etchings and the graces of
Marillier or Moreau le Jeune would be wasted in a situation where
there is small opportunity for more than a passing glance.</p>
<p>In most American houses, the warming of hall and stairs is so
amply provided for that where there is a hall fireplace it is seldom
used. In country houses, where it is sometimes necessary
to have special means for heating the hall, the open fireplace is of
more service; but it is not really suited to such a situation. The
hearth suggests an idea of intimacy and repose that has no
place in a thoroughfare like the hall; and, aside from this question
of fitness, there is a practical objection to placing an open chimney-piece
in a position where it is exposed to continual draughts
from the front door and from the rooms giving upon the hall.</p>
<p>The best way of heating a hall is by means of a faience stove—not
the oblong block composed of shiny white or brown tiles
seen in Swiss and German <i>pensions</i>, but one of the fine old stoves
of architectural design still used on the Continent for heating the
vestibule and dining-room. In Europe, increased attention has of
late been given to the design and coloring of these stoves; and if
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span>
better known here, they would form an important feature in the
decoration of our halls. Admirable models may be studied in
many old French and German houses and on the borders of
Switzerland and Italy; while the museum at Parma contains
several fine examples of the rocaille period.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_33" id="plate_33"></a>
<img src="images/plate_33.jpg" width="450" height="578" alt="French Armoire" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH ARMOIRE, LOUIS XIV PERIOD.<br />
MUSEUM OF DECORATIVE ARTS, PARIS.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXIII.</i></p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">X</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span></p>
<h3>THE DRAWING-ROOM, BOUDOIR, AND
MORNING-ROOM</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he "with-drawing-room" of mediæval England, to which
the lady and her maidens retired from the boisterous festivities
of the hall, seems at first to have been merely a part of the
bedchamber in which the lord and lady slept. In time it came
to be screened off from the sleeping-room; then, in the king's
palaces, it became a separate room for the use of the queen and
her damsels; and so, in due course, reached the nobleman's
castle, and established itself as a permanent part of English
house-planning.</p>
<p>In France the evolution of the <i>salon</i> seems to have proceeded on
somewhat different lines. During the middle ages and the early
Renaissance period, the more public part of the nobleman's life
was enacted in the hall, or <i>grand'salle</i>, while the social and
domestic side of existence was transferred to the bedroom. This
was soon divided into two rooms, as in England. In France,
however, both these rooms contained beds; the inner being the
real sleeping-chamber, while in the outer room, which was used
not only for administering justice and receiving visits of state,
but for informal entertainments and the social side of family life,
the bedstead represented the lord's <i>lit de parade</i>, traditionally
associated with state ceremonial and feudal privileges.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_34" id="plate_34"></a>
<img src="images/plate_34.jpg" width="450" height="550" alt="Sala della Maddalena" />
<p class="caption">SALA DELLA MADDALENA, ROYAL PALACE, GENOA.<br />
XVIII CENTURY.<br />
(ITALIAN DRAWING-ROOM IN ROCAILLE STYLE.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXIV.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span></p>
<p>The custom of having a state bedroom in which no one slept
(<i>chambre de parade</i>, as it was called) was so firmly established
that even in the engravings of Abraham Bosse, representing
French life in the reign of Louis XIII, the fashionable apartments
in which card-parties, suppers, and other entertainments are
taking place, invariably contain a bed.</p>
<p>In large establishments the <i>chambre de parade</i> was never used
as a sleeping-chamber except by visitors of distinction; but in
small houses the lady slept in the room which served as her
boudoir and drawing-room. The Renaissance, it is true, had introduced
from Italy the <i>cabinet</i> opening off the lady's chamber,
as in the palaces of Urbino and Mantua; but these rooms were
at first seen only in kings' palaces, and were, moreover, too
small to serve any social purpose. The <i>cabinet</i> of Catherine de'
Medici at Blois is a characteristic example.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, the gallery had relieved the <i>grand'salle</i> of some of
its numerous uses; and these two apartments seem to have satisfied
all the requirements of society during the Renaissance in France.</p>
<p>In the seventeenth century the introduction of the two-storied
Italian saloon produced a state apartment called a <i>salon</i>; and this,
towards the beginning of the eighteenth century, was divided
into two smaller rooms: one, the <i>salon de compagnie</i>, remaining
a part of the gala suite used exclusively for entertaining (see <a href="#plate_34">Plate
XXXIV</a>), while the other—the <i>salon de famille</i>—became a
family apartment like the English drawing-room.</p>
<p>The distinction between the <i>salon de compagnie</i> and the <i>salon de
famille</i> had by this time also established itself in England, where
the state drawing-room retained its Italian name of <i>salone</i>, or
saloon, while the living-apartment preserved, in abbreviated form,
the mediæval designation of the lady's with-drawing-room.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span></p>
<p>Pains have been taken to trace as clearly as possible the mixed
ancestry of the modern drawing-room, in order to show that it is
the result of two distinct influences—that of the gala apartment
and that of the family sitting-room. This twofold origin has curiously
affected the development of the drawing-room. In houses
of average size, where there are but two living-rooms—the master's
library, or "den," and the lady's drawing-room,—it is obvious
that the latter ought to be used as a <i>salon de famille</i>, or meeting-place
for the whole family; and it is usually regarded as such
in England, where common sense generally prevails in matters of
material comfort and convenience, and where the drawing-room
is often furnished with a simplicity which would astonish those
who associate the name with white-and-gold walls and uncomfortable
furniture.</p>
<p>In modern American houses both traditional influences are seen.
Sometimes, as in England, the drawing-room is treated as a family
apartment, and provided with books, lamps, easy-chairs and
writing-tables. In other houses it is still considered sacred to
gilding and discomfort, the best room in the house, and the convenience
of all its inmates, being sacrificed to a vague feeling that
no drawing-room is worthy of the name unless it is uninhabitable.
This is an instance of the <i>salon de compagnie</i> having usurped the
rightful place of the <i>salon de famille</i>; or rather, if the bourgeois descent
of the American house be considered, it may be more truly
defined as a remnant of the "best parlor" superstition.</p>
<p>Whatever the genealogy of the American drawing-room, it
must be owned that it too often fails to fulfil its purpose as a family
apartment. It is curious to note the amount of thought and
money frequently spent on the one room in the house used by no
one, or occupied at most for an hour after a "company" dinner.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_35" id="plate_35"></a>
<img src="images/plate_35.jpg" width="450" height="348" alt="Console in the Petit Trianon" />
<p class="caption">CONSOLE IN THE PETIT TRIANON, VERSAILLES.<br />
LATE LOUIS XV STYLE.<br />
BUST OF LOUIS XVI, BY PAJOU.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXV.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span></p>
<p>To this drawing-room, from which the inmates of the house instinctively
flee as soon as their social duties are discharged, many
necessities are often sacrificed. The library, or den, where the
members of the family sit, may be furnished with shabby odds
and ends; but the drawing-room must have its gilt chairs covered
with brocade, its <i>vitrines</i> full of modern Saxe, its guipure
curtains and velvet carpet.</p>
<p>The <i>salon de compagnie</i> is out of place in the average house.
Such a room is needed only where the dinners or other entertainments
given are so large as to make it impossible to use the ordinary
living-rooms of the house. In the grandest houses of Europe
the gala-rooms are never thrown open except for general entertainments,
or to receive guests of exalted rank, and the spectacle
of a dozen people languishing after dinner in the gilded wilderness
of a state saloon is practically unknown.</p>
<p>The purpose for which the <i>salon de compagnie</i> is used necessitates
its being furnished in the same formal manner as other gala
apartments. Circulation must not be impeded by a multiplicity
of small pieces of furniture holding lamps or other fragile objects,
while at least half of the chairs should be so light and easily moved
that groups may be formed and broken up at will. The walls
should be brilliantly decorated, without needless elaboration of
detail, since it is unlikely that the temporary occupants of such
a room will have time or inclination to study its treatment closely.
The chief requisite is a gay first impression. To produce this,
the wall-decoration should be light in color, and the furniture
should consist of a few strongly marked pieces, such as handsome
cabinets and consoles, bronze or marble statues, and vases
and candelabra of imposing proportions. Almost all modern
furniture is too weak in design and too finikin in detail to look
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span>
well in a gala drawing-room.<a name="FNanchor_34" id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> (For examples of drawing-room
furniture, see Plates <a href="#plate_6">VI</a>, <a href="#plate_9">IX</a>, <a href="#plate_34">XXXIV</a>, and <a href="#plate_35">XXXV</a>.)</p>
<p>Beautiful pictures or rare prints produce little effect on the walls
of a gala room, just as an accumulation of small objects of art,
such as enamels, ivories and miniatures, are wasted upon its
tables and cabinets. Such treasures are for rooms in which people
spend their days, not for those in which they assemble for an
hour's entertainment.</p>
<p>But the <i>salon de compagnie</i>, being merely a modified form of
the great Italian saloon, is a part of the gala suite, and any detailed
discussion of the decorative treatment most suitable to it would
result in a repetition of what is said in the chapter on Gala Rooms.</p>
<p>The lighting of the company drawing-room—to borrow its
French designation—should be evenly diffused, without the separate
centres of illumination needful in a family living-room. The
proper light is that of wax candles. Nothing has done more to
vulgarize interior decoration than the general use of gas and of
electricity in the living-rooms of modern houses. Electric light
especially, with its harsh white glare, which no expedients have
as yet overcome, has taken from our drawing-rooms all air of
privacy and distinction. In passageways and offices, electricity is
of great service; but were it not that all "modern improvements"
are thought equally applicable to every condition of life, it would
be difficult to account for the adoption of a mode of lighting which
makes the <i>salon</i> look like a railway-station, the dining-room like a
restaurant. That such light is not needful in a drawing-room is
shown by the fact that electric bulbs are usually covered by shades
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span>
of some deep color, in order that the glare may be made as inoffensive
as possible.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_36" id="plate_36"></a>
<img src="images/plate_36.jpg" width="450" height="353" alt="Salon, Fontainebleau" />
<p class="caption">SALON, PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXVI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The light in a gala apartment should be neither vivid nor
concentrated: the soft, evenly diffused brightness of wax candles
is best fitted to bring out those subtle modellings of light and
shade to which old furniture and objects of art owe half their
expressiveness.</p>
<p>The treatment of the <i>salon de compagnie</i> naturally differs from
that of the family drawing-room: the latter is essentially a room
in which people should be made comfortable. There must be a
well-appointed writing-table; the chairs must be conveniently
grouped about various tables, each with its lamp;—in short, the
furniture should be so disposed that people are not forced to take
refuge in their bedrooms for lack of fitting arrangements in the
drawing-room.</p>
<p>The old French cabinet-makers excelled in the designing and
making of furniture for the <i>salon de famille</i>. The term "French
furniture" suggests to the Anglo-Saxon mind the stiff appointments
of the gala room—heavy gilt consoles, straight-backed
arm-chairs covered with tapestry, and monumental marble-topped
tables. Admirable furniture of this kind was made in France; but
in the grand style the Italian cabinet-makers competed successfully
with the French; whereas the latter stood alone in the production
of the simpler and more comfortable furniture adapted to
the family living-room. Among those who have not studied the
subject there is a general impression that eighteenth-century furniture,
however beautiful in design and execution, was not comfortable
in the modern sense. This is owing to the fact that the
popular idea of "old furniture" is based on the appointments of
gala rooms in palaces: visitors to Versailles or Fontainebleau are
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span>
more likely to notice the massive gilt consoles and benches in the
state saloons than the simple easy-chairs and work-tables of the
<i>petits appartements</i>. A visit to the Garde Meuble or to the Musée
des Arts Décoratifs of Paris, or the inspection of any collection
of French eighteenth-century furniture, will show the versatility
and common sense of the old French cabinet-makers. They produced
an infinite variety of small <i>meubles</i>, in which beauty of design
and workmanship were joined to simplicity and convenience.</p>
<p>The old arm-chair, or <i>bergère</i>, is a good example of this combination.
The modern upholsterer pads and puffs his seats as
though they were to form the furniture of a lunatic's cell; and
then, having expanded them to such dimensions that they cannot
be moved without effort, perches their dropsical bodies on
four little casters. Any one who compares such an arm-chair to
the eighteenth-century <i>bergère</i>, with its strong tapering legs, its
snugly-fitting back and cushioned seat, must admit that the
latter is more convenient and more beautiful (see Plates <a href="#plate_8">VIII</a>
and <a href="#plate_37">XXXVII</a>).</p>
<p>The same may be said of the old French tables—from desks,
card and work-tables, to the small <i>guéridon</i> just large enough
to hold a book and candlestick. All these tables were simple and
practical in design: even in the Louis XV period, when more
variety of outline and ornament was permitted, the strong
structural lines were carefully maintained, and it is unusual to see
an old table that does not stand firmly on its legs and appear
capable of supporting as much weight as its size will permit
(see Louis XV writing-table in <a href="#plate_46">Plate XLVI</a>).</p>
<p>The French tables, cabinets and commodes used in the family
apartments were usually of inlaid wood, with little ornamentation
save the design of the marquetry—elaborate mounts of chiselled
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span>
bronze being reserved for the furniture of gala rooms (see <a href="#plate_10">Plate
X</a>). Old French marquetry was exquisitely delicate in color and
design, while Italian inlaying of the same period, though coarser,
was admirable in composition. Old Italian furniture of the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries was always either inlaid or carved
and painted in gay colors: chiselled mounts are virtually unknown
in Italy.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_37" id="plate_37"></a>
<img src="images/plate_37.jpg" width="450" height="350" alt="Louis XV Panelling, Fontainebleau" />
<p class="caption">ROOM IN THE PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU.<br />
LOUIS XV PANELLING, LOUIS XVI FURNITURE.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXVII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The furniture of the eighteenth century in England, while not
comparable in design to the best French models, was well made
and dignified; and its angularity of outline is not out of place
against the somewhat cold and formal background of an Adam
room.</p>
<p>English marquetry suffered from the poverty of ornament
marking the wall-decoration of the period. There was a certain
timidity about the decorative compositions of the school of Adam
and Sheraton, and in their scanty repertoire the laurel-wreath, the
velarium and the cornucopia reappear with tiresome frequency.</p>
<p>The use to which the family drawing-room is put should indicate
the character of its decoration. Since it is a room in which
many hours of the day are spent, and in which people are at
leisure, it should contain what is best worth looking at in the way
of pictures, prints, and other objects of art; while there should be
nothing about its decoration so striking or eccentric as to become
tiresome when continually seen. A fanciful style may be pleasing
in apartments used only for stated purposes, such as the saloon
or gallery; but in a living-room, decoration should be subordinate
to the individual, forming merely a harmonious but unobtrusive
background (see Plates <a href="#plate_36">XXXVI</a> and <a href="#plate_37">XXXVII</a>). Such a setting
also brings out the full decorative value of all the drawing-room
accessories—screens, andirons, <i>appliques</i>, and door and window-fastenings.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span>
A study of any old French interior will show
how much these details contributed to the general effect of the
room.</p>
<p>Those who really care for books are seldom content to restrict
them to the library, for nothing adds more to the charm of a
drawing-room than a well-designed bookcase: an expanse of
beautiful bindings is as decorative as a fine tapestry.</p>
<p>The boudoir is, properly speaking, a part of the bedroom suite,
and as such is described in the chapter on the Bedroom. Sometimes,
however, a small sitting-room adjoins the family drawing-room,
and this, if given up to the mistress of the house, is virtually
the boudoir.</p>
<p>The modern boudoir is a very different apartment from its
eighteenth-century prototype. Though it may preserve the delicate
decorations and furniture suggested by its name, such a
room is now generally used for the prosaic purpose of interviewing
servants, going over accounts and similar occupations. The
appointments should therefore comprise a writing-desk, with
pigeon-holes, drawers, and cupboards, and a comfortable lounge,
or <i>lit de repos</i>, for resting and reading.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_38" id="plate_38"></a>
<img src="images/plate_38.jpg" width="450" height="305" alt="Lit de Repos" />
<p class="caption">LIT DE REPOS, EARLY LOUIS XV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXVIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The <i>lit de repos</i>, which, except in France, has been replaced by
the clumsy upholstered lounge, was one of the most useful pieces
of eighteenth-century furniture (see <a href="#plate_38">Plate XXXVIII</a>). As its name
implies, it is shaped somewhat like a bed, or rather like a cradle
that stands on four legs instead of swinging. It is made of
carved wood, sometimes upholstered, but often seated with cane
(see <a href="#plate_39">Plate XXXIX</a>). In the latter case it is fitted with a mattress
and with a pillow-like cushion covered with some material in
keeping with the hangings of the room. Sometimes the <i>duchesse</i>,
or upholstered <i>bergère</i> with removable foot-rest in the shape of a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span>
square bench, is preferred to the <i>lit de repos</i>; but the latter is the
more elegant and graceful, and it is strange that it should have
been discarded in favor of the modern lounge, which is not only
ugly, but far less comfortable.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_39" id="plate_39"></a>
<img src="images/plate_39.jpg" width="450" height="278" alt="Lit de Repos" />
<p class="caption">LIT DE REPOS, LOUIS XV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XXXIX.</i></p>
</div>
<p>As the boudoir is generally a small room, it is peculiarly suited
to the more delicate styles of painting or stucco ornamentation
described in the third chapter. A study of boudoir-decoration in
the last century, especially in France, will show the admirable
sense of proportion regulating the treatment of these little rooms
(see <a href="#plate_40">Plate XL</a>). Their adornment was naturally studied with special
care by the painters and decorators of an age in which women
played so important a part.</p>
<p>It is sometimes thought that the eighteenth-century boudoir was
always decorated and furnished in a very elaborate manner. This
idea originates in the fact, already pointed out, that the rooms
usually seen by tourists are those in royal palaces, or in such
princely houses as are thrown open to the public on account of
their exceptional magnificence. The same type of boudoir is continually
reproduced in books on architecture and decoration; and
what is really a small private sitting-room for the lady of the
house, corresponding with her husband's "den," has thus come
to be regarded as one of the luxuries of a great establishment.</p>
<p>The prints of Eisen, Marillier, Moreau le Jeune, and other book-illustrators
of the eighteenth century, show that the boudoir in the
average private house was, in fact, a simple room, gay and graceful
in decoration, but as a rule neither rich nor elaborate (see Pl<a href="#plate_41">ate
XLI</a>). As it usually adjoined the bedroom, it was decorated in the
same manner, and even when its appointments were expensive
all appearance of costliness was avoided.<a name="FNanchor_35" id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a></p>
<p>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span></p>
<p>The boudoir is the room in which small objects of art—prints,
mezzotints and <i>gouaches</i>—show to the best advantage. No detail
is wasted, and all manner of delicate effects in wood-carving, marquetry,
and other ornamentation, such as would be lost upon the
walls and furniture of a larger room, here acquire their full value.
One or two well-chosen prints hung on a background of plain
color will give more pleasure than a medley of photographs,
colored photogravures, and other decorations of the cotillon-favor
type. Not only do mediocre ornaments become tiresome
when seen day after day, but the mere crowding of furniture and
gimcracks into a small room intended for work and repose will
soon be found fatiguing.</p>
<p>Many English houses, especially in the country, contain a useful
room called the "morning-room," which is well defined by
Robert Kerr, in <i>The English Gentleman's House</i>, as "the drawing-room
in ordinary." It is, in fact, a kind of undress drawing-room,
where the family may gather informally at all hours of the
day. The out-of-door life led in England makes it specially necessary
to provide a sitting-room which people are not afraid to
enter in muddy boots and wet clothes. Even if the drawing-room
be not, as Mr. Kerr quaintly puts it, "preserved"—that is,
used exclusively for company—it is still likely to contain the
best furniture in the house; and though that "best" is not too
fine for every-day use, yet in a large family an informal, wet-weather
room of this kind is almost indispensable.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_40" id="plate_40"></a>
<img src="images/plate_40.jpg" width="450" height="557" alt="Painted Wall-Panel" />
<p class="caption">PAINTED WALL-PANEL AND DOOR, CHÂTEAU OF<br />
CHANTILLY. LOUIS XV.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF CHINOISERIE DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XL.</i></p>
</div>
<p>No matter how elaborately the rest of the house is furnished,
the appointments of the morning-room should be plain, comfortable,
and capable of resisting hard usage. It is a good plan to
cover the floor with a straw matting, and common sense at once
suggests the furniture best suited to such a room: two or three
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span>
good-sized tables with lamps, a comfortable sofa, and chairs
covered with chintz, leather, or one of the bright-colored horsehairs
now manufactured in France.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_41" id="plate_41"></a>
<img src="images/plate_41.jpg" width="410" height="600" alt="French Boudoir" />
<p class="caption">
Sa triste amante abandonnee<br />
Pleure ses maux et ses plaisirs.</p>
<p class="caption">FRENCH BOUDOIR, LOUIS XVI PERIOD.<br />
(FROM A PRINT BY LE BOUTEUX.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLI.</i></p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">XI</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span></p>
<h3>GALA ROOMS: BALL-ROOM, SALOON, MUSIC-ROOM,
GALLERY</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">E</span>uropean architects have always considered it essential that
those rooms which are used exclusively for entertaining—gala
rooms, as they are called—should be quite separate from the
family apartments,—either occupying an entire floor (the Italian
<i>piano nobile</i>) or being so situated that it is not necessary to open
them except for general entertainments.</p>
<p>In many large houses lately built in America, with ball and
music rooms and a hall simulating the two-storied Italian saloon,
this distinction has been disregarded, and living and gala rooms
have been confounded in an agglomeration of apartments where
the family, for lack of a smaller suite, sit under gilded ceilings and
cut-glass chandeliers, in about as much comfort and privacy as
are afforded by the public "parlors" of one of our new twenty-story
hotels. This confusion of two essentially different types of
room, designed for essentially different phases of life, has been
caused by the fact that the architect, when called upon to build a
grand house, has simply enlarged, instead of altering, the <i>maison
bourgeoise</i> that has hitherto been the accepted model of the
American gentleman's house; for it must not be forgotten that
the modern American dwelling descends from the English middle-class
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span>
house, not from the aristocratic country-seat or town
residence. The English nobleman's town house was like the
French <i>hôtel</i>, with gates, porter's lodge, and court-yard surrounded
by stables and offices; and the planning of the country-seat
was even more elaborate.</p>
<p>A glance at any collection of old English house-plans, such as
Campbell's <i>Vitruvius Britannicus</i>, will show the purely middle-class
ancestry of the American house, and the consequent futility
of attempting, by the mere enlargement of each room, to turn it
into a gentleman's seat or town residence. The kind of life which
makes gala rooms necessary exacts a different method of planning;
and until this is more generally understood the treatment of such
rooms in American houses will never be altogether satisfactory.</p>
<p>Gala rooms are meant for general entertainments, never for any
assemblage small or informal enough to be conveniently accommodated
in the ordinary living-rooms of the house; therefore to
fulfil their purpose they must be large, very high-studded, and not
overcrowded with furniture, while the walls and ceiling—the
only parts of a crowded room that can be seen—must be decorated
with greater elaboration than would be pleasing or appropriate
in other rooms. All these conditions unfit the gala room
for any use save that for which it is designed. Nothing can be
more cheerless than the state of a handful of people sitting after
dinner in an immense ball-room with gilded ceiling, bare floors,
and a few pieces of monumental furniture ranged round the walls;
yet in any house which is simply an enlargement of the ordinary
private dwelling the hostess is often compelled to use the ball-room
or saloon as a drawing-room.</p>
<p>A gala room is never meant to be seen except when crowded:
the crowd takes the place of furniture. Occupied by a small number
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span>
of people, such a room looks out of proportion, stiff and
empty. The hostess feels this, and tries, by setting chairs and
tables askew, and introducing palms, screens and knick-knacks,
to produce an effect of informality. As a result the room dwarfs
the furniture, loses the air of state, and gains little in real comfort;
while it becomes necessary, when a party is given, to remove the
furniture and disarrange the house, thus undoing the chief <i>raison
d'être</i> of such apartments.</p>
<p>The Italians, inheriting the grandiose traditions of the Augustan
age, have always excelled in the treatment of rooms demanding
the "grand manner." Their unfailing sense that house-decoration
is interior architecture, and must clearly proclaim its architectural
affiliations, has been of special service in this respect. It is rare in
Italy to see a large room inadequately treated. Sometimes the
"grand manner"—the mimic <i>terribilità</i>—may be carried too far
to suit Anglo-Saxon taste—it is hard to say for what form of entertainment
such a room as Giulio Romano's Sala dei Giganti in
the Palazzo del T would form a pleasing or appropriate background—but
apart from such occasional aberrations, the Italian
decorators showed a wonderful sense of fitness in the treatment of
state apartments. To small dribbles of ornament they preferred
bold forcible mouldings, coarse but clear-cut free-hand ornamentation
in stucco, and either a classic severity of treatment or
the turbulent bravura style of the saloon of the Villa Rotonda and
of Tiepolo's Cleopatra frescoes in the Palazzo Labia at Venice.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_42" id="plate_42"></a>
<img src="images/plate_42.jpg" width="450" height="575" alt="Salon à l'Italienne" />
<p class="caption">SALON À L'ITALIENNE.<br />
(FROM A PICTURE BY COYPEL.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The saloon and gallery are the two gala rooms borrowed
from Italy by northern Europe. The saloon has already been described
in the chapter on Hall and Stairs. It was a two-storied
apartment, usually with clerestory, domed ceiling, and a gallery
to which access was obtained by concealed staircases (see
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span>
Plates <a href="#plate_42">XLII</a> and <a href="#plate_43">XLIII</a>). This gallery was often treated as an arcade
or loggia, and in many old Italian prints and pictures there
are representations of these saloons, with groups of gaily dressed
people looking down from the gallery upon the throngs crowding
the floor. The saloon was used in Italy as a ball-room or gambling-room—gaming
being the chief social amusement of the eighteenth century.</p>
<p>In England and France the saloon was rarely two stories high,
though there are some exceptions, as for example the saloon at
Vaux-le-Vicomte. The cooler climate rendered a clerestory less
necessary, and there was never the same passion for grandiose effects
as in Italy. The saloon in northern Europe was always a
stately and high-studded room, generally vaulted or domed, and
often circular in plan; but it seldom reached such imposing dimensions
as its Italian prototype, and when more than one story high
was known by the distinctive designation of <i>un salon à l'italienne</i>.</p>
<p>The gallery was probably the first feature in domestic house-planning
to be borrowed from Italy by northern Europe. It is
seen in almost all the early Renaissance châteaux of France; and
as soon as the influence of such men as John of Padua and John
Shute asserted itself in England, the gallery became one of the
principal apartments of the Elizabethan mansion. There are several
reasons for the popularity of the gallery. In the cold rainy
autumns and winters north of the Alps it was invaluable as a
sheltered place for exercise and games; it was well adapted to display
the pictures, statuary and bric-à-brac which, in emulation of
Italian collectors, the Northern nobles were beginning to acquire;
and it showed off to advantage the long line of ancestral portraits
and the tapestries representing a succession of episodes from the
<i>Æneid</i>, the <i>Orlando Innamorato</i>, or some of the interminable
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span>
epics that formed the light reading of the sixteenth century.
Then, too, the gallery served for the processions which were a
part of the social ceremonial in great houses: the march to the
chapel or banquet-hall, the escorting of a royal guest to the state
bedroom, and other like pageants.</p>
<p>In France and England the gallery seems for a long time to have
been used as a saloon and ball-room, whereas in Italy it was, as a
rule, reserved for the display of the art-treasures of the house, no
Italian palace worthy of the name being without its gallery of
antiquities or of marbles.</p>
<p>In modern houses the ball-room and music-room are the two
principal gala apartments. A music-room need not be a gala
room in the sense of being used only for large entertainments;
but since it is outside the circle of every-day use, and more or
less associated with entertaining, it seems best to include it in this
chapter.</p>
<p>Many houses of average size have a room large enough for
informal entertainments. Such a room, especially in country
houses, should be decorated in a gay simple manner in harmony
with the rest of the house and with the uses to which the room is
to be put. Rooms of this kind may be treated with a white dado,
surmounted by walls painted in a pale tint, with boldly modelled
garlands and attributes in stucco, also painted white (see <a href="#plate_13">Plate XIII</a>).
If these stucco decorations are used to frame a series of pictures,
such as fruit and flower-pieces or decorative subjects, the effect
is especially attractive. Large painted panels with eighteenth-century
<i>genre</i> subjects or pastoral scenes, set in simple white
panelling, are also very decorative. A coved ceiling is best suited
to rooms of this comparatively simple character, while in state
ball-rooms the dome increases the general appearance of splendor.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_43" id="plate_43"></a>
<img src="images/plate_43.jpg" width="450" height="337" alt="Ball-room, Genoa" />
<p class="caption">BALL-ROOM, ROYAL PALACE, GENOA. LATE XVIII CENTURY.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF STUCCO DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span>
A panelling of mirrors forms a brilliant ball-room decoration, and
charming effects are produced by painting these mirrors with
birds, butterflies, and garlands of flowers, in the manner of the
famous Italian mirror-painter, Mario dei Fiori—"Mario of the
Flowers"—as he was called in recognition of his special gift.
There is a beautiful room by this artist in the Borghese Palace in
Rome, and many Italian palaces contain examples of this peculiarly
brilliant style of decoration, which might be revived to
advantage by modern painters.</p>
<p>In ball-rooms of great size and importance, where the walls demand
a more architectural treatment, the use of an order naturally
suggests itself. Pilasters of marble, separated by marble niches
containing statues, form a severe but splendid decoration; and if
white and colored marbles are combined, and the whole is surmounted
by a domed ceiling frescoed in bright colors, the effect is
extremely brilliant.</p>
<p>In Italy the architectural decoration of large rooms was often
entirely painted (see <a href="#plate_44">Plate XLIV</a>), the plaster walls being covered
with a fanciful piling-up of statues, porticoes and balustrades,
while figures in Oriental costume, or in the masks and parti-colored
dress of the <i>Comédie Italienne</i>, leaned from simulated
loggias or wandered through marble colonnades.</p>
<p>The Italian decorator held any audacity permissible in a room
used only by a throng of people, whose mood and dress made
them ready to accept the fairy-tales on the walls as a fitting background
to their own masquerading. Modern travellers, walking
through these old Italian saloons in the harsh light of day, while
cobwebs hang from the audacious architecture, and the cracks in
the plaster look like wounds in the cheeks of simpering nymphs
and shepherdesses, should remember that such apartments were
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span>
meant to be seen by the soft light of wax candles in crystal chandeliers,
with fantastically dressed dancers thronging the marble
floor.</p>
<p>Such a ball-room, if reproduced in the present day, would be
far more effective than the conventional white-and-gold room,
which, though unobjectionable when well decorated, lacks the
imaginative charm, the personal note, given by the painter's
touch.</p>
<p>Under Louis XIV many French apartments of state were panelled
with colored marbles, with an application of attributes or
trophies, and other ornamental motives in fire-gilt bronze: a
sumptuous mode of treatment according well with a domed
and frescoed ceiling. Tapestry was also much used, and forms
an admirable decoration, provided the color-scheme is light and
the design animated. Seventeenth and eighteenth-century tapestries
are the most suitable, as the scale of color is brighter and
the compositions are gayer than in the earlier hangings.</p>
<p>Modern dancers prefer a polished wooden floor, and it is perhaps
smoother and more elastic than any other surface; but in
beauty and decorative value it cannot be compared with a floor
of inlaid marble, and as all the dancing in Italian palaces is still
done on such floors, the preference for wood is probably the
result of habit. In a ball-room of any importance, especially
where marble is used on the walls, the floor should always be of
the same substance (see floors in Plates <a href="#plate_29">XXIX</a>, <a href="#plate_30">XXX</a>, and <a href="#plate_55">LV</a>).</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_44" id="plate_44"></a>
<img src="images/plate_44.jpg" width="450" height="337" alt="Saloon, Villa Vertemati" />
<p class="caption">SALOON IN THE VILLA VERTEMATI. XVI CENTURY.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF FRESCOED WALLS AND CARVED WOODEN CEILING.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLIV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Gala apartments, as distinguished from living-rooms, should
be lit from the ceiling, never from the walls. No ball-room or
saloon is complete without its chandeliers: they are one of the
characteristic features of a gala room (see Plates <a href="#plate_5">V</a>, <a href="#plate_19">XIX</a>, <a href="#plate_34">XXXIV</a>,
<a href="#plate_43">XLIII</a>, <a href="#plate_45">XLV</a>, <a href="#plate_50">L</a>). For a ball-room, where all should be light and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span>
brilliant, rock-crystal or cut-glass chandeliers are most suitable:
reflected in a long line of mirrors, they are an invaluable factor in
any scheme of gala decoration.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_45" id="plate_45"></a>
<img src="images/plate_45.jpg" width="450" height="337" alt="Salla dello Zodiaco" />
<p class="caption">SALA DELLO ZODIACO, ROYAL PALACE, MANTUA. XVIII CENTURY.<br />
(EXAMPLE OF STUCCO DECORATION.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The old French decorators relied upon the reflection of mirrors
for producing an effect of distance in the treatment of gala rooms.
Above the mantel, there was always a mirror with another of the
same shape and size directly opposite; and the glittering perspective
thus produced gave to the scene an air of fantastic unreality.
The gala suite being so planned that all the rooms adjoined each
other, the effect of distance was further enhanced by placing the
openings in line, so that on entering the suite it was possible to
look down its whole length. The importance of preserving this
long vista, or <i>enfilade</i>, as the French call it, is dwelt on by all old
writers on house-decoration. If a ball-room be properly lit and
decorated, it is never necessary to dress it up with any sort of
temporary ornamentation: the true mark of the well-decorated
ball-room is to look always ready for a ball.</p>
<p>The only chair seen in most modern ball-rooms is the folding
camp-seat hired by the hundred when entertainments are given;
but there is no reason why a ball-room should be even temporarily
disfigured by these makeshifts, which look their worst when
an effort is made to conceal their cheap construction under a little
gilding and satin. In all old ball-rooms, benches and <i>tabourets</i>
(small seats without backs) were ranged in a continuous line
along the walls. These seats, handsomely designed, and covered
with tapestry, velvet, or embroidered silk slips, were a part of the
permanent decoration of the room. On ordinary occasions they
would be sufficient for a modern ball-room; and when larger entertainments
made it needful to provide additional seats, these
might be copied from the seventeenth-century <i>perroquets</i>, examples
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span>
of which may be found in the various French works on the
history of furniture. These <i>perroquets</i>, or folding chairs without
arms, made of natural walnut or gilded, with seats of tapestry,
velvet or decorated leather, would form an excellent substitute
for the modern cotillon seat.</p>
<p>The first rule to be observed in the decoration of the music-room
is the avoidance of all stuff hangings, draperies, and substances
likely to deaden sound. The treatment chosen for the
room must of course depend on its size and its relation to the
other rooms in the house. While a music-room should be more
subdued in color than a ball-room, sombre tints and heavy ornament
are obviously inappropriate: the effect aimed at should be
one of lightness and serenity in form and color. However small
and simple the music-room may be, it should always appear as
though there were space overhead for the notes to escape; and
some form of vaulting or doming is therefore more suitable than
a flat ceiling.</p>
<p>While plain panelling, if well designed, is never out of keeping,
the walls of a music-room are specially suited to a somewhat fanciful
style of decoration. In a ball-room, splendor and brilliancy
of effect are more needful than a studied delicacy; but where
people are seated, and everything in the room is consequently subjected
to close and prolonged scrutiny, sprightliness of composition
should be combined with variety of detail, the decoration
being neither so confused and intricate as to distract attention, nor
so conventional as to be dismissed with a glance on entering the
room.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_46" id="plate_46"></a>
<img src="images/plate_46.jpg" width="450" height="294" alt="French Table" />
<p class="caption">FRENCH TABLE.<br />
(TRANSITION BETWEEN LOUIS XIV AND LOUIS XV PERIODS.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLVI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The early Renaissance compositions in which stucco low-reliefs
blossom into painted arabesques and tendrils, are peculiarly
adapted to a small music-room; while those who prefer a more
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span>
architectural treatment may find admirable examples in some of
the Italian eighteenth-century rooms decorated with free-hand
stucco ornament, or in the sculptured wood-panelling of the same
period in France. At Remiremont in the Vosges, formerly the
residence of a noble order of canonesses, the abbess's <i>hôtel</i> contains
an octagonal music-room of exceptional beauty, the panelled
walls being carved with skilfully combined musical instruments
and flower-garlands.</p>
<p>In larger apartments a fanciful style of fresco-painting might be
employed, as in the rooms painted by Tiepolo in the Villa Valmarana,
near Vicenza, or in the staircase of the Palazzo Sina, at
Venice, decorated by Longhi with the episodes of an eighteenth-century
carnival. Whatever the design chosen, it should never
resemble the formal treatment suited to ball-room and saloon: the
decoration should sound a note distinctly suggestive of the purpose
for which the music-room is used.</p>
<p>It is difficult to understand why modern music-rooms have so
long been disfigured by the clumsy lines of grand and upright pianos,
since the cases of both might be modified without affecting the
construction of the instrument. Of the two, the grand piano
would be the easier to remodel: if its elephantine supports were
replaced by slender fluted legs, and its case and sounding-board
were painted, or inlaid with marquetry, it would resemble the
charming old clavecin which preceded the pianoforte.</p>
<p>Fewer changes are possible in the "upright"; but a marked
improvement could be produced by straightening its legs and
substituting right angles for the weak curves of the lid. The
case itself might be made of plainly panelled mahogany, with a
few good ormolu ornaments; or of inlaid wood, with a design of
musical instruments and similar "attributes"; or it might be
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span>
decorated with flower-garlands and arabesques painted either on
the natural wood or on a gilt or colored background.</p>
<p>Designers should also study the lines of those two long-neglected
pieces of furniture, the music-stool and music-stand.
The latter should be designed to match the piano, and painted
or inlaid like its case. The revolving mushroom that now
serves as a music-stool is a modern invention: the old stools were
substantial circular seats resting on four fluted legs. The manuals
of the eighteenth-century cabinet-makers contain countless models
of these piano-seats, which might well be reproduced by modern
designers: there seems no practical reason why the accessories of
the piano should be less decorative than those of the harpsichord.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_47" id="plate_47"></a>
<img src="images/plate_47.jpg" width="450" height="341" alt="Library, Versailles" />
<p class="caption">LIBRARY OF LOUIS XVI, PALACE OF VERSAILLES.<br />
(LOUIS XV WRITING-TABLE WITH BUST.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLVII.</i></p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">XII</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span></p>
<h3>THE LIBRARY, SMOKING-ROOM, AND "DEN"</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">I</span>n the days when furniture was defined as "that which may be
carried about," the natural bookcase was a chest with a strong
lock. These chests, packed with precious manuscripts, followed
the prince or noble from one castle to another, and were even carried
after him into camp. Before the invention of printing, when
twenty or thirty books formed an exceptionally large library, and
many great personages were content with the possession of one
volume, such ambulant bookcases were sufficient for the requirements
of the most eager bibliophile. Occasionally the volumes
were kept in a small press or cupboard, and placed in a chest only
when their owner travelled; but the bookcase, as now known,
did not take shape until much later, for when books multiplied
with the introduction of printing, it became customary to fit up
for their reception little rooms called <i>cabinets</i>. In the famous <i>cabinet</i>
of Catherine de Medici at Blois the walls are lined with book-shelves
concealed behind sliding panels—a contrivance rendered
doubly necessary by the general insecurity of property, and by the
fact that the books of that period, whether in manuscript or
printed, were made sumptuous as church jewelry by the art of
painter and goldsmith.</p>
<p>Long after the establishment of the printing-press, books, except
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span>
in the hands of the scholar, continued to be a kind of curiosity,
like other objects of art: less an intellectual need than a treasure
upon which rich men prided themselves. It was not until the
middle of the seventeenth century that the taste for books became
a taste for reading. France led the way in this new fashion, which
was assiduously cultivated in those Parisian <i>salons</i> of which Madame
de Rambouillet's is the recognized type. The possession of
a library, hitherto the privilege of kings, of wealthy monasteries,
or of some distinguished patron of letters like Grolier, Maioli, or
de Thou, now came to be regarded as a necessity of every gentleman's
establishment. Beautiful bindings were still highly valued,
and some of the most wonderful work produced in France belongs
to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; but as people began
to buy books for the sake of what they contained, less exaggerated
importance was attached to their exterior, so that bindings,
though perfect as taste and skill could make them, were seldom
as extravagantly enriched as in the two preceding centuries. Up
to a certain point this change was not to be regretted: the mediæval
book, with its gold or ivory bas-reliefs bordered with precious
stones, and its massive jewelled clasps, was more like a monstrance
or reliquary than anything meant for less ceremonious use.
It remained for the Italian printers and binders of the sixteenth
century, and for their French imitators, to adapt the form of the
book to its purpose, changing, as it were, a jewelled idol to a
human companion.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_48" id="plate_48"></a>
<img src="images/plate_48.jpg" width="450" height="360" alt="Library at Audley End" />
<p class="caption">SMALL LIBRARY AT AUDLEY END, ENGLAND. XVIII CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLVIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The substitution of the octavo for the folio, and certain modifications
in binding which made it possible to stand books upright
instead of laying one above the other with edges outward, gradually
gave to the library a more modern aspect. In France, by the
middle of the seventeenth century, the library had come to be a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span>
recognized feature in private houses. The Renaissance <i>cabinet</i>
continued to be the common receptacle for books; but as the
shelves were no longer concealed, bindings now contributed to the
decoration of the room. Movable bookcases were not unknown,
but these seem to have been merely presses in which wooden
door-panels were replaced by glass or by a lattice-work of brass
wire. The typical French bookcase <i>à deux corps</i>—that is, made
in two separate parts, the lower a cupboard to contain prints and
folios, the upper with shelves and glazed or latticed doors—was
introduced later, and is still the best model for a movable bookcase.
In rooms of any importance, however, the French architect
always preferred to build his book-shelves into niches formed
in the thickness of the wall, thus utilizing the books as part of his
scheme of decoration.</p>
<p>There is no doubt that this is not only the most practical, but
the most decorative, way of housing any collection of books large
enough to be so employed. To adorn the walls of a library, and
then conceal their ornamentation by expensive bookcases, is a
waste, or rather a misapplication, of effects—always a sin against
æsthetic principles.</p>
<p>The importance of bookbindings as an element in house-decoration
has already been touched upon; but since a taste for good
bindings has come to be regarded as a collector's fad, like accumulating
snuff-boxes or <i>baisers-de-paix</i>, it seems needful to point
out how obvious and valuable a means of decoration is lost by
disregarding the outward appearance of books. To be decorative,
a bookcase need not contain the productions of the master-binders,—old
volumes by Eve and Derôme, or the work of Roger
Payne and Sanderson,—unsurpassed as they are in color-value.
Ordinary bindings of half morocco or vellum form an expanse of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span>
warm lustrous color; such bindings are comparatively inexpensive;
yet people will often hesitate to pay for a good edition
bound in plain levant half the amount they are ready to throw
away upon a piece of modern Saxe or a silver photograph-frame.</p>
<p>The question of binding leads incidentally to that of editions,
though the latter is hardly within the scope of this book. People
who have begun to notice the outside of their books naturally
come to appreciate paper and type; and thus learn that the
modern book is too often merely the cheapest possible vehicle for
putting words into print. The last few years have brought about
some improvement; and it is now not unusual for a publisher, in
bringing out a book at the ordinary rates, to produce also a small
edition in large-paper copies. These large-paper books, though
as yet far from perfect in type and make-up, are superior to the
average "commercial article"; and, apart from their artistic merit,
are in themselves a good investment, since the value of such editions
increases steadily year by year. Those who cannot afford
both edition and binding will do better to buy large-paper books
or current first editions in boards, than "handsomely bound"
volumes unworthy in type and paper. The plain paper or buckram
covers of a good publisher are, in fact, more decorative, because
more artistic, than showy tree-calf or "antique morocco."</p>
<p>The same principle applies to the library itself: plain shelves
filled with good editions in good bindings are more truly decorative
than ornate bookcases lined with tawdry books.</p>
<p>It has already been pointed out that the plan of building book-shelves
into the walls is the most decorative and the most practical
(see <a href="#plate_48">Plate XLVIII)</a>. The best examples of this treatment are found
in France. The walls of the rooms thus decorated were usually
of panelled wood, either in natural oak or walnut, as in the beautiful
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span>
library of the old university at Nancy, or else painted in two
contrasting colors, such as gray and white. When not set in
recesses, the shelves formed a sort of continuous lining around
the walls, as in the library of Louis XVI in the palace at Versailles
(see <a href="#plate_47">Plate XLVII</a>), or in that of the Duc de Choiseul at Chanteloup,
now set up in one of the rooms of the public library at Tours.</p>
<p>In either case, instead of being detached pieces of furniture, the
bookcases formed an organic part of the wall-decoration. Any
study of old French works on house-decoration and furniture will
show how seldom the detached bookcase was used in French
libraries: but few models are to be found, and these were probably
designed for use in the boudoir or study, rather than in the
library proper (see bookcase in <a href="#plate_5">Plate V</a>).</p>
<p>In England, where private libraries were fewer and less extensive,
the movable bookcase was much used, and examples
of built-in shelves are proportionately rarer. The hand-books
of the old English cabinet-makers contain innumerable models of
handsome bookcases, with glazed doors set with diamond-shaped
panes in wooden mouldings, and the familiar broken pediment
surmounted by a bust or an urn. It was natural that where
books were few, small bookcases should be preferred to a room
lined with shelves; and in the seventeenth century, according to
John Evelyn, the "three nations of Great Britain" contained fewer
books than Paris.</p>
<p>Almost all the old bookcases had one feature in common: that
is, the lower cupboard with solid doors. The bookcase proper
rested upon this projecting cupboard, thus raising the books
above the level of the furniture. The prevalent fashion of low
book-shelves, starting from the floor, and not extending much
higher than the dado-moulding, has probably been brought about
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span>
by the other recent fashion of low-studded rooms. Architects are
beginning to rediscover the forgotten fact that the stud of a room
should be regulated by the dimensions of its floor-space; so that
in the newer houses the dwarf bookcase is no longer a necessity.
It is certainly less convenient than the tall old-fashioned press;
for not only must one kneel to reach the lower shelves, but the
books are hidden, and access to them is obstructed, by their being
on a level with the furniture.</p>
<p>The general decoration of the library should be of such character
as to form a background or setting to the books, rather than to
distract attention from them. The richly adorned room in which
books are but a minor incident is, in fact, no library at all. There
is no reason why the decorations of a library should not be splendid;
but in that case the books must be splendid too, and sufficient
in number to dominate all the accessory decorations of the
room.</p>
<p>When there are books enough, it is best to use them as part of
the decorative treatment of the walls, panelling any intervening
spaces in a severe and dignified style; otherwise movable bookcases
may be placed against the more important wall-spaces, the
walls being decorated with wooden panelling or with mouldings
and stucco ornaments; but in this case composition and color-scheme
must be so subdued as to throw the bookcases and their
contents into marked relief. It does not follow that because books
are the chief feature of the library, other ornaments should be excluded;
but they should be used with discrimination, and so
chosen as to harmonize with the spirit of the room. Nowhere is
the modern litter of knick-knacks and photographs more inappropriate
than in the library. The tables should be large, substantial,
and clear of everything but lamps, books and papers—one table
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span>
at least being given over to the filing of books and newspapers.
The library writing-table is seldom large enough, or sufficiently
free from odds and ends in the shape of photograph-frames, silver
boxes, and flower-vases, to give free play to the elbows. A large
solid table of the kind called <i>bureau-ministre</i> (see the table in
<a href="#plate_47">Plate XLVII</a>) is well adapted to the library; and in front of it
should stand a comfortable writing-chair such as that represented
in <a href="#plate_49">Plate XLIX</a>.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_49" id="plate_49"></a>
<img src="images/plate_49.jpg" width="372" height="500" alt="Writing-Chair" />
<p class="caption">WRITING-CHAIR, LOUIS XV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE XLIX.</i></p>
</div>
<p>The housing of a great private library is one of the most interesting
problems of interior architecture. Such a room, combining
monumental dimensions with the rich color-values and impressive
effect produced by tiers of fine bindings, affords unequalled opportunity
for the exercise of the architect's skill. The two-storied
room with gallery and stairs and domed or vaulted ceiling is
the finest setting for a great collection. Space may of course be
gained by means of a series of bookcases projecting into the
room and forming deep bays along each of the walls; but this
arrangement is seldom necessary save in a public library, and
however skilfully handled must necessarily diminish the architectural
effect of the room. In America the great private library is
still so much a thing of the future that its treatment need not be
discussed in detail. Few of the large houses lately built in the
United States contain a library in the serious meaning of the
term; but it is to be hoped that the next generation of architects
will have wider opportunities in this direction.</p>
<p>The smoking-room proper, with its <i>mise en scène</i> of Turkish
divans, narghilehs, brass coffee-trays, and other Oriental properties,
is no longer considered a necessity in the modern house; and
the room which would formerly have been used for this special
purpose now comes rather under the head of the master's lounging-room,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span>
or "den"—since the latter word seems to have attained
the dignity of a technical term.</p>
<p>Whatever extravagances the upholsterer may have committed
in other parts of the house, it is usually conceded that common
sense should regulate the furnishing of the den. Fragile chairs,
lace-petticoat lamp-shades and irrelevant bric-à-brac are consequently
excluded; and the master's sense of comfort often expresses
itself in a set of "office" furniture—a roller-top desk, a
revolving chair, and others of the puffy type already described as
the accepted model of a luxurious seat. Thus freed from the superfluous,
the den is likely to be the most comfortable room in
the house; and the natural inference is that a room, in order to be
comfortable, must be ugly. One can picture the derision of the
man who is told that he might, without the smallest sacrifice of
comfort or convenience, transact his business at a Louis XVI writing-table,
seated in a Louis XVI chair!—yet the handsomest desks
of the last century—the fine old <i>bureaux à la Kaunitz</i> or <i>à cylindre</i>—were
the prototypes of the modern "roller-top"; and the
cane or leather-seated writing-chair, with rounded back and five
slim strong legs, was far more comfortable than the amorphous
revolving seat. Convenience was not sacrificed to beauty in either
desk or chair; but both the old pieces, being designed by skilled
cabinet-makers, were as decorative as they were useful. There
seems, in fact, no reason why the modern den should not resemble
the financiers' <i>bureaux</i> seen in so many old prints: rooms of
dignified plainness, but where each line of wall-panelling and furniture
was as carefully studied and intelligently adapted to its ends
as though intended for a drawing-room or boudoir.</p>
<p>Reference has been made to the way in which, even in small
houses, a room may be sacrificed to a supposed "effect," or to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span>
some inherited tradition as to its former use. Thus the family
drawing-room is too often made uninhabitable from some vague
feeling that a "drawing-room" is not worthy of its name unless
too fine to sit in; while the small front room on the ground floor—in
the average American house the only corner given over to
the master—is thrown into the hall, either that the house may
appear larger and handsomer, or from sheer inability to make so
small a room habitable.</p>
<p>There is no reason why even a ten-by-twelve or an eight-by-fourteen
foot room should not be made comfortable; and the following
suggestions are intended to indicate the lines on which
an appropriate scheme of decoration might be carried out.</p>
<p>In most town houses the small room down-stairs is built with
an opening in the longitudinal wall, close to the front door, while
there is usually another entrance at the back of the room, facing
the window; one at least of these openings being, as a rule, of exaggerated
width. In such cases the door in the side of the room
should be walled up: this gives privacy and provides enough additional
wall-space for a good-sized piece of furniture.</p>
<p>The best way of obtaining an effect of size is to panel the walls
by means of clear-cut architectural mouldings: a few strong vertical
lines will give dignity to the room and height to the ceiling.
The walls should be free from pattern and light in color, since
dark walls necessitate much artificial light, and have the disadvantage
of making a room look small.</p>
<p>The ceiling, if not plain, must be ornamented with the lightest
tracery, and supported by a cornice correspondingly simple in
design. Heavy ceiling-mouldings are obviously out of place in a
small room, and a plain expanse of plaster is always preferable to
misapplied ornament.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span></p>
<p>A single curtain made of some flexible material, such as corduroy
or thin unlined damask, and so hung that it may be readily
drawn back during the day, is sufficient for the window; while
in a corner near this window may be placed an easy-chair and
a small solidly made table, large enough to hold a lamp and a
book or two.</p>
<p>These rooms, in some recently built town houses, contain chimneys
set in an angle of the wall: a misplaced attempt at quaintness,
making it inconvenient to sit near the hearth, and seriously
interfering with the general arrangement of the room. When
the chimney occupies the centre of the longitudinal wall there
is space, even in a very narrow room, for a group of chairs
about the fireplace—provided, as we are now supposing,
the opening in the parallel wall has been closed. A bookcase
or some other high piece of furniture may be placed on
each side of the mantel, and there will be space opposite for a
sofa and a good-sized writing-table. If the pieces of furniture
chosen are in scale with the dimensions of the room, and are
placed against the wall, instead of being set sideways, with
the usual easel or palm-tree behind them, it is surprising to
see how much a small room may contain without appearing
to be overcrowded.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_50" id="plate_50"></a>
<img src="images/plate_50.jpg" width="550" height="430" alt="Dining-Room, Palace of Compiègne" />>
<p class="caption">DINING-ROOM, PALACE OF COMPIÈGNE. LOUIS XVI PERIOD.<br />
(OVER-DOORS AND OVER-MANTEL PAINTED IN GRISAILLE, BY SAUVAGE.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE L.</i></p>
</div>
<h3 class="p6">XIII</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span></p>
<h3>THE DINING-ROOM</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he dining-room, as we know it, is a comparatively recent
innovation in house-planning. In the early middle ages the
noble and his retainers ate in the hall; then the <i>grand'salle</i>, built
for ceremonial uses, began to serve as a banqueting-room, while
the meals eaten in private were served in the lord's chamber. As
house-planning adapted itself to the growing complexity of life,
the mediæval bedroom developed into a private suite of living-rooms,
preceded by an antechamber; and this antechamber, or one
of the small adjoining cabinets, was used as the family dining-room,
the banqueting-hall being still reserved for state entertainments.</p>
<p>The plan of dining at haphazard in any of the family living-rooms
persisted on the Continent until the beginning of the eighteenth
century: even then it was comparatively rare, in France, to see a
room set apart for the purpose of dining. In small <i>hôtels</i> and
apartments, people continued to dine in the antechamber; where
there were two antechambers, the inner was used for that purpose;
and it was only in grand houses, or in the luxurious establishments
of the <i>femmes galantes</i>, that dining-rooms were to be found.
Even in such cases the room described as a <i>salle à manger</i> was
often only a central antechamber or saloon into which the living-rooms
opened; indeed, Madame du Barry's sumptuous dining-room
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span>
at Luciennes was a vestibule giving directly upon the
peristyle of the villa.</p>
<p>In England the act of dining seems to have been taken more
seriously, while the rambling outgrowths of the Elizabethan
residence included a greater variety of rooms than could be contained
in any but the largest houses built on more symmetrical
lines. Accordingly, in old English house-plans we find rooms
designated as "dining-parlors"; many houses, in fact, contained
two or three, each with a different exposure, so that they might
be used at different seasons. These rooms can hardly be said to
represent our modern dining-room, since they were not planned
in connection with kitchen and offices, and were probably
used as living-rooms when not needed for dining. Still, it was
from the Elizabethan dining-parlor that the modern dining-room
really developed; and so recently has it been specialized into a
room used only for eating, that a generation ago old-fashioned
people in England and America habitually used their dining-rooms
to sit in. On the Continent the incongruous uses of the rooms
in which people dined made it necessary that the furniture should
be easily removed. In the middle ages, people dined at long
tables composed of boards resting on trestles, while the seats
were narrow wooden benches or stools, so constructed that they
could easily be carried away when the meal was over. With the
sixteenth century, the <i>table-à-tréteaux</i> gave way to various folding
tables with legs, and the wooden stools were later replaced
by folding seats without arms called <i>perroquets</i>. In the middle
ages, when banquets were given in the <i>grand'salle</i>, the plate was
displayed on movable shelves covered with a velvet slip, or on
elaborately carved dressers; but on ordinary occasions little silver
was set out in French dining-rooms, and the great English sideboard,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span>
with its array of urns, trays and wine-coolers, was unknown
in France. In the common antechamber dining-room,
whatever was needed for the table was kept in a press or cupboard
with solid wooden doors; changes of service being carried
on by means of serving-tables, or <i>servantes</i>—narrow marble-topped
consoles ranged against the walls of the room.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_51" id="plate_51"></a>
<img src="images/plate_51.jpg" width="395" height="500" alt="Dining-Room Fountain" />
<p class="caption">DINING-ROOM FOUNTAIN, PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU.<br />
LOUIS XV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE LI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>For examples of dining-rooms, as we understand the term, one
must look to the grand French houses of the eighteenth century
(see <a href="#plate_50">Plate L</a>) and to the same class of dwellings in England. In
France such dining-rooms were usually intended for gala entertainments,
the family being still served in antechamber or cabinet;
but English houses of the same period generally contain a family
dining-room and another intended for state.</p>
<p>The dining-room of Madame du Barry at Luciennes, already
referred to, was a magnificent example of the great dining-saloon.
The ceiling was a painted Olympus; the white marble walls were
subdivided by Corinthian pilasters with plinths and capitals of
gilt bronze, surmounted by a frieze of bas-reliefs framed in gold;
four marble niches contained statues by Pajou, Lecomte, and
Moineau; and the general brilliancy of effect was increased by
crystal chandeliers, hung in the intercolumniations against a background
of looking-glass.</p>
<p>Such a room, the banqueting-hall of the official mistress, represents
the <i>courtisane's</i> ideal of magnificence: decorations as splendid,
but more sober and less theatrical, marked the dining-rooms
of the aristocracy, as at Choisy, Gaillon and Rambouillet.</p>
<p>The state dining-rooms of the eighteenth century were often
treated with an order, niches with statues being placed between
the pilasters. Sometimes one of these niches contained a fountain
serving as a wine-cooler—a survival of the stone or metal
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span>
wall-fountains in which dishes were washed in the mediæval
dining-room. Many of these earlier fountains had been merely
fixed to the wall; but those of the eighteenth century, though
varying greatly in design, were almost always an organic part of
the wall-decoration (see <a href="#plate_51">Plate LI</a>). Sometimes, in apartments
of importance, they formed the pedestal of a life-size group or
statue, as in the dining-room of Madame de Pompadour; while
in smaller rooms they consisted of a semicircular basin of marble
projecting from the wall and surmounted by groups of cupids,
dolphins or classic attributes. The banqueting-gallery of Trianon-sous-Bois
contains in one of its longitudinal walls two wide
niches with long marble basins; and Mariette's edition of d'Aviler's
<i>Cours d'Architecture</i> gives the elevation of a recessed buffet
flanked by small niches containing fountains. The following description,
accompanying d'Aviler's plate, is quoted here as an
instance of the manner in which elaborate compositions were
worked out by the old decorators: "The second antechamber,
being sometimes used as a dining-room, is a suitable place for the
buffet represented. This buffet, which may be incrusted with
marble or stone, or panelled with wood-work, consists in a recess
occupying one of the side walls of the room. The recess
contains a shelf of marble or stone, supported on brackets and
surmounting a small stone basin which serves as a wine-cooler.
Above the shelf is an attic flanked by volutes, and over this attic
may be placed a picture, generally a flower or fruit-piece, or the
representation of a concert, or some such agreeable scene; while
in the accompanying plate the attic is crowned by a bust of
Comus, wreathed with vines by two little satyrs—the group
detaching itself against a trellised background enlivened with
birds. The composition is completed by two lateral niches
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span>
for fountains, adorned with masks, tritons and dolphins of
gilded lead."</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_52" id="plate_52"></a>
<img src="images/plate_52.jpg" width="450" height="585" alt="Dining-Chair" />
<p class="caption">DINING-CHAIR, LOUIS XIV PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE LII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>These built-in sideboards and fountains were practically the
only feature distinguishing the old dining-rooms from other gala
apartments. At a period when all rooms were painted, panelled,
or hung with tapestry, no special style of decoration was thought
needful for the dining-room; though tapestry was seldom used,
for the practical reason that stuff hangings are always objectionable
in a room intended for eating.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_53" id="plate_53"></a>
<img src="images/plate_53.jpg" width="400" height="586" alt="Dining-Chair" />
<p class="caption">DINING-CHAIR, LOUIS XVI PERIOD.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE LIII.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Towards the end of the seventeenth century, when comfortable
seats began to be made, an admirably designed dining-room chair
replaced the earlier benches and <i>perroquets</i>. The eighteenth century
dining-chair is now often confounded with the light <i>chaise
volante</i> used in drawing-rooms, and cabinet-makers frequently
sell the latter as copies of old dining-chairs. These were in fact
much heavier and more comfortable, and whether cane-seated or
upholstered, were invariably made with wide deep seats, so that
the long banquets of the day might be endured without constraint
or fatigue; while the backs were low and narrow, in order not to
interfere with the service of the table. (See Plates <a href="#plate_52">LII</a> and <a href="#plate_53">LIII</a>.
Plates <a href="#plate_46">XLVI</a> and <a href="#plate_50">L</a> also contain good examples of dining-chairs.)
In England the state dining-room was decorated much as it was
in France: the family dining-room was simply a plain parlor, with
wide mahogany sideboards or tall glazed cupboards for the display
of plate and china. The solid English dining-chairs of mahogany,
if less graceful than those used on the Continent, are equally well
adapted to their purpose.</p>
<p>The foregoing indications may serve to suggest the lines upon
which dining-room decoration might be carried out in the present
day. The avoidance of all stuff hangings and heavy curtains is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span>
of great importance: it will be observed that even window-curtains
were seldom used in old dining-rooms, such care being
given to the decorative detail of window and embrasure that they
needed no additional ornament in the way of drapery. A bare
floor of stone or marble is best suited to the dining-room; but
where the floor is covered, it should be with a rug, not with a
nailed-down carpet.</p>
<p>The dining-room should be lit by wax candles in side <i>appliques</i>
or in a chandelier; and since anything tending to produce heat
and to exhaust air is especially objectionable in a room used
for eating, the walls should be sufficiently light in color to make
little artificial light necessary. In the dining-rooms of the last century,
in England as well as on the Continent, the color-scheme was
usually regulated by this principle: the dark dining-room panelled
with mahogany or hung with sombre leather is an invention of
our own times. It has already been said that the old family dining-room
was merely a panelled parlor. Sometimes the panels were
of light unvarnished oak, but oftener they were painted in white
or in some pale tint easily lit by wax candles. The walls were
often hung with fruit or flower-pieces, or with pictures of fish and
game: a somewhat obvious form of adornment which it has long
been the fashion to ridicule, but which was not without decorative
value and appropriateness. Pictures representing life and action
often grow tiresome when looked at over and over again,
day after day: a fact which the old decorators probably had in
mind when they hung what the French call <i>natures mortes</i> in the
dining-room.</p>
<p>Concerning the state dining-room that forms a part of many
modern houses little remains to be said beyond the descriptions
already given of the various gala apartments. It is obvious that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span>
the banqueting-hall should be less brilliant than a ball-room and
less fanciful in decoration than a music-room: a severer and more
restful treatment naturally suggests itself, but beyond this no special
indications are required.</p>
<p>The old dining-rooms were usually heated by porcelain stoves.
Such a stove, of fine architectural design, set in a niche corresponding
with that which contains the fountain, is of great decorative
value in the composition of the room; and as it has the
advantage of giving out less concentrated heat than an open fire,
it is specially well suited to a small or narrow dining-room, where
some of the guests must necessarily sit close to the hearth.</p>
<p>Most houses which have banquet-halls contain also a smaller
apartment called a breakfast-room; but as this generally corresponds
in size and usage with the ordinary family dining-room,
the same style of decoration is applicable to both. However
ornate the banquet-hall may be, the breakfast-room must of
course be simple and free from gilding: the more elaborate the
decorations of the larger room, the more restful such a contrast
will be found.</p>
<p>Of the dinner-table, as we now know it, little need be said.
The ingenious but ugly extension-table with a central support,
now used all over the world, is an English invention. There
seems no reason why the general design should not be improved
without interfering with the mechanism of this table; but of
course it can never be so satisfactory to the eye as one of the
old round or square tables, with four or six tapering legs, such
as were used in eighteenth-century dining-rooms before the
introduction of the "extension."</p>
<h3 class="p6">XIV</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span></p>
<h3>BEDROOMS</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">T</span>he history of the bedroom has been incidentally touched
upon in tracing the development of the drawing-room from
the mediæval hall. It was shown that early in the middle ages
the sleeping-chamber, which had been one of the first outgrowths
of the hall, was divided into the <i>chambre de parade</i>, or incipient
drawing-room, and the <i>chambre au giste</i>, or actual sleeping-room.</p>
<p>The increasing development of social life in the sixteenth century
brought about a further change; the state bedroom being set
aside for entertainments of ceremony, while the sleeping-chamber
was used as the family living-room and as the scene of suppers,
card-parties, and informal receptions—or sometimes actually as
the kitchen. Indeed, so varied were the uses to which the
<i>chambre au giste</i> was put, that in France especially it can hardly
be said to have offered a refuge from the promiscuity of the hall.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_54" id="plate_54"></a>
<img src="images/plate_54.jpg" width="450" height="338" alt="Bedroom, Fontainebleau" />
<p class="caption">BEDROOM. PALACE OF FONTAINEBLEAU. LOUIS XIV PERIOD.<br />
(LOUIS XVI BED AND CHAIR, MODERN SOFA.)</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE LIV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>As a rule, the bedrooms of the Renaissance and of the seventeenth
century were very richly furnished. The fashion of raising
the bed on a dais separated from the rest of the room by columns
and a balustrade was introduced in France in the time of Louis
XIV. This innovation gave rise to the habit of dividing the decoration
of the room into two parts; the walls being usually panelled
or painted, while the "alcove," as it was called, was hung in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span>
tapestry, velvet, or some rich stuff in keeping with the heavy curtains
that completely enveloped the bedstead. This use of stuff
hangings about the bed, so contrary to our ideas of bedroom
hygiene, was due to the difficulty of heating the large high-studded
rooms of the period, and also, it must be owned, to the
prevalent dread of fresh air as of something essentially unwholesome
and pernicious.</p>
<p>In the early middle ages people usually slept on the floor;
though it would seem that occasionally, to avoid cold or dampness,
the mattress was laid on cords stretched upon a low wooden
framework. In the fourteenth century the use of such frameworks
became more general, and the bed was often enclosed in curtains
hung from a tester resting on four posts. Bed-hangings and
coverlet were often magnificently embroidered; but in order that
it might not be necessary to transport from place to place the unwieldy
bedstead and tester, these were made in the rudest
manner, without attempt at carving or adornment. In course
of time this primitive framework developed into the sumptuous
four-post bedstead of the Renaissance, with elaborately carved
cornice and <i>colonnes torses</i> enriched with gilding. Thenceforward
more wealth and skill were expended upon the bedstead
than upon any other article of furniture. Gilding, carving,
and inlaying of silver, ivory or mother-of-pearl, combined to adorn
the framework, and embroidery made the coverlet and hangings
resplendent as church vestments. This magnificence is explained
by the fact that it was customary for the lady of the house to lie
in bed while receiving company. In many old prints representing
suppers, card-parties, or afternoon visits, the hostess is thus seen,
with elaborately dressed head and stiff brocade gown, while
her friends are grouped about the bedside in equally rich attire.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span>
This curious custom persisted until late in the eighteenth century;
and under such conditions it was natural that the old cabinet-makers
should vie with each other in producing a variety of ornate
and fanciful bedsteads. It would be useless to enumerate here the
modifications in design marking the different periods of decoration:
those who are interested in the subject will find it treated
in detail in the various French works on furniture.</p>
<p>It was natural that while the bedroom was used as a <i>salon</i> it
should be decorated with more elaboration than would otherwise
have been fitting; but two causes combined to simplify its treatment
in the eighteenth century. One of these was the new fashion
of <i>petits appartements</i>. With artists so keenly alive to proportion
as the old French designers, it was inevitable that such a change
in dimensions should bring about a corresponding change in decoration.
The bedrooms of the eighteenth century, though sometimes
elaborate in detail, had none of the pompous richness of the
great Renaissance or Louis XIV room (see <a href="#plate_54">Plate LIV</a>). The pretentious
dais with its screen of columns was replaced by a niche
containing the bed; plain wood-panelling succeeded to tapestry
and embroidered hangings; and the heavy carved ceiling with its
mythological centre-picture made way for light traceries on plaster.</p>
<p>The other change in the decoration of French bedrooms was due
to the substitution of linen or cotton bed and window-hangings
for the sumptuous velvets and brocades of the seventeenth century.
This change has usually been ascribed to the importation
of linens and cottons from the East; and no doubt the novelty
of these gay <i>indiennes</i> stimulated the taste for simple hangings.
The old inventories, however, show that, in addition to the imported
India hangings, plain white linen curtains with a colored
border were much used; and it is probably the change in the size
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span>
of rooms that first led to the adoption of thin washable hangings.
The curtains and bed-draperies of damask or brocatelle, so well
suited to the high-studded rooms of the seventeenth century,
would have been out of place in the small apartments of the
Regency. In studying the history of decoration, it will generally
be found that the supposed vagaries of house-furnishing were actually
based on some practical requirement; and in this instance
the old decorators were doubtless guided rather by common sense
than by caprice. The adoption of these washable materials certainly
introduced a style of bedroom-furnishing answering to all
the requirements of recent hygiene; for not only were windows
and bedsteads hung with unlined cotton or linen, but chairs and
sofas were covered with removable <i>housses</i>, or slip-covers; while
the painted wall-panelling and bare brick or parquet floors came
far nearer to the modern sanitary ideal than do the papered walls
and nailed-down carpets still seen in many bedrooms. This simple
form of decoration had the additional charm of variety; for it
was not unusual to have several complete sets of curtains and
slip-covers, embroidered to match, and changed with the seasons.
The hangings and covers of the queen's bedroom at Versailles
were changed four times a year.</p>
<p>Although bedrooms are still "done" in chintz, and though of
late especially there has been a reaction from the satin-damask
bedroom with its dust-collecting upholstery and knick-knacks,
the modern habit of lining chintz curtains and of tufting chairs
has done away with the chief advantages of the simpler style of
treatment. There is something illogical in using washable stuffs
in such a way that they cannot be washed, especially in view of
the fact that the heavily lined curtains, which might be useful
to exclude light and cold, are in nine cases out of ten so hung by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span>
the upholsterer that they cannot possibly be drawn at night. Besides,
the patterns of modern chintzes have so little in common
with the <i>toiles imprimées</i> of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries
that they scarcely serve the same decorative purpose; and
it is therefore needful to give some account of the old French bedroom
hangings, as well as of the manner in which they were
employed.</p>
<p>The liking for <i>cotonnades</i> showed itself in France early in the
seventeenth century. Before this, cotton materials had been imported
from the East; but in the seventeenth century a manufactory
was established in France, and until about 1800 cotton and linen
curtains and furniture-coverings remained in fashion. This taste
was encouraged by the importation of the <i>toiles des Indes</i>, printed
cottons of gay color and fanciful design, much sought after in
France, especially after the government, in order to protect native
industry, had restricted the privilege of importing them to the
<i>Compagnie des Indes</i>. It was not until Oberkampf established his
manufactory at Jouy in 1760 that the French <i>toiles</i> began to replace
those of foreign manufacture. Hitherto the cottons made in
France had been stamped merely in outline, the colors being filled
in by hand; but Oberkampf invented a method of printing in
colors, thereby making France the leading market for such stuffs.</p>
<p>The earliest printed cottons having been imported from India
and China, it was natural that the style of the Oriental designers
should influence their European imitators. Europe had, in fact,
been prompt to recognize the singular beauty of Chinese art, and
in France the passion for <i>chinoiseries</i>, first aroused by Mazarin's
collection of Oriental objects of art, continued unabated until the
general decline of taste at the end of the eighteenth century. Nowhere,
perhaps, was the influence of Chinese art more beneficial
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span>
to European designers than in the composition of stuff-patterns.
The fantastic gaiety and variety of Chinese designs, in which the
human figure so largely predominates, gave fresh animation to
European compositions, while the absence of perspective and
modelling preserved that conventionalism so essential in pattern-designing.
The voluminous acanthus-leaves, the fleur-de-lys,
arabesques and massive scroll-work so suitable to the Genoese
velvets and Lyons silks of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
would have been far too magnificent for the cotton stuffs that
were beginning to replace those splendid tissues. On a thin material
a heavy architectural pattern was obviously inappropriate;
besides, it would have been out of scale with the smaller rooms
and lighter style of decoration then coming into fashion.</p>
<p>The French designer, while influenced by Chinese compositions,
was too artistic to be satisfied with literal reproductions of his Oriental
models. Absorbing the spirit of the Chinese designs, he either
blent mandarins and pagodas with Italian grottoes, French landscapes,
and classical masks and trophies, in one of those delightful
inventions which are the fairy-tales of decorative art, or applied
the principles of Oriental design to purely European subjects.
In comparing the printed cottons of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries with modern chintzes, it will be seen that the latter
are either covered with monotonous repetitions of a geometrical
figure, or with realistic reproductions of some natural object.
Many wall-papers and chintzes of the present day represent
loose branches of flowers scattered on a plain surface, with no
more relation to each other or to their background than so many
real flowers fixed at random against the wall. This literal rendering
of natural objects with deceptive accuracy, always condemned
by the best artists, is especially inappropriate when brought in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span>
close contact with the highly conventionalized forms of architectural
composition. In this respect, the endlessly repeated geometrical
figure is obviously less objectionable; yet the geometrical
design, as produced to-day, has one defect in common with
the other—that is, lack of imagination. Modern draughtsmen,
in eliminating from their work that fanciful element (always
strictly subordinated to some general scheme of composition)
which marked the designs of the last two centuries, have deprived
themselves of the individuality and freshness that might
have saved their patterns from monotony.</p>
<p>This rejection of the fanciful in composition is probably due
to the excessive use of pattern in modern decoration. Where
much pattern is used, it must be as monotonous as possible,
or it will become unbearable. The old decorators used few
lines, and permitted themselves more freedom in design; or
rather they remembered, what is now too often forgotten, that
in the decoration of a room furniture and objects of art help to
make design, and in consequence they were chiefly concerned
with providing plain spaces of background to throw into relief
the contents of the room. Of late there has been so marked a return
to plain panelled or painted walls that the pattern-designer
will soon be encouraged to give freer rein to his fancy. In a
room where walls and floor are of uniform tint, there is no
reason why the design of curtains and chair-coverings should
consist of long straight rows of buttercups or crocuses, endlessly
repeated.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_55" id="plate_55"></a>
<img src="images/plate_55.jpg" width="450" height="552" alt="Bath-room, Pitti Palace" />
<p class="caption">BATH-ROOM, PITTI PALACE, FLORENCE.<br />
LATE XVIII CENTURY. DECORATED BY CACIALLI.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE LV.</i></p>
</div>
<p>It must not be thought that the old designs were unconventional.
Nature, in passing through the medium of the imagination,
is necessarily transposed and in a manner conventionalized;
and it is this transposition, this deliberate selection of certain
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span>
characteristics to the exclusion of others, that distinguishes the
work of art from a cast or a photograph. But the reduction of
natural objects to geometrical forms is only one of the results
of artistic selection. The Italian fresco-painters—the recognized
masters of wall-decoration in the flat—always used the naturalistic
method, but subject to certain restrictions in composition
or color. This applies also to the Chinese designers, and to the
humbler European pattern-makers who on more modest lines
followed the same sound artistic traditions. In studying the
<i>toiles peintes</i> manufactured in Europe previous to the present
century, it will be seen that where the design included the
human figure or landscape naturalistically treated (as in the
fables of Æsop and La Fontaine, or the history of Don Quixote),
the pattern was either printed entirely in one color, or so fantastically
colored that by no possibility could it pass for an attempt
at a literal rendering of nature. Besides, in all such compositions
(and here the Chinese influence is seen) perspective was studiously
avoided, and the little superimposed groups or scenes
were either connected by some decorative arabesque, or so
designed that by their outline they formed a recurring pattern.
On the other hand, when the design was obviously conventional
a variety of colors was freely used. The introduction of the
human figure, animals, architecture and landscape into stuff-patterns
undoubtedly gave to the old designs an animation lacking
in those of the present day; and a return to the <i>pays bleu</i> of the
Chinese artist would be a gain to modern decoration.</p>
<p>Of the various ways in which a bedroom may be planned, none
is so luxurious and practical as the French method of subdividing
it into a suite composed of two or more small rooms. Where
space is not restricted there should in fact be four rooms, preceded
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span>
by an antechamber separating the suite from the main corridor of
the house. The small sitting-room or boudoir opens into this antechamber;
and next comes the bedroom, beyond which are the
dressing and bath rooms. In French suites of this kind there are
usually but two means of entrance from the main corridor: one
for the use of the occupant, leading into the antechamber, the
other opening into the bath-room, to give access to the servants.
This arrangement, besides giving greater privacy, preserves much
valuable wall-space, which would be sacrificed in America to the
supposed necessity of making every room in a house open upon
one of the main passageways.</p>
<p>The plan of the bedroom suite can of course be carried out only
in large houses; but even where there is no lack of space, such an
arrangement is seldom adopted by American architects, and most
of the more important houses recently built contain immense bedrooms,
instead of a series of suites. To enumerate the practical
advantages of the suite over the single large room hardly comes
within the scope of this book; but as the uses to which a bedroom
is put fall into certain natural subdivisions, it will be more
convenient to consider it as a suite.</p>
<p>Since bedrooms are no longer used as <i>salons</i>, there is no reason
for decorating them in an elaborate manner; and, however magnificent
the other apartments, it is evident that in this part of the
house simplicity is most fitting. Now that people have been taught
the unhealthiness of sleeping in a room with stuff hangings, heavy
window-draperies and tufted furniture, the old fashion of painted
walls and bare floors naturally commends itself; and as the bedroom
suite is but the subdivision of one large room, it is obviously
better that the same style of decoration should be used throughout.</p>
<p>For this reason, plain panelled walls and chintz or cotton hangings
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span>
are more appropriate to the boudoir than silk and gilding.
If the walls are without pattern, a figured chintz may be chosen
for curtains and furniture; while those who prefer plain tints
should use unbleached cotton, trimmed with bands of color, or
some colored linen with applications of gimp or embroidery. It
is a good plan to cover all the chairs and sofas in the bedroom
suite with slips matching the window-curtains; but where this is
done, the furniture should, if possible, be designed for the purpose,
since the lines of modern upholstered chairs are not suited
to slips. The habit of designing furniture for slip-covers originated
in the middle ages. At a time when the necessity of transporting
furniture was added to the other difficulties of travel, it
was usual to have common carpenter-built benches and tables,
that might be left behind without risk, and to cover these with
richly embroidered slips. The custom persisted long after furniture
had ceased to be a part of luggage, and the benches and
<i>tabourets</i> now seen in many European palaces are covered merely
with embroidered slips. Even when a set of furniture was upholstered
with silk, it was usual, in the eighteenth century, to
provide embroidered cotton covers for use in summer, while curtains
of the same stuff were substituted for the heavier hangings
used in winter. Old inventories frequently mention these <i>tentures
d'été</i>, which are well adapted to our hot summer climate.</p>
<p>The boudoir should contain a writing-table, a lounge or <i>lit de
repos</i>, and one or two comfortable arm-chairs, while in a bedroom
forming part of a suite only the bedstead and its accessories
should be placed.</p>
<p>The pieces of furniture needed in a well-appointed dressing-room
are the toilet-table, wash-stand, clothes-press and cheval-glass,
with the addition, if space permits, of one or two commodes
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span>
or chiffonniers. The designing of modern furniture of this kind is
seldom satisfactory; yet many who are careful to choose simple,
substantial pieces for the other rooms of the house, submit to
the pretentious "bedroom suit" of bird's-eye maple or mahogany,
with its wearisome irrelevance of line and its excess of cheap
ornament. Any study of old bedroom furniture will make clear
the inferiority of the modern manufacturer's designs. Nowhere
is the old sense of proportion and fitness seen to better advantage
than in the simple, admirably composed commodes and clothes-presses
of the eighteenth-century bedroom.</p>
<p>The bath-room walls and floor should, of course, be water-proof.
In the average bath-room, a tiled floor and a high wainscoting
of tiles are now usually seen; and the detached enamel or porcelain
bath has in most cases replaced the built-in metal tub. The
bath-rooms in the larger houses recently built are, in general, lined
with marble; but though the use of this substance gives opportunity
for fine architectural effects, few modern bath-rooms can in
this respect be compared with those seen in the great houses of
Europe. The chief fault of the American bath-room is that, however
splendid the materials used, the treatment is seldom architectural.
A glance at the beautiful bath-room in the Pitti Palace at
Florence (see <a href="#plate_55">Plate LV</a>) will show how much effect may be produced
in a small space by carefully studied composition. A mere
closet is here transformed into a stately room, by that regard for
harmony of parts which distinguishes interior architecture from
mere decoration. A bath-room lined with precious marbles, with
bath and wash-stand ranged along the wall, regardless of their relation
to the composition of the whole, is no better architecturally
than the tiled bath-room seen in ordinary houses: design, not
substance, is needed to make the one superior to the other.</p>
<h3 class="p6">XV</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span></p>
<h3>THE SCHOOL-ROOM AND NURSERIES</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">O</span>ne of the most important and interesting problems in the
planning and decoration of a house is that which has to do
with the arrangement of the children's rooms.</p>
<p>There is, of course, little opportunity for actual decoration in
school-room or nursery; and it is only by stretching a point that
a book dealing merely with the practical application of æsthetics
may be made to include a chapter bordering on pedagogy. It
must be remembered, however, that any application of principles
presupposes some acquaintance with the principles themselves;
and from this standpoint there is a certain relevance in studying
the means by which the child's surroundings may be made to
develop his sense of beauty.</p>
<p>The room where the child's lessons are studied is, in more
senses than one, that in which he receives his education. His
whole view of what he is set to learn, and of the necessity and
advantage of learning anything at all, is tinged, more often than
people think, by the appearance of the room in which his studying
is done. The æsthetic sensibilities wake early in some children,
and these, if able to analyze their emotions, could testify to
what suffering they have been subjected by the habit of sending
to school-room and nurseries whatever furniture is too ugly or
threadbare to be used in any other part of the house.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p>
<p>In the minds of such children, curious and lasting associations
are early established between the appearance of certain rooms and
the daily occupations connected with them; and the aspect of the
school-room too often aggravates instead of mitigating the weariness
of lesson-learning.</p>
<p>There are, of course, many children not naturally sensitive to
artistic influences, and the parents of such children often think
that no special care need be spent on their surroundings—a curious
misconception of the purpose of all æsthetic training. To
teach a child to appreciate any form of beauty is to develop his
intelligence, and thereby to enlarge his capacity for wholesome
enjoyment. It is, therefore, never idle to cultivate a child's taste;
and those who have no pronounced natural bent toward the
beautiful in any form need more guidance and encouragement
than the child born with a sense of beauty. The latter will at
most be momentarily offended by the sight of ugly objects;
while they may forever blunt the taste and narrow the views of
the child whose sluggish imagination needs the constant stimulus
of beautiful surroundings.</p>
<p>If art is really a factor in civilization, it seems obvious that the
feeling for beauty needs as careful cultivation as the other civic
virtues. To teach a child to distinguish between a good and a
bad painting, a well or an ill-modelled statue, need not hinder
his growth in other directions, and will at least develop those
habits of observation and comparison that are the base of all sound
judgments. It is in this sense that the study of art is of service
to those who have no special aptitude for any of its forms: its
indirect action in shaping æsthetic criteria constitutes its chief
value as an element of culture.</p>
<p>The habit of regarding "art" as a thing apart from life is fatal
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span>
to the development of taste. Parents may conscientiously send
their children to galleries and museums, but unless the child can
find some point of contact between its own surroundings and the
contents of the galleries, the interest excited by the pictures and
statues will be short-lived and ineffectual. Children are not
reached by abstract ideas, and a picture hanging on a museum
wall is little better than an abstraction to the child's vivid but
restricted imagination. Besides, if the home surroundings are
tasteless, the unawakened sense of form will not be roused
by a hurried walk through a museum. The child's mind must
be prepared by daily lessons in beauty to understand the masterpieces
of art. A child brought up on foolish story-books could
hardly be expected to enjoy <i>The Knight's Tale</i> or the <i>Morte
d'Arthur</i> without some slight initiation into the nature and
meaning of good literature; and to pass from a house full of
ugly furniture, badly designed wall-papers and worthless knick-knacks
to a hurried contemplation of the Venus of Milo or of
a model of the Parthenon is not likely to produce the desired
results.</p>
<p>The daily intercourse with poor pictures, trashy "ornaments,"
and badly designed furniture may, indeed, be fittingly compared
with a mental diet of silly and ungrammatical story-books. Most
parents nowadays recognize the harmfulness of such a <i>régime</i>,
and are careful to feed their children on more stimulating fare.
Skilful compilers have placed Mallory and Chaucer, Cervantes
and Froissart, within reach of the childish understanding, thus
laying the foundations for a lasting appreciation of good literature.
No greater service can be rendered to children than in teaching
them to know the best and to want it; but while this is now
generally conceded with regard to books, the child's eager eyes
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span>
are left to fare as best they may on chromos from the illustrated
papers and on carefully hoarded rubbish from the Christmas tree.</p>
<p>The mention of the Christmas tree suggests another obstacle to
the early development of taste. Many children, besides being
surrounded by ugly furniture and bad pictures, are overwhelmed
at Christmas, and on every other anniversary, by presents not always
selected with a view to the formation of taste. The question
of presents is one of the most embarrassing problems in the
artistic education of children. As long as they are in the toy age
no great harm is done: it is when they are considered old enough
to appreciate "something pretty for their rooms" that the season
of danger begins. Parents themselves are often the worst offenders
in this respect, and the sooner they begin to give their children
presents which, if not beautiful, are at least useful, the sooner
will the example be followed by relatives and friends. The selection
of such presents, while it might necessitate a little more
trouble, need not lead to greater expense. Good things do not
always cost more than bad. A good print may often be bought
for the same price as a poor one, and the money spent on a china
"ornament," in the shape of a yellow Leghorn hat with a kitten
climbing out of it, would probably purchase a good reproduction
of one of the Tanagra statuettes, a plaster cast of some French or
Italian bust, or one of Cantagalli's copies of the Robbia bas-reliefs—any
of which would reveal a world of unsuspected beauty to
many a child imprisoned in a circle of <i>articles de Paris</i>.</p>
<p>The children of the rich are usually the worst sufferers in
such cases, since the presents received by those whose parents
and relations are not "well off" have the saving merit of usefulness.
It is the superfluous gimcrack—the "ornament"—which
is most objectionable, and the more expensive such articles are
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span>
the more likely are they to do harm. Rich children suffer from
the quantity as well as the quality of the presents they receive.
Appetite is surfeited, curiosity blunted, by the mass of offerings
poured in with every anniversary. It would be better if, in such
cases, friends and family could unite in giving to each child one
thing worth having—a good edition, a first-state etching or engraving,
or some like object fitted to give pleasure at the time and
lasting enjoyment through life. Parents often make the mistake
of thinking that such presents are too "serious"—that children
do not care for good bindings, fine engravings, or reproductions
of sculpture. As a matter of fact, children are quick to appreciate
beauty when pointed out and explained to them, and an intelligent
child feels peculiar pride in being the owner of some object
which grown-up people would be glad to possess. If the selection
of such presents is made with a reasonable regard for the
child's tastes and understanding—if the book chosen is a good
edition, well bound, of the <i>Morte d'Arthur</i> or of <i>Chaucer</i>—if the
print represents some Tuscan Nativity, with a joyous dance of
angels on the thatched roof, or a group of splendid horsemen and
strange animals from the wondrous fairy-tale of the Riccardi
chapel—the present will give as much immediate pleasure as a
"juvenile" book or picture, while its intrinsic beauty and significance
may become important factors in the child's æsthetic development.
The possession of something valuable, that may not
be knocked about, but must be handled with care and restored to
its place after being looked at, will also cultivate in the child that
habit of carefulness and order which may be defined as good
manners toward inanimate objects.</p>
<p>Children suffer not only from the number of presents they
receive, but from that over-crowding of modern rooms that so
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span>
often makes it necessary to use the school-room and nurseries
as an outlet for the overflow of the house. To the children's
quarters come one by one the countless objects "too good to
throw away" but too ugly to be tolerated by grown-up eyes—the
bead-work cushions that have "associations," the mildewed
Landseer prints of foaming, dying animals, the sheep-faced Madonna
and Apostles in bituminous draperies, commemorating a
paternal visit to Rome in the days when people bought copies of
the "Old Masters."</p>
<p>Those who wish to train their children's taste must resolutely
clear the school-room of all such stumbling-blocks. Ugly furniture
cannot always be replaced; but it is at least possible to
remove unsuitable pictures and knick-knacks.</p>
<p>It is essential that the school-room should be cheerful. Dark
colors, besides necessitating the use of much artificial light, are
depressing to children and consequently out of place in the
school-room: white woodwork, and walls tinted in some bright
color, form the best background for both work and play.</p>
<p>Perhaps the most interesting way of decorating the school-room
is that which might be described as the rotation system. To
carry out this plan—which requires the coöperation of the children's
teacher—the walls must be tinted in some light color, such
as turquoise-blue or pale green, and cleared of all miscellaneous
adornments. These should then be replaced by a few carefully-chosen
prints, photographs and plaster casts, representing objects
connected with the children's studies. Let it, for instance, be
supposed that the studies in hand include natural history, botany,
and the history of France and England during the sixteenth century.
These subjects might be respectively illustrated by some of
the clever Japanese outline drawings of plants and animals, by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span>
Holbein's portrait of Henry VIII, Clouet's of Charles IX and of
Elizabeth of Austria, Dürer's etchings of Luther and Erasmus, and
views of some of the principal buildings erected in France and
England during the sixteenth century.</p>
<p>The prints and casts shown at one time should be sufficiently
inexpensive and few in number to be changed as the child's lessons
proceed, thus forming a kind of continuous commentary
upon the various branches of study.</p>
<p>This plan of course necessitates more trouble and expense than
the ordinary one of giving to the walls of the school-room a permanent
decoration: an arrangement which may also be made
interesting and suggestive, if the child's requirements are considered.
When casts and pictures are intended to remain in place,
it is a good idea to choose them at the outset with a view to the
course of studies likely to be followed. In this way, each object
may serve in turn to illustrate some phase of history or art: even
this plan will be found to have a vivifying effect upon the dry
bones of "lessons."</p>
<p>In a room decorated in this fashion, the prints or photographs
selected might represent the foremost examples of Greek, Gothic,
Renaissance and eighteenth-century architecture, together with
several famous paintings of different periods and schools; sculpture
being illustrated by casts of the Disk-thrower, of one of
Robbia's friezes of child-musicians, of Donatello's Saint George,
and Pigalle's "Child with the Bird."</p>
<p>Parents who do not care to plan the adornment of the school-room
on such definite lines should at least be careful to choose
appropriate casts and pictures. It is generally conceded that
nothing painful should be put before a child's eyes; but the deleterious
effects of namby-pamby prettiness are too often disregarded.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span>
Anything "sweet" is considered appropriate for the
school-room or nursery; whereas it is essential to the child's
artistic training that only the sweetness which proceeds <i>de forte</i>
should be held up for admiration. It is easy to find among the
world's masterpieces many pictures interesting to children. Vandyck's
"Children of Charles I"; Bronzino's solemn portraits of
Medici babies; Drouais' picture of the Comte d'Artois holding his
little sister on the back of a goat; the wan little princes of Velasquez;
the ruddy beggar-boys of Murillo—these are but a few of
the subjects that at once suggest themselves. Then, again, there
are the wonder-books of those greatest of all story-tellers, the
Italian fresco-painters—Benozzo Gozzoli, Pinturicchio, Carpaccio—incorrigible
gossips every one, lingering over the minor episodes
and trivial details of their stories with the desultory slowness
dear to childish listeners. In sculpture, the range of choice is
no less extended. The choristers of Robbia, the lean little St.
Johns of Donatello and his school—Verrocchio's fierce young
David, and the Capitol "Boy with the Goose"—these may alternate
with fragments of the Parthenon frieze, busts of great men,
and studies of animals, from the Assyrian lions to those of Canova
and Barye.</p>
<p>Above all, the walls should not be overcrowded. The importance
of preserving in the school-room bare wall-spaces of uniform
tint has hitherto been little considered; but teachers are beginning
to understand the value of these spaces in communicating to the
child's brain a sense of repose which diminishes mental and physical
restlessness.</p>
<p>The furniture of the school-room should of course be plain and
substantial. Well-designed furniture of this kind is seldom made
by modern manufacturers, and those who can afford the slight
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span>
extra expense should commission a good cabinet-maker to reproduce
some of the simple models which may be found in the
manuals of old French and English designers. It is of special importance
to provide a large, solid writing-table: children are too
often subjected to the needless constraint and fatigue of writing at
narrow unsteady desks, too small to hold even the books in use
during the lesson.</p>
<p>A well-designed bookcase with glass doors is a valuable factor
in the training of children. It teaches a respect for books by showing
that they are thought worthy of care; and a child is less likely
to knock about and damage a book which must be taken from
and restored to such a bookcase, than one which, after being
used, is thrust back on an open shelf. Children's books, if they
have any literary value, should be bound in some bright-colored
morocco: dingy backs of calf or black cloth are not likely to attract
the youthful eye, and the better a book is bound the more
carefully it will be handled. Even lesson-books, when they become
shabby, should have a covering of some bright-colored cloth
stitched over the boards.</p>
<p>The general rules laid down for the decoration of the school-room
may, with some obvious modifications, be applied to the
treatment of nursery and of children's rooms. These, like the
school-room, should have painted walls and a floor of hard wood
with a removable rug or a square of matting. In a house containing
both school-room and nursery, the decoration of the latter
room will of course be adapted to the tastes of the younger children.
Mothers often say, in answer to suggestions as to the
decoration of the nursery, that little children "like something
bright"—as though this precluded every form of art above the
newspaper chromo and the Christmas card! It is easy to produce
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span>
an effect of brightness by means of white wood-work and
walls hung with good colored prints, with large photographs of
old Flemish or Italian pictures,—say, for example, Bellini's baby-angels
playing on musical instruments,—and with a few of the
Japanese plant and animal drawings already referred to. All
these subjects would interest and amuse even very young children;
and there is no reason why a gay Japanese screen, with
boldly drawn birds and flowers, should not afford as much entertainment
as one composed of a heterogeneous collection of
Christmas cards, chromos, and story-book pictures, put together
without any attempt at color-harmony or composition.</p>
<p>Children's rooms should be as free as possible from all superfluous
draperies. The windows may be hung with either shades
or curtains: it is needless to have both. If curtains are preferred,
they should be of chintz, or of some washable cotton or
linen. The reproductions of the old <i>toiles de Jouy</i>, with pictures
from Æsop and La Fontaine, or from some familiar myth or story,
are specially suited to children's rooms; while another source of
interest and amusement may be provided by facing the fireplace
with blue and white Dutch tiles representing the finding of Moses,
the story of David and Goliath, or some such familiar episode.</p>
<p>As children grow older, and are allotted separate bedrooms,
these should be furnished and decorated on the same principles
and with the same care as the school-room. Pieces of furniture
for these bedrooms would make far more suitable and interesting
presents than the costly odds and ends so often given without
definite intention. In the arrangement of the child's own room
the expression of individual taste should be encouraged and the
child allowed to choose the pictures and casts with which the
walls are hung. The responsibility of such selection will do
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span>
much to develop the incipient faculties of observation and
comparison.</p>
<p>To sum up, then: the child's visible surroundings form the
basis of the best, because of the most unconscious, cultivation:
and not of æsthetic cultivation only, since, as has been pointed
out, the development of any artistic taste, if the child's general
training is of the right sort, indirectly broadens the whole view
of life.</p>
<h3 class="p6">XVI</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span></p>
<h3>BRIC-À-BRAC</h3>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">I</span>t is perhaps not uninstructive to note that we have no English
word to describe the class of household ornaments which
French speech has provided with at least three designations, each
indicating a delicate and almost imperceptible gradation of quality.
In place of bric-à-brac, bibelots, <i>objets d'art</i>, we have only knick-knacks—defined
by Stormonth as "articles of small value."</p>
<p>This definition of the knick-knack fairly indicates the general
level of our artistic competence. It has already been said that
cheapness is not necessarily synonymous with trashiness; but
hitherto this assertion has been made with regard to furniture and
to the other necessary appointments of the house. With knick-knacks
the case is different. An artistic age will of course produce
any number of inexpensive trifles fit to become, like the
Tanagra figurines, the museum treasures of later centuries; but it
is hardly necessary to point out that modern shop-windows are
not overflowing with such immortal toys. The few objects of art
produced in the present day are the work of distinguished artists.
Even allowing for what Symonds calls the "vicissitudes of taste,"
it seems improbable that our commercial knick-knack will ever be
classed as a work of art.</p>
<div class="figcenter p4"><a name="plate_56" id="plate_56"></a>
<img src="images/plate_56.jpg" width="280" height="538" alt="Bronze Andiron" />
<p class="caption">BRONZE ANDIRON. VENETIAN SCHOOL.<br />
XVI CENTURY.</p>
<p class="caption"><i>PLATE LVI.</i></p>
</div>
<p>It is clear that the weary man must have a chair to sit on, the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span>
hungry man a table to dine at; nor would the most sensitive
judgment condemn him for buying ugly ones, were no others to
be had; but objects of art are a counsel of perfection. It is quite
possible to go without them; and the proof is that many do go
without them who honestly think to possess them in abundance.
This is said, not with any intention of turning to ridicule the
natural desire to "make a room look pretty," but merely with the
purpose of inquiring whether such an object is ever furthered by
the indiscriminate amassing of "ornaments." Decorators know
how much the simplicity and dignity of a good room are diminished
by crowding it with useless trifles. Their absence improves
even bad rooms, or makes them at least less multitudinously bad.
It is surprising to note how the removal of an accumulation of
knick-knacks will free the architectural lines and restore the furniture
to its rightful relation with the walls.</p>
<p>Though a room must depend for its main beauty on design
and furniture, it is obvious that there are many details of luxurious
living not included in these essentials. In what, then,
shall the ornamentation of rooms consist? Supposing walls and
furniture to be satisfactory, how put the minor touches that give
to a room the charm of completeness? To arrive at an answer,
one must first consider the different kinds of minor embellishment.
These may be divided into two classes: the object of art
<i>per se</i>, such as the bust, the picture, or the vase; and, on the
other hand, those articles, useful in themselves,—lamps, clocks,
fire-screens, bookbindings, candelabra,—which art has only to
touch to make them the best ornaments any room can contain.
In past times such articles took the place of bibelots. Few purely
ornamental objects were to be seen, save in the cabinets of collectors;
but when Botticelli decorated the panels of linen chests,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span>
and Cellini chiselled book-clasps and drinking-cups, there could
be no thought of the vicious distinction between the useful and
the beautiful. One of the first obligations of art is to make all
useful things beautiful: were this neglected principle applied to
the manufacture of household accessories, the modern room
would have no need of knick-knacks.</p>
<p>Before proceeding further, it is necessary to know what constitutes
an object of art. It was said at the outset that, though
cheapness and trashiness are not always synonymous, they are
apt to be so in the case of the modern knick-knack. To buy, and
even to make, it may cost a great deal of money; but artistically
it is cheap, if not worthless; and too often its artistic value is
in inverse ratio to its price. The one-dollar china pug is less
harmful than an expensive onyx lamp-stand with moulded
bronze mountings dipped in liquid gilding. It is one of the misfortunes
of the present time that the most preposterously bad
things often possess the powerful allurement of being expensive.
One might think it an advantage that they are not within every
one's reach; but, as a matter of fact, it is their very unattainableness
which, by making them more desirable, leads to the production
of that worst curse of modern civilization—cheap copies of
costly horrors.</p>
<p>An ornament is of course not an object of art because it is expensive—though
it must be owned that objects of art are seldom
cheap. Good workmanship, as distinct from designing, almost
always commands a higher price than bad; and good artistic
workmanship having become so rare that there is practically no
increase in the existing quantity of objects of art, it is evident
that these are more likely to grow than to diminish in value. Still,
as has been said, costliness is no test of merit in an age when
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span>
large prices are paid for bad things. Perhaps the most convenient
way of defining the real object of art is to describe it as <i>any
ornamental object which adequately expresses an artistic conception</i>.
This definition at least clears the ground of the mass
of showy rubbish forming the stock-in-trade of the average
"antiquity" dealer.</p>
<p>Good objects of art give to a room its crowning touch of distinction.
Their intrinsic beauty is hardly more valuable than their
suggestion of a mellower civilization—of days when rich men
were patrons of "the arts of elegance," and when collecting beautiful
objects was one of the obligations of a noble leisure. The
qualities implied in the ownership of such bibelots are the mark
of their unattainableness. The man who wishes to possess objects
of art must have not only the means to acquire them, but
the skill to choose them—a skill made up of cultivation and judgment,
combined with that feeling for beauty that no amount of
study can give, but that study alone can quicken and render
profitable.</p>
<p>Only time and experience can acquaint one with those minor
peculiarities marking the successive "manners" of a master, or
even with the technical <i>nuances</i> which at once enable the collector
to affix a date to his Sèvres or to his maiolica. Such knowledge is
acquired at the cost of great pains and of frequent mistakes; but
no one should venture to buy works of art who cannot at least
draw such obvious distinctions as those between old and new
Saxe, between an old Italian and a modern French bronze, or between
Chinese peach-bloom porcelain of the Khang-hi period
and the Japanese imitations to be found in every "Oriental emporium."</p>
<p>Supposing the amateur to have acquired this proficiency, he is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span>
still apt to buy too many things, or things out of proportion with
the rooms for which they are intended. The scoffers at style—those
who assume that to conform to any known laws of decoration
is to sink one's individuality—often justify their view by the
assertion that it is ridiculous to be tied down, in the choice of
bibelots, to any given period or manner—as though Mazarin's
great collection had comprised only seventeenth-century works of
art, or the Colonnas, the Gonzagas, and the Malatestas had drawn
all their treasures from contemporary sources! As a matter of
fact, the great amateurs of the past were never fettered by such
absurd restrictions. All famous patrons of art have encouraged
the talent of their day; but the passion for collecting antiquities is
at least as old as the Roman Empire, and Græco-Roman sculptors
had to make archaistic statues to please the popular fancy, just as
our artists paint pre-Raphaelite pictures to attract the disciples of
Ruskin and William Morris. Since the Roman Empire, there has
probably been no period when a taste for the best of all ages did
not exist.<a name="FNanchor_36" id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> Julius II, while Michel Angelo and Raphael worked
under his orders, was gathering antiques for the Belvedere <i>cortile</i>;
under Louis XIV, Greek marbles, Roman bronzes, cabinets of
Chinese lacquer and tables of Florentine mosaic were mingled
without thought of discord against Lebrun's tapestries or Bérain's
arabesques; and Marie-Antoinette's collection united Oriental porcelains
with goldsmiths' work of the Italian Renaissance.</p>
<p>Taste attaches but two conditions to the use of objects of art:
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span>
that they shall be in scale with the room, and that the room shall
not be overcrowded with them. There are two ways of being in
scale: there is the scale of proportion, and what might be called
the scale of appropriateness. The former is a matter of actual
measurement, while the latter is regulated solely by the nicer
standard of good taste. Even in the matter of actual measurement,
the niceties of proportion are not always clear to an unpractised
eye. It is easy to see that the Ludovisi Juno would be
out of scale in a boudoir, but the discrepancy, in diminishing,
naturally becomes less obvious. Again, a vase or a bust may not
be out of scale with the wall-space behind it, but may appear to
crush the furniture upon which it stands; and since everything a
room contains should be regarded as a factor in its general composition,
the relation of bric-à-brac to furniture is no less to be
studied than the relation of bric-à-brac to wall-spaces. Much of
course depends upon the effect intended; and this can be greatly
modified by careful adjustment of the contents of the room. A
ceiling may be made to look less high by the use of wide, low
pieces of furniture, with massive busts and vases; while a low-studded
room may be heightened by tall, narrow commodes and
cabinets, with objects of art upon the same general lines.</p>
<p>It is of no less importance to observe the scale of appropriateness.
A bronze Pallas Athene or a cowled mediæval <i>pleureur</i>
would be obviously out of harmony with the spirit of a boudoir;
while the delicate graces of old Saxe or Chelsea would become
futile in library or study.</p>
<p>Another kind of appropriateness must be considered in the relation
of objects of art to each other: not only must they be in scale
as regards character and dimensions, but also—and this, though
more important, is perhaps less often considered—as regards
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span>
quality. The habit of mixing good, bad, and indifferent in furniture
is often excused by necessity: people must use what they
have. But there is no necessity for having bad bric-à-brac.
Trashy "ornaments" do not make a room more comfortable; as
a general rule, they distinctly diminish its comfort; and they have
the further disadvantage of destroying the effect of any good piece
of work. Vulgarity is always noisier than good breeding, and it
is instructive to note how a modern commercial bronze will "talk
down" a delicate Renaissance statuette or bust, and a piece of Deck
or Minton china efface the color-values of blue-and-white or the
soft tints of old Sèvres. Even those who set down a preference
for old furniture as an affectation will hardly maintain that new
knick-knacks are as good as old bibelots; but only those who
have some slight acquaintance with the subject know how wide
is the distance, in conception and execution, between the old object
of art and its unworthy successor. Yet the explanation is
simple. In former times, as the greatest painters occupied themselves
with wall-decoration, so the greatest sculptors and modellers
produced the delicate statuettes and the incomparable bronze
mountings for vases and furniture adorning the apartments of
their day. A glance into the window of the average furniture-shop
probably convinces the most unobservant that modern
bronze mountings are not usually designed by great artists; and
there is the same change in the methods of execution. The
bronze formerly chiselled is now moulded; the iron once wrought
is cast; the patina given to bronze by a chemical process making
it a part of the texture of the metal is now simply applied as a
surface wash; and this deterioration in processes has done more
than anything else to vulgarize modern ornament.</p>
<p>It may be argued that even in the golden age of art few could
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span>
have walls decorated by great painters, or furniture-mountings
modelled by great sculptors; but it is here that the superiority of
the old method is shown. Below the great painter and sculptor
came the trained designer who, formed in the same school as his
superiors, did not attempt a poor copy of their masterpieces, but
did the same kind of work on simpler lines; just as below the
skilled artificer stood the plain artisan whose work was executed
more rudely, but by the same genuine processes. This explains
the supposed affectation of those who "like things just because
they are old." Old bric-à-brac and furniture are, indeed, almost
always worthy of liking, since they are made on good lines by a
good process.</p>
<p>Two causes connected with the change in processes have contributed
to the debasement of bibelots: the substitution of
machine for hand-work has made possible the unlimited reproduction
of works of art; and the resulting demand for cheap
knick-knacks has given employment to a multitude of untrained
designers having nothing in common with the <i>virtuoso</i> of former
times.</p>
<p>It is an open question how much the mere possibility of unlimited
reproduction detracts from the intrinsic value of an object
of art. To the art-lover, as distinguished from the collector,
uniqueness <i>per se</i> can give no value to an inartistic object; but
the distinction, the personal quality, of a beautiful object is certainly
enhanced when it is known to be alone of its kind—as in
the case of the old bronzes made <i>à cire perdue</i>. It must, however,
be noted that in some cases—as in that of bronze-casting—the
method which permits reproduction is distinctly inferior to
that used when but one object is to be produced.</p>
<p>In writing on objects of art, it is difficult to escape the charge
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span>
of saying on one page that reproductions are objectionable, and
on the next that they are better than poor "originals." The
United States customs laws have drawn a rough distinction between
an original work and its reproductions, defining the former
as a work of art and the latter as articles of commerce; but it
does not follow that an article of commerce may not be an adequate
representation of a work of art. The technical differences
incidental to the various forms of reproduction make any general
conclusion impossible. In the case of bronzes, for instance, it
has been pointed out that the <i>cire perdue</i> process is superior
to that by means of which reproductions may be made;
nor is this the only cause of inferiority in bronze reproductions.
The nature of bronze-casting makes it needful that the final
touches should be given to bust or statue after it emerges from
the mould. Upon these touches, given by the master's chisel,
the expressiveness and significance of the work chiefly depend;
and multiplied reproductions, in lacking this individual stamp,
must lack precisely that which distinguishes the work of art from
the commercial article.</p>
<p>Perhaps the safest general rule is to say that the less the reproduction
suggests an attempt at artistic interpretation,—the more
literal and mechanical is its rendering of the original,—the better
it fulfils its purpose. Thus, plaster-casts of sculpture are more
satisfactory than bronze or marble copies; and a good photograph
of a painting is superior to the average reproduction in oils or
water-color.</p>
<p>The deterioration in gilding is one of the most striking examples
of the modern disregard of quality and execution. In former
times gilding was regarded as one of the crowning touches of
magnificence in decoration, was little used except where great
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span>
splendor of effect was desired, and was then applied by means
of a difficult and costly process. To-day, after a period of reaction
during which all gilding was avoided, it is again unsparingly
used, under the mistaken impression that it is one of the chief
characteristics of the French styles now once more in demand.
The result is a plague of liquid gilding. Even in France, where
good gilding is still done, the great demand for cheap gilt furniture
and ornaments has led to the general use of the inferior process.
The prevalence of liquid gilding, and the application of gold to
furniture and decoration not adapted to such treatment, doubtless
explain the aversion of many persons to any use of gilding in
decoration.</p>
<p>In former times the expense of good gilding was no obstacle to
its use, since it was employed only in gala rooms, where the
whole treatment was on the same scale of costliness: it would
never have occurred to the owner of an average-sized house to
drench his walls and furniture in gilding, since the excessive use
of gold in decoration was held to be quite unsuited to such a
purpose. Nothing more surely preserves any form of ornament
from vulgarization than a general sense of fitness.</p>
<p>Much of the beauty and propriety of old decoration was due
to the fact that the merit of a work of art was held to consist, not
in substance, but in design and execution. It was never thought
that a badly designed bust or vase could be saved from mediocrity
by being made of an expensive material. Suitability of substance
always enhances a work of art; mere costliness never.
The chryselephantine Zeus of Olympia was doubtless admirably
suited to the splendor of its surroundings; but in a different setting
it would have been as beautiful in marble. In plastic art
everything depends on form and execution, and the skilful handling
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span>
of a substance deliberately chosen for its resistance (where
another might have been used with equal fitness) is rather a <i>tour
de force</i> than an artistic achievement.</p>
<p>These last generalizations are intended to show, not only that
there is an intrinsic value in almost all old bibelots, but also that
the general excellence of design and execution in past times has
handed down to us many unimportant trifles in the way of furniture
and household appliances worthy of being regarded as
minor objects of art. In Italy especially, where every artisan
seems to have had the gift of the <i>plasticatore</i> in his finger-tips,
and no substance was thought too poor to express a good design,
there are still to be found many bits of old workmanship—clocks,
<i>appliques</i>, terra-cottas, and carved picture-frames with
touches of gilding—that may be characterized in the terms
applied by the builder of Buckingham House to his collection
of pictures:—"Some good, <i>none disagreeable</i>." Still, no accumulation
of such trifles, even where none is disagreeable, will
give to a room the same distinction as the presence of a few really
fine works of art. Any one who has the patience to put up with
that look of bareness so displeasing to some will do better to buy
each year one superior piece rather than a dozen of middling
quality.</p>
<p>Even the buyer who need consult only his own pleasure must
remember that his very freedom from the ordinary restrictions
lays him open to temptation. It is no longer likely that any collector
will be embarrassed by a superfluity of treasures; but he
may put too many things into one room, and no amount of
individual merit in the objects themselves will, from the decorator's
standpoint, quite warrant this mistake. Any work of art,
regardless of its intrinsic merit, must justify its presence in a room
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span>
by being <i>more valuable than the space it occupies</i>—more valuable,
that is, to the general scheme of decoration.</p>
<p>Those who call this view arbitrary or pedantic should consider,
first, the importance of plain surfaces in decoration, and secondly
the tendency of overcrowding to minimize the effect of each separate
object, however striking in itself. Eye and mind are limited
in their receptivity to a certain number of simultaneous impressions,
and the Oriental habit of displaying only one or two objects
of art at a time shows a more delicate sense of these limitations
than the Western passion for multiplying effects.</p>
<p>To sum up, then, a room should depend for its adornment on
general harmony of parts, and on the artistic quality of such necessities
as lamps, screens, bindings, and furniture. Whoever
goes beyond these essentials should limit himself in the choice
of ornaments to the "labors of the master-artist's hand."
</p>
<h3 class="p6">CONCLUSION</h3>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span></p>
<p class="p2"><span class="dropcap">I</span>n the preceding pages an attempt has been made to show that
in the treatment of rooms we have passed from the golden
age of architecture to the gilded age of decoration.</p>
<p>Any argument in support of a special claim necessitates certain
apparent injustices, sets up certain provisional limitations, and
can therefore be judged with fairness only by those who make
due allowance for these conditions. In the discussion of æsthetics
such impartiality can seldom be expected. Not unnaturally,
people resent any attempt to dogmatize on matters so
generally thought to lie within the domain of individual judgment.
Many hold that in questions of taste <i>Gefühl ist alles</i>;
while those who believe that beyond the oscillations of fashion
certain fixed laws may be discerned have as yet agreed upon
no formula defining their belief. In short, our civilization has
not yet developed any artistic creed so generally recognized
that it may be invoked on both sides of an argument without
risk of misunderstanding.</p>
<p>This is true at least of those forms of art that minister only to
the æsthetic sense. With architecture and its allied branches the
case is different. Here beauty depends on fitness, and the practical
requirements of life are the ultimate test of fitness.</p>
<p>If, therefore, it can be proved that the old practice was based
upon a clearer perception of these requirements than is shown by
modern decorators, it may be claimed not unreasonably that the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span>
old methods are better than the new. It seems, however, that
the distinction between the various offices of art is no longer
clearly recognized. The merit of house-decoration is now seldom
measured by the standard of practical fitness; and those who
would set up such a standard are suspected of proclaiming individual
preferences under the guise of general principles.</p>
<p>In this book, an endeavor has been made to draw no conclusion
unwarranted by the premises; but whatever may be thought
of the soundness of some of the deductions, they must be regarded,
not as a criticism of individual work, but simply of certain
tendencies in modern architecture. It must be remembered, too,
that the book is merely a sketch, intended to indicate the lines
along which further study may profitably advance.</p>
<p>It may seem inconsequent that an elementary work should include
much apparently unimportant detail. To pass in a single
chapter from a discussion of abstract architectural laws to the
combination of colors in a bedroom carpet seems to show lack of
plan; yet the transition is logically justified. In the composition
of a whole there is no negligible quantity: if the decoration of a
room is planned on certain definite principles, whatever contributes
line or color becomes a factor in the composition. The
relation of proportion to decoration is like that of anatomy to
sculpture: underneath are the everlasting laws. It was the recognition
of this principle that kept the work of the old architect-decorators
(for the two were one) free from the superfluous, free
from the intemperate accumulation that marks so many modern
rooms. Where each detail had its determinate part, no superficial
accessories were needed to make up a whole: a great draughtsman
represents with a few strokes what lesser artists can express
only by a multiplicity of lines.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span></p>
<p>The supreme excellence is simplicity. Moderation, fitness, relevance—these
are the qualities that give permanence to the work
of the great architects. <i>Tout ce qui n'est pas nécessaire est nuisible.</i>
There is a sense in which works of art may be said to
endure by virtue of that which is left out of them, and it is this
"tact of omission" that characterizes the master-hand.</p>
<p>Modern civilization has been called a varnished barbarism: a
definition that might well be applied to the superficial graces of
much modern decoration. Only a return to architectural principles
can raise the decoration of houses to the level of the past.
Vasari said of the Farnesina palace that it was not built, but really
born—<i>non murato ma veramente nato</i>; and this phrase is but the
expression of an ever-present sense—the sense of interrelation of
parts, of unity of the whole.</p>
<p>There is no absolute perfection, there is no communicable
ideal; but much that is empiric, much that is confused and
extravagant, will give way before the application of principles
based on common sense and regulated by the laws of harmony
and proportion.</p>
<h3 class="p6">INDEX</h3>
<div class="left25">
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span></p>
<ul class="none">
<li>Adam, ceiling ornaments of, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li>
<li>Andirons, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li>
<li><i>Appliques</i>, in hall and staircase, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li>
<li>Araldi's ceiling in the convent of St. Paul, Parma, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li>
<li>Architrave of door, see <a href="#Doorway">Doorway</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>of mantel-piece, <a href="#Page_82">82</a></li>
</ul></li>
<li>Arm-chair, modern, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li>
<li><i>Armoires</i>, old French and Italian, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li>
<li>Ashby, Castle, Inigo Jones's stairs in, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
<li>Aviler, d', his description of dining-room fountain, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Ball-room, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in Italy, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>;</li>
<li>Louis XIV, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>;</li>
<li>lighting of, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>;</li>
<li>chairs, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Barry, Madame du, dining-room of, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li>
<li>Bath-room, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in Pitti Palace, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Bedroom, development of, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>Renaissance, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;</li>
<li><i>Louis XIV</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>;</li>
<li>XVIII-century, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>;</li>
<li>cotton hangings in, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>;</li>
<li>suite, plan of, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>;</li>
<li>children's, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Bedstead, history of, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li>
<li>Belvédère, at Versailles, frescoes in, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>
<li>Bérain, ceiling arabesques of, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></li>
<li><i>Bergère</i>, origin of, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>design of, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Bernini, his staircase in the Vatican, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Bindings, decorative value of, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li>
<li>Blinds, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li>
<li>Blois, spiral stairs in court-yard of château, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li><i>cabinet</i> of Catherine de' Medici, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Blondel, on doors, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>on fireplaces, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Book-cases, medieval, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in Catherine de' Medici's <i>cabinet</i>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;</li>
<li>in France in the XVII century, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>;</li>
<li>built into the wall, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;</li>
<li>in England, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</li>
<li>modern, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Books in the middle ages, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in the Renaissance, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Bosse, Abraham, engravings of Louis XIII interiors, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>examples of state bedrooms, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Boudoir, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>modern decoration of, <a href="#Page_170">170</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Bramante, his use of the mezzanin floor, <a href="#Page_5">5</a></li>
<li>Breakfast-room, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></li>
<li>Bric-à-brac, definition of, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>knowledge of, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</li>
<li>superiority of old over new, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Burckhardt, on medieval house-planning, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, note</li>
<li>Byfield, G., his stairs at Hurlingham, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li><i>Cabinet</i>, Italian origin of, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>used in French Renaissance houses, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>;</li>
<li>of Catherine de' Medici, book-cases in, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Campbell's <i>Vitruvius Britannicus</i>, example of Palladian manner, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>of English house-planning, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Carpets, in general color-scheme, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>choice of, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</li>
<li><i>Savonnerie</i>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</li>
<li>designs of, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>;</li>
<li>stair-carpets, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>;</li>
<li>hall-carpets, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Caserta, staircase in royal palace, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Casino del Grotto, near Mantua, frescoes in, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>ceilings in, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Casts in vestibule, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in hall, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>;</li>
<li>in school-room, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span></li></ul></li>
<li>Ceilings, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>timbered, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li>
<li>in France and England, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>;</li>
<li>Elizabethan, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li>
<li>Louis XIII, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li>
<li>Louis XV, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li>
<li>Louis XVI, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</li>
<li>Adam, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</li>
<li>objections to wooden, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>;</li>
<li>modern treatment of, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>;</li>
<li>frescoed, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Chambord, staircase at, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li>
<li><i>Chambre de parade</i>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li>
<li>Chandeliers, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li>
<li>Chanteloup, library of, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li>
<li>Chantilly, stair-rail at, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></li>
<li>Chevening, Inigo Jones's stairs at, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
<li>Cheverny, fireplace at, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li>
<li>Chinese art, influence of, on stuff patterns, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li>
<li>Chippendale's designs for grates, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li>
<li>"Colonial" style, the, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li>
<li>Color, use of, in decoration, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>predominance of one color in each room, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>;</li>
<li>color-schemes, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Cornices, interior, Durand on, <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li>
<li>Cortile, Italian, modern adaptation of, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li>
<li>Coutant d'Ivry's stair-rail in the Palais Royal, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></li>
<li>Curtains, mediæval and Renaissance, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in XVII and XVIII centuries, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>;</li>
<li>muslin, <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Dado, the, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>sometimes omitted in lobbies and corridors, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Decoration and furniture, harmony between, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>individuality in decoration, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</li>
<li>graduated scheme of, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li></ul></li>
<li>"Den," furniture of, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>decoration of, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Dining-chairs, mediæval, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>XVII century, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>;</li>
<li>XVIII century, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Dining-room, origin of, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>;</li>
<li>in England, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>;</li>
<li>furniture of, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>;</li>
<li>French, XVIII century, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</li>
<li>fountains in, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>;</li>
<li>decoration of modern, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li>
<li>lighting of, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li>
<li>state, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li>
<li>heating of, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Dining-table, mediæval, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>modern, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Donowell, J., his stairs at West Wycombe, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
<li>Doors, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>sliding, origin of, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>;</li>
<li>double, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>;</li>
<li>mediæval, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>;</li>
<li>in palace of Urbino, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li>
<li>in Italy, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>-54;</li>
<li>locks and hinges, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>;</li>
<li>in the Hôtels de Rohan, de Soubise, and de Toulouse, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</li>
<li>glass doors, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</li>
<li>treatment in England, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</li>
<li>mahogany, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;</li>
<li>panelling, principles of, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>;</li>
<li>veneering, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>;</li>
<li>concealed doors, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>;</li>
<li>entrance-door, <a href="#Page_103">103</a></li></ul></li>
<li><a name="Doorway" id="Doorway"></a>Doorway, proper dimensions of, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>treatment of, in Italy, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li>
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>;</li>
<li>in England, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Drawing-room, in modern town houses, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>evolution of, in England, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>;</li>
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>;</li>
<li>origin of modern, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>;</li>
<li>treatment of, in England and America, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>;</li>
<li>furniture of, <a href="#Page_127">127</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Dressing-room, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></li>
<li><i>Duchesse</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li>
<li>Durand, J. L. N., on originality in architecture, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>on interior cornices, <a href="#Page_94">94</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Easton Neston, use of panel-pictures at, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
<li>Entrance, treatment of, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>entrance-door, <a href="#Page_103">103</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Fenders, <a href="#Page_85">85</a></li>
<li>Fire-backs, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></li>
<li>Fire-boards, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></li>
<li>Fireplaces, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>mediæval, construction of, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>;</li>
<li>in Italy, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>;</li>
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;</li>
<li>lining of, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>;</li>
<li>American, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>;</li>
<li>accessories of, <a href="#Page_84">84</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Fire-screens, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></li>
<li>Floors, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>of brick or stone, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>;</li>
<li>marble and mosaic, in Italy, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>;</li>
<li>parquet, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>;</li>
<li>of vestibule, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>;</li>
<li>of ball-room, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Fontana, his staircase in the royal palace, Naples, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Fountains in dining-rooms, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li>
<li>Fresco-painting, in wall-decoration, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>examples of, in Italy and France, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li>
<li>in ceiling-decoration, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</li>
<li>in Italy, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</li>
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>;</li>
<li>in Italian gala rooms, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Furniture, in the middle ages, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>furniture and decoration, harmony between, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span></li>
<li>modern English and American, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;</li></ul></li>
<li>XVIII century, in France and England, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in vestibule, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</li>
<li>in hall, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</li>
<li>in <i>salon de compagnie</i>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>;</li>
<li>in drawing-room, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>;</li>
<li>English, XVIII century, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>;</li>
<li>in dining-room, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>;</li>
<li>in bedroom, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>;</li>
<li>in school-room, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Gabriel, influence of, on ornamental detail, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>on ceilings, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</li>
<li>on stair-rails, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Gala rooms, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>uses of, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</li>
<li>in Italy, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Gallery, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li>
<li>Genoa, royal palace, doors in, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></li>
<li>Gibbons, Grinling, carvings for panel-pictures, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
<li>Gilding, deterioration of, <a href="#Page_192">192</a></li>
<li>Giulio Romano's frescoes in the Palazzo del T, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li>
<li><i>Grand'salle</i>, mediæval, <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li>
<li>Grates, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li>
<li>Gwilt, his definition of <i>staircase</i>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Hall, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>old English, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>;</li>
<li>uses of, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>;</li>
<li>modern treatment of, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>;</li>
<li>decoration of, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</li>
<li>furniture, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</li>
<li>floor of, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>;</li>
<li>lighting of, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>;</li>
<li>prints and pictures in, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Holkham, over-mantels at, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li>
<li>Hôtel de Rohan, doors in, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>
<ul class="none">
<li>de Soubise, doors in, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li>
<li>de Toulouse, doors in, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Houghton Hall, doors in, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, note</li>
<li>House, Carlton, stair-rail in, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>
<ul class="none">
<li>Devonshire, stair-rail in, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li>
<li>Norfolk, stair-rail in, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Individuality in decoration, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li>
<li>Isabella of Este's apartment at Mantua, doorways in, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Jones, Inigo, his introduction of Palladian manner in England, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, note;
<ul class="none">
<li>influence on ceiling-decoration, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li>
<li>on plan of English hall, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>;</li>
<li>his stairs at Castle Ashby, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;</li>
<li>at Chevening, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Juvara, his staircase in the Palazzo Madama, Turin, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Lambrequin, origin of, <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li>
<li>Lamour, Jean, his wrought-iron work at Nancy, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li>
<li>Lantern in vestibule, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li>
<li>Laurano, Luciano da, palace of Urbino built by, <a href="#Page_6">6</a></li>
<li>Lebrun, door-locks in <i>Galerie d'Apollon</i> designed by, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li>
<li>Le Riche, frescoes of, in Belvédère, Versailles, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li>
<li>Library, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in the university at Nancy, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</li>
<li>of Louis XVI, at Versailles, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</li>
<li>of Chanteloup, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>;</li>
<li>modern, decoration of, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li></ul></li>
<li><i>Lit de parade</i>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li>
<li><i>Lit de repos</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li>
<li>Longhi, frescoes of, in Palazzo Sina, Venice, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li>
<li>Louis XIII, windows, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>ceilings, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Louis XIV, modern house-furnishing dates from his reign, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>style, characteristics of, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>;</li>
<li>window-shutters, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li>
<li>influence on French, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</li>
<li>mantels, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>;</li>
<li>ceilings, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>;</li>
<li>stair-rails, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>;</li>
<li>ball-rooms, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Louis XV style, characteristics of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>doors, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</li>
<li>ceilings, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li>
<li>wrought-iron work, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>;</li>
<li>stair-rails, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Louis XVI style, characteristics of, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>Gabriel's influence on, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</li>
<li>doors, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</li>
<li>ceilings, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</li>
<li>stair-rails, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Luciennes, Madame du Barry's dining-room at, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Mantegna's ceiling, palace of Mantua, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li>
<li>Mantel-pieces, Italian Renaissance, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>French Renaissance, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</li>
<li>Louis XIV, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>;</li>
<li>XVIII century, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;</li>
<li>American, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>;</li>
<li>facing of, <a href="#Page_83">83</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Mantua, doorways in palace, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>Mantegna's ceiling in, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</li>
<li><i>cabinet</i> of Isabella of Este, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Mario dei Fiori, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li>
<li>Massimi alle Colonne, palace of, in Rome, <a href="#Page_6">6</a></li>
<li>Mezzanin, origin of, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>; treatment of, <a href="#Page_6">6</a></li>
<li>Ministère de la Marine, Paris, door in, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span></li>
<li>Mirrors, use of, in over-mantel, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>painted, in Borghese Palace, Rome, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>;</li>
<li>in ball-rooms, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Morelli's staircase in Palazzo Braschi, Rome, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Morning-room, <a href="#Page_132">132</a></li>
<li>Mullions, use of, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li>
<li>Music-room, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>at Remiremont, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Music-stand, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></li>
<li>Music-stool, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Nancy, wrought-iron work at, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>library in the university, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Naples, staircase in royal palace, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Niches, in hall and staircase, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li>
<li>Nursery, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Oberkampf, inventor of color-printing on cotton, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li>
<li>Object of art, definition of, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>reproductions of, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Openings, placing and proportion of, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>lines of, carried up to ceiling, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>;</li>
<li>treatment of, in rocaille style, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Orders, use of, in wall-decoration, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>application to doorways in Italy, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</li>
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;</li>
<li>in England, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</li>
<li>in ball-rooms, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Originality in art, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>J. L. N. Durand on, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Over-doors, mediæval treatment of, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in Italy, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</li>
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>;</li>
<li>Louis XVI, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Over-mantels, Renaissance, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>use of mirror in, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;</li>
<li>XVIII-century treatment, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;</li>
<li>in England, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Palais Royal, stair-rail in, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></li>
<li>Palazzo Borghese, Rome, painted mirrors in, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>
<ul class="none">
<li>Braschi, Rome, staircase in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Gondi, Florence, stairs in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Labia, Venice, frescoes in, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li>
<li>Madama, Turin, staircase in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Massimi alle Colonne, Rome, date of, <a href="#Page_6">6</a></li>
<li>Piccolomini, at Pienza, staircase in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, note</li>
<li>Pitti, Florence, bath-room in, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li>
<li>Reale, Caserta, staircase in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Reale, Naples, staircase in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Riccardi, staircase in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, note</li>
<li>Sina, Venice, frescoes in, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li>
<li>del T, Mantua, frescoes in, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Palladian window, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li>
<li>Panelling, in Italy and north of the Alps, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>wood, stone and stucco, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li>
<li>subdivisions of, <a href="#Page_43">43</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Parma, Araldi's ceiling in convent of St. Paul, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>rocaille stoves in museum, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Pavia, Certosa of, doorways in, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li>
<li><i>Perroquets</i>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li>
<li>Perugia, ceiling in the Sala del Cambio, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li>
<li>Perugino's ceiling in the Sala del Cambio, Perugia, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li>
<li>Peruzzi, Baldassare, his use of the mezzanin, <a href="#Page_5">5</a></li>
<li>Piano, design of, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li>
<li>Pictures, proper background for, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>mode of hanging, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>;</li>
<li>in hall, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>;</li>
<li>in dining-room, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</li>
<li>in school-room, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Picture-frames, selection of, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li>
<li>Plan of house in relation to decoration, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li>
<li>Plate-glass in windows, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li>
<li>Pompadour, Madame de, dining-room fountain of, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li>
<li>Pompeii, wall-frescoes of, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li>
<li>Portière, use of, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li>
<li>Presses, old English, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li>
<li>Prints in hall, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in school-room, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Privacy, modern indifference to, <a href="#Page_22">22</a></li>
<li>Proportion, definition of, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>Isaac Ware on, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Pyne's <i>Royal Residences</i>, examples of pictures set in panels, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Rambouillet, Madame de, her influence on house-planning, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></li>
<li>Raphael, ceilings of, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li>
<li>Remiremont, music-room at, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></li>
<li>Renaissance, characteristics of domestic architecture, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>doors, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li>
<li>window-curtains, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li>
<li>mantels, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</li>
<li>ceilings, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>-92;</li>
<li>French architects of, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span></li></ul></li>
<li>Rennes, Palais de Justice, carved wooden ceilings, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></li>
<li>Rugs, Oriental, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>modern European, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li><i>Salon à l'Italienne</i>, see <a href="#Saloon">Saloon</a></li>
<li><i>Salon de compagnie</i>, origin and use of, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>decoration and furniture of, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>;</li>
<li>lighting of, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li></ul></li>
<li><i>Salon de famille</i>, origin and use of, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li>
<li><a name="Saloon" id="Saloon"></a>Saloon, adaptation of, in England by Inigo Jones, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>introduction in France, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>;</li>
<li>uses in Italy, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>;</li>
<li>at Vaux-le-Vicomte, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li></ul></li>
<li>School-room, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>decoration of, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Screen in Tudor halls, <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li>
<li>Shobden Court, stairs in, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
<li>Shutters, interior decoration of, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>at Vaux-le-Vicomte, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li>
<li>in rooms of Mesdames de France, Versailles, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li>
<li>purpose of, <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Sideboard, mediæval, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Smoking-room, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li>
<li>Stairs, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>development of, in Italy, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</li>
<li>in the Palladian period, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>;</li>
<li>in the XVII and XVIII centuries, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>;</li>
<li>spiral, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>;</li>
<li>in hall, in England, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;</li>
<li>construction of, in Italy, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>;</li>
<li>in France, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Stair-carpets, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li>
<li>Staircase, meaning of term, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>walls of, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</li>
<li>in simple houses, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>;</li>
<li>lighting of, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Stair-rails, in Italy and France, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>Louis XIV and XV, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>;</li>
<li>Louis XVI and Empire, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>;</li>
<li>Tudor and Elizabethan, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>;</li>
<li>Palladian, in England, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Stoves, use of, in hall, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>examples of old stoves, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>;</li>
<li>in dining-room, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Stucco, use of, in decoration, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>panelling, in Italy, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;</li>
<li>in ceilings, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</li>
<li>in Elizabethan ceilings, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>;</li>
<li>combined with painting, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Stuff hangings, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>
<li>Stupinigi, frescoes at, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>over-mantels at, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Styles, essence of, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>conformity to, <a href="#Page_13">13</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Symmetry, definition of, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>advantages of, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Tapestry, use of, in northern Europe, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>its subordination to architectural lines of room, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Tiepolo, frescoes of, in the Villa Valmarana, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>in the Palazzo Labia, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Titian's "Presentation of the Virgin," doorway in, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></li>
<li><i>Toiles de Jouy</i>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li>
<li>Trianon-sous-Bois, fountains in banqueting-gallery, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Udine, Giovanni da, ceilings of, in collaboration with Raphael, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li>
<li>Urbino, ducal palace of, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>doors in, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</li>
<li>fireplace in, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>;</li>
<li><i>cabinet</i> of Isabella of Este, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>;</li></ul></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Vanvitelli's staircase at Caserta, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Vatican, Bernini's staircase in, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li>
<li>Vault, the Roman, influence of, on ceilings, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li>
<li>Vaux-le-Vicomte, interior shutters at, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>saloon at, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Versailles, frescoes in Belvédère, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>windows in rooms of Mesdames de France, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li>
<li>shutters in same, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>;</li>
<li>library of Louis XVI, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Vestibule, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>furniture of, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</li>
<li>lighting of, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</li>
<li>absence of, in English house-planning, <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Villa, Italian, chief features of, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, note</li>
<li>Villa Giacomelli, at Maser, over-mantel in, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li> Madama, in Rome, ceiling of loggia, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</li>
<li> Rotonda, near Vicenza, saloon in, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>;</li>
<li> Valmarana, near Vicenza, frescoes in, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</li>
<li> Vertemati, near Chiavenna, over-mantel in, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;</li>
<li> carved wooden ceiling in, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Viollet-le-Duc, on doorways, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, note;
<ul class="none">
<li>on mediæval house-planning, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Voguë, Hôtel, at Dijon, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span></li>
</ul>
<ul class="none">
<li>Wall-decoration, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li>
<li>Wall-papers, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li>
<li>Walls, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li>
<li>Ware, Isaac, on proportion, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>on sliding doors, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>;</li>
<li>his definition of staircase, <a href="#Page_106">106</a></li></ul></li>
<li>West Wycombe, Donowell's stairs at, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li>
<li>Windows, decorative value of, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>;
<ul class="none">
<li>dimensions of, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>;</li>
<li>plate-glass in, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</li>
<li>French or casement, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li>
<li>sash, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>;</li>
<li>curtains, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>;</li>
<li>shutters, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</li>
<li>lambrequin, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>;</li>
<li>muslin curtains, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</li>
<li>blinds, <a href="#Page_73">73</a></li></ul></li>
<li>Wood-box, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="footnotes p6">
<h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Charming as the Italian villa is, it can hardly be used in our Northern States
without certain modifications, unless it is merely occupied for a few weeks in mid-summer;
whereas the average French or English country house built after 1600 is
perfectly suited to our climate and habits. The chief features of the Italian villa are
the open central <i>cortile</i> and the large saloon two stories high. An adaptation of
these better suited to a cold climate is to be found in the English country houses
built in the Palladian manner after its introduction by Inigo Jones. See Campbell's
<i>Vitruvius Britannicus</i> for numerous examples.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The plan of the Hôtel Voguë has been greatly modified.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_3" id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Cabinets retained this shape after the transporting of furniture had ceased to be a
necessity (see <a href="#plate_3">Plate III</a>).</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_4" id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> It must be remembered that in describing the decoration of any given period,
we refer to the private houses, not the royal palaces, of that period. Versailles was
more splendid than any previous palace; but private houses at that date were less
splendid, though far more luxurious, than during the Renaissance.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_5" id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> "Si l'on dispose un édifice d'une manière convenable à l'usage auquel on le
destine, ne différera-t-il pas sensiblement d'un autre édifice destiné à un autre usage?
N'aura-t-il pas naturellement un caractère, et, qui plus est, son caractère propre?"
J. L. N. Durand. <i>Précis des Leçons d'Architecture données à l'École Royale Polytechnique.</i>
Paris, 1823.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_6" id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> It must not be forgotten that the so-called "styles" of Louis XIV, Louis XV
and Louis XVI were, in fact, only the gradual development of one organic style, and
hence differed only in the superficial use of ornament.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_7" id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> There is no objection to putting a fireplace between two doors, provided both
doors be at least six feet from the chimney.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_8" id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Not rattan, as the models are too bad.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_9" id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> <i>A Complete Body of Architecture</i>, Book II, chap. iii.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_10" id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> See the saloon at Easton Neston, built by Nicholas Hawkesmoor (<a href="#plate_13">Plate XIII</a>), and
various examples given in Pyne's <i>Royal Residences</i>.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_11" id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> See Viollet-le-Duc, <i>Dictionnaire raisonné de l'Architecture française</i>, under
<i>Porte</i>.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_12" id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> This painting has now been restored to its proper position in the Scuola della
Carità, and the door which had been <i>painted in</i> under the stairs has been removed
to make way for the actual doorway around which the picture was originally painted.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_13" id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> See the doors of the Sala dello Zodiaco in the ducal palace at Mantua (<a href="#plate_16">Plate XVI</a>).</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_14" id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Some rooms of the rocaille period, however, contain doors as elaborately carved
as those seen in France (see the doors in the royal palace at Genoa, <a href="#plate_34">Plate XXXIV</a>).</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_15" id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> See the doors at Vaux-le-Vicomte and in the Palais de Justice at Rennes.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_16" id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Only in the most exaggerated German baroque were the vertical lines of the
door-panels sometimes irregular.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_17" id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> The inlaid doors of Houghton Hall, the seat of Sir Robert Walpole, were noted
for their beauty and costliness. The price of each was £200.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_18" id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> See a room in the Ministère de la Marine at Paris, where a subordinate door is
cleverly treated in connection with one of more importance.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_19" id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> As an example of the extent to which openings have come to be ignored as factors
in the decorative composition of a room, it is curious to note that in Eastlake's
well-known <i>Hints on Household Taste</i> no mention is made of doors, windows
or fireplaces. Compare this point of view with that of the earlier decorators, from
Vignola to Roubo and Ware.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_20" id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> In Italy, where the walls were frescoed, the architectural composition over the
mantel was also frequently painted. Examples of this are to be seen at the Villa
Vertemati, near Chiavenna, and at the Villa Giacomelli, at Maser, near Treviso.
This practice accounts for the fact that in many old architectural drawings of Italian
interiors a blank wall-space is seen over the mantel.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_21" id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> It is to be hoped that the recently published English translation of M. Émile
Bourgeois's book on Louis XIV will do much to remove this prejudice.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_22" id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> It is curious that those who criticize the ornateness of the Louis XIV style are
often the warmest admirers of the French Renaissance, the style of all others most remarkable
for its excessive use of ornament, exquisite in itself, but quite unrelated to
structure and independent of general design.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_23" id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> It is said to have been put at this height in order that the porcelain vases should
be out of reach. See Daviler, "Cours d'Architecture."</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_24" id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> Examples are to be seen in several rooms of the hunting-lodge of the kings of
Savoy, at Stupinigi, near Turin.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_25" id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> In France, until the sixteenth century, the same word—<i>plancher</i>—was used
to designate both floor and ceiling.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_26" id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> For a fine example of an English stucco ceiling, see <a href="#plate_13">Plate XIII</a>.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_27" id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> The flat Venetian ceilings, such as those in the ducal palace, with their richly
carved wood-work and glorious paintings, beautiful as they have been made by art,
are not so fine architecturally as a domed or coved ceiling.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_28" id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> For an example of a wooden ceiling which is too heavy for the wall-decoration
below it, see <a href="#plate_44">Plate XLIV</a>.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_29" id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> Burckhardt, in his <i>Geschichte der Renaissance in Italien</i>, justly points out
that the seeming inconsequence of mediæval house-planning in northern Europe was
probably due in part to the fact that the feudal castle, for purposes of defence, was
generally built on an irregular site. See also Viollet-le-Duc.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_30" id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> "Der gothische Profanbau in Italien ... steht im vollen Gegensatz zum
Norden durch die rationelle Anlage." Burckhardt, <i>Geschichte der Renaissance in
Italien</i>, p. 28.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_31" id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> See the stairs of the Riccardi palace in Florence, of the Piccolomini palace at
Pienza and of the ducal palace at Urbino.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_32" id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> For a fine example of a hall-niche containing a statue, see <a href="#plate_30">Plate XXX</a>.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_33" id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> In large halls the tall <i>torchère</i> of marble or bronze may be used for additional
lights (see <a href="#plate_32">Plate XXXII</a>).</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_34" id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Much of the old furniture which appears to us unnecessarily stiff and monumental
was expressly designed to be placed against the walls in rooms used for general
entertainments, where smaller and more delicately made pieces would have
been easily damaged, and would, moreover, have produced no effect.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_35" id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> The ornate boudoir seen in many XVIIIth-century prints is that of the <i>femme galante</i>.</p>
<p class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_36" id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> "A little study would probably show that the Ptolemaic era in Egypt was a renaissance
of the Theban age, in architecture as in other respects, while the golden
period of Augustus in Rome was largely a Greek revival. Perhaps it would even be
discovered that all ages of healthy human prosperity are more or less revivals, and
have been marked by a retrospective tendency." <i>The Architecture of the Renaissance
in Italy</i>, by W. J. Anderson. London, Batsford, 1896.</p>
</div>
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