HALLS AND PASSAGES
If we wish to make a complete conquest of the special suburban residence
we are about to circumvent, there is no doubt whatever that the first
battle of all has to be fought and won on the very doorstep. Nay
sometimes one has to commence the conflict before we reach as far as
that, for have we not the ‘carriage sweep’ to tackle and the slamming
gate to minister to before reaching the front door? If we are cursed
with the ‘approach,’ all we can do is to make the gate as inoffensive as
we can, for alas! we must keep it or we shall have our front garden a
gathering ground for all the curs in the neighbourhood. But we must e’en
remove the latch altogether, and line the place where it was with
indiarubber, and put a couple of stout indiarubber springs on the house
side of the gate, which should have an inner lining of wire-netting,
and a head-trimming of barbed wire, or else of rough nails, to prevent
the demon boy seating himself thereon. Then, if by firm refusals to
allow tramps to come up, and by never giving them one farthing--or
indeed anything save a bread ticket redeemable at the nearest baker’s
shop, and which, ten to one, we shall find torn up in our ‘avenue,’--we
can induce them to mark our gate with some secret sign, which means we
are unspeakable brutes and not good even for a ‘little hot water,’ we
shall have ensured ourselves a certain amount of quiet, and shall, at
all events, have begun our campaign in the right way. Our gate we should
paint some good solid colour, and Indian red is a good shade with green
hedges and trees about us, as is also a special shade of dark olive
green. Then the name of the house should be painted on in white, _not_
gilded letters, and if we put as well ‘Please shut this gate quietly’ on
both sides of the top bar, we shall find that we at least are no longer
noise-makers in general, and, as far as our special gate is concerned,
the great slamming question is replied to satisfactorily.
I may seem to dwell unduly on the matter of noise, but I can assure my
readers that every preventable noise is both a sin against themselves
and also against their neighbours. They may be in rude health and
inclined to jeer at all I say, but the day will come when their heads
will ache and their nerves bother them and when noise will torture them,
and then they will wish devoutly that they had legislated at first for
peace, for they certainly won’t get it when they have not the strength
to insist on it. I say preventable noise, and most noises are that, for
even the wretched piano in the schoolroom can be placed in such a
position that it only worries those to whom it belongs; while the person
who encourages barrel-organs or screaming children, should be at once
sent to the wilds of America, no other place being large enough to hold
such a barbarian.
We know, of course, all English folk think their homes are their
castles; well, if so, the castle should have appropriate surroundings.
There is nothing much of the castle about a suburban residence, and the
sooner this fact is realised the better for those who dwell therein and
on both sides. Now, the carriage gate being painted and settled with,
and arranged to be fastened back should we have many callers from three
to six in summer, from three to five in winter, we can turn our
attention to the front door. I have had to circumvent for myself and for
many many other folk the ordinary suburban residence, and I have only in
one case found the front door treated in a manner that showed me that
the man who planned the house had the very smallest idea of what he was
about. As a rule, the front door opens straight on the narrow passage
called hall by courtesy, with the ladder-like flight of stairs going
straight up at one side. Then just opposite the front door, and about
eighteen or twenty feet from it, is the door of the third room, which
becomes library, smoking-room, or even day-nursery or schoolroom,
according to the tastes and the age and number of the owner’s family,
and nothing can be worse than this arrangement. But in the exception of
which I speak, the hall ends at the front door portion in a wall, and
the front door is placed opposite, as in the diagram on the next page,
and thus the wind which enters when the front
[Illustration]
door is opened only circulates in the tiny vestibule, and is shut off
from the hall and house by the inner door, beyond which is a small
fireplace, so small as to be scarcely visible at all, yet large enough
to ensure the equal temperature which means so much in this very
evil-minded climate of ours. Now, it would not be an enormous expense,
either to add the vestibule, or to make it by closing the ordinary
entrance at A and opening one at B, while the vestibule could be shut
off from the hall by curtains, should there be light enough to do
without the extra window, or by a glazed screen, should light be
otherwise an impossibility. In any case the gain to health would be
enormous, while the comfort is of course at once ensured which is so
absolutely necessary, and yet as a rule is so little understood. If one
can have curtains, and expense is a great object, it is well to obtain
from Oetzmann a fretwork arch, which is made for this purpose, and which
is nailed on the wall and to the ceiling, and is at once simple and
effective. The rod the simplest brass one which can be procured, should
go behind the arch, which should face towards the end wall, and curtains
of Wallace’s diamond serge should fall from the rod; there should be two
full curtains, double, if possible, and edged with ‘grip cord,’ not
ball-fringe. They will be constantly moved, and ball-fringe would soon
spoil, while the cord is a hardy thing and capable of standing a certain
amount of pulling about. As a rule the floor of the ordinary suburban
hall is made from the roughest of boards which shrink apart coyly from
each other as if they were youthful maidens at their first ball, but
sometimes we are fortunate enough to come across tiles. And yet I don’t
know whether I should quite say fortunate! For sometimes the tiles are
more frightful than I can describe, and are often cracked and irregular,
while one can manage the boarded floor if one resolutely tackles it and
determines that it shall not conquer one instead of being conquered
itself. If one has tiles one should place two or three rugs over them,
the Abingdon Carpet Company’s charming ‘Arts and Crafts’ rugs for
choice, made in the proper length and width for these places; but if one
has not, the boards must first be stopped, planed and smoothed and
ventilated, and then a plain cork carpet from Wallace, of Curtain Road,
E.C. should be put down. This should be ventilated too, by piercing
holes here and there with a gimlet, else dry-rot will ensue, a thing
which once in possession is very difficult to get rid of, I can assure
my readers. The cork carpet must be supplemented by rugs, and in any
case the vestibule should be tiled with plain self-coloured tiles to
harmonise with the decorations, for here would be shed the wet
waterproofs and umbrellas of the way-worn traveller, who could then
proceed towards the drawing-room undeterred by the despair that seizes
one when one feels at a disadvantage owing to one’s raiment. This
feeling often prevents people paying that kindest call of all, the call
on a wet, dreary day, when we are dying with loneliness and boredom, and
would give anything to see the friend who will not come because she
would be ‘too wet for the pretty room,’ and ‘so dirty, she would really
be ashamed to enter anyone’s house.’
[Illustration]
Now, with the sensible short tweed skirt and tweed undergarments, which
fortunate present-day damsels don unknown and unchecked, and a good
plain, yet pretty waterproof, anyone is weather-tight; and if the
parlour-maid pops the umbrella into the beaten iron ring for that
purpose placed behind the front door, and hangs the waterproof up in
Wallace’s handy P. T. C. wardrobe in another corner; and if the boots
are carefully wiped on the mat placed in the sunken place in front of
the door, the visitor enters the room spotless and as dry as if she had
just emerged from her own house or from Lady Gorgeous Midas’s brand new
brougham. The tiled floor should have upon it a pretty thick rug lined
with American leather: one can be bought for about 8s. 9d. at Treloar’s:
an outlay that no one need mind, but that ensures once more a certain
amount of comfort.
The front door should, of course, never be grained, and it ought in
these days to be quite unnecessary for me even to hint at such a thing.
But mighty is the ‘local decorator,’ beloved of the suburbs, and his
counsels will undoubtedly prevail, unless we put down our foot very
firmly indeed, and keep it resolutely in that special attitude. He will
‘grain’ the door if he can until doomsday, I am convinced, but my
readers must be firm and dignified, and above all must they give their
instructions in writing, and keep a duplicate signed by the ‘decorator’
(save the mark!), else will they find he has gone his own sweet way
after all, and they have no redress whatever. It is an axiom that
whatever colour is chosen for the hall that colour alone shall be on the
front door, but it may be in a darker shade, while the vestibule can
often be treated differently to the hall itself, though of course it
should lead up to and harmonise with it. Let me describe what I mean.
The special vestibule I am thinking of has a couple of small,
diamond-paned windows, one at the end, one opposite the front door, and
below this latter is a wide panel painted with a tiger-lily, and then a
wide wooden seat which lifts up and holds carriage rugs, and on which
anyone could sit did he or she come with a message or a note and require
to wait an answer. Both windows have wide ledges on which stand pots
holding palms or aspidistras, and all the paint on the inside of the
front door and on the vestibule side of the glass screen-doors included,
is a special, beautiful soft grey-blue shade. The panelled walls are the
same colour; the curtains are soft yellow silk, and the ceiling proper
is yellow and cream. On the floor are dull blue tiles and a Scinde rug,
and in one corner is the umbrella-ring, which one can get at Shoolbred’s
for about 18s. 9d., and that is all. There is no room for the P. T. C.
here, and the waterproofs are taken at once into the servants’ room to
be hung up and dried, but it would be much better were there a corner
wardrobe, only, alas! one can’t make space where one doesn’t possess it.
The screen is made somewhat like this. The top and side panels are all
of leaded glass, as far as the brackets which hold pots for palms. The
tops of the doors are more leaded glass, and all the base is wood
painted on the vestibule side, the soft grey-blue spoken of before, and
on the other a specially soft and deep ‘real ivory.’ The dado is of
ivory, gold, and black Japanese leather paper, and the paper above is
one of Smee & Cobay’s, and is a cunning blend of green and red, managed
in such a way that the whole effect is a pinky red, which harmonises
with the grey-blue, and is as original as it is undoubtedly most
pleasant to contemplate. The stairs and all doors are curtained off
with yellow diamond serge, and the passage--_i.e._ hall--is covered with
plain green cork carpet, on which are laid rugs in which the grey-blue
colour aforesaid predominates. Of course the ceiling is papered in
yellow and white, and equally, of course, all the paint is one even
surface of colour. Nothing can excuse picked out or striped and
embellished paint: nothing! Genius is better employed on better work,
and even genius is out of place in making ornamental that which after
all is only going to be part of a harmonious whole, and merely a
background to ourselves and our possessions. Therefore must there be
plain paint everywhere, and no cornice should be more than a moulded
band, merely coloured a plain cream or ivory colour. If the front door
and the doors in the vestibule screen are not above suspicion of
draughts, they should be at once surrounded with Slater’s patent
draught-excluders, which can be procured anywhere almost, but surely at
Shoolbred’s or Whiteley’s; for nothing is more trying than a draught.
Have as much air and proper ventilation as possible. Have a vestibule
window open for some time of the day in winter and all day long in
summer, and have the staircase window open as well: a house that can’t
have a thorough current of air cannot be a healthy one. But do not allow
the insidious draught, and the cold and unwarmed halls and passages,
which are ubiquitous save in a large house possessing a big, square
hall, where one usually finds a good fireplace. However, one should
manage somehow to make a fireplace there, ay, even if one can have
nothing better than the small, round, moveable stove called the ‘Ideal,’
which burns patent fuel, and can be taken away at any moment. It should
be placed on an iron corner bracket rather raised above the floor, and a
guard should be round it, so that dresses could not come in contact with
it. But one should never be tempted from the paths of virtue by the
charms of oil stoves, for they always smell and are detestable, no
matter what anyone says; for though they should not, of course, if
properly cleaned and attended to, proper cleanliness and care mean
personal attention in a small household, and I cannot think how anyone
can touch oil, or whatever has held it without a shudder. There is a
smell about paraffin that, let us ‘shatter the stove as we will,’
continues to cling about it and us in a way that is enough to make us
and our friends very ill indeed. It’s an unnecessary smell, too. If we
can’t depend on the maids, we must see to our own lamps, but we need not
have stoves. They give a poor heat at best, and at worst--but there is
no need to harrow our feelings by dwelling on that side of the picture.
Be sure that whenever we can have real fires, we should have them, and
that no house can be warm, and therefore healthy, if we have no fire in
the passage. It need be only a wee one. It can be kept in for hours by
using briquettes and small coal judiciously, and as it prevents colds
and consequent suffering, and very probably doctors’ bills, it need not
be omitted on the score of expense. Once see to the draught-excluder and
the hall fire, we shall save in the sitting-room fires too, which are
often twice as wasteful as they need be, because we pile them up to warm
the bitter air that rushes in when the door is opened, and because the
ceaseless draughts from doors and windows drive the rushing heat up the
chimney and make the coal burn out doubly as fast as it otherwise would.
Then too there is no labour about the modern small tiled fireplace. It
is cleaned and laid in less than five moments, and indeed were we
sensible about our houses, we should not have half the bother with our
maids that some of us have, because we would minimise the amount of work
by labour-saving appliances, instead of making it double what it need
be, as we all of us do, more especially in those suburban houses, where,
after all, the labour question is one of the most burning problems that
the female part of the population has to discuss at its weekly
gatherings on its special afternoons at home.
The hall grate should be on the smallest scale possible, should have a
plain wooden mantel and small over-mantel consisting of a wooden frame
and a slip of bevelled looking-glass, and should have tiles for a hearth
and a surround, and should be provided with a high guard similar to
those found in all nurseries, but in brass, not in common painted wire.
On the mantel we could put one or two framed photographs and about four
glasses for flowers, and also a small clock, should the hall not be
sufficiently large to allow us to have the proper tall one there; but
great care should be taken not to overdo the ornaments here especially,
for a hall gathers dust in a dreadful manner, and too many ornaments
mean dirt, and therefore should in no way be encouraged. The walls of
the hall should have pictures on them; there is no doubt about that, and
good autotypes and Burne-Jones’s photographs from Mr Hollyer of 9
Pembroke Square, W., are the best to have. They should be framed in the
simple reeded frames sold by the Autotype Company, New Oxford Street,
and should be hung judiciously. The lowest should just, and only just,
escape the dado-rail, the highest should be only a couple of inches
above it at the outside. There should, of course, be no pictures
whatever in the vestibule portion of the hall, neither in the hall
itself should there be any brackets for china, nor over-doors on which
pots and vases can be placed, for the maid must always get the steps to
dust these places and, in consequence, dusting, is, at the best very
seldom, at the worst never done. But over every door in the halls and
passages must be placed _portières_ of some kind or other. I have come
to the conclusion that a couple of curtains is the best arrangement for
this, if the doors open into the rooms, as they generally do in a small
hall; if not, of course the rod, which opens and shuts with the door,
and which Burnett sells for 4s. 6d. complete, must be used. The pair of
curtains allows the servant to hold one back for the visitor’s entrance
as she opens the door, but they must be crossed at the top by putting
the last hook on each curtain in the ring that comes last on the one
belonging to its fellow; this prevents them from gaping open, and always
keeps them in place. Suppose each curtain has six hooks, one puts five
belonging to the left-hand curtain on the left-hand set of rings; in the
sixth, one puts hook No. 1 of the right-hand curtain; hook No. 6 of the
left-hand curtain goes into hook No. 1 of the right-hand one; the other
five rings are filled by the remaining five hooks then on the right-hand
curtain, and this ensures the curtains remaining always in their place
in the most satisfactory way possible. The best material for hall
curtains is undoubtedly Wallace’s diamond serge, and it should be lined
with sateen the same colour as that chosen for the curtains, and should
be edged with grip-cord. The glazed surface of the sateen resists the
dust, and the curtains should always be unhooked once a week and shaken
out of doors, and the poles and rings rubbed over with the new Selvyt
cloths, which are admirable, and far surpass the ordinary duster, as
they polish as well as remove extraneous matter and dirt. This is the
work of the housemaid, who is responsible for all dusting in the hall,
and also for all brushing and shaking; the washing of the steps, cork
carpet, etc., being the duty of the kitchen-maid, should one be kept; or
else of the ‘tweeny-maid,’ who takes, in a measure, the kitchen-maid’s
place in the ordinary small-sized establishment. One word now about
this said cork carpet, and the best way to treat it, for it really is a
very important matter indeed. People should never allow themselves to be
talked into buying the orthodox and hideous-patterned linoleum, which
gives a hopelessly ‘_bourgeois_’ appearance to any house, and at once
puts a stop to anything like artistic decoration. ‘The pattern going
through to the back, as it does, ensures that it can never wear off,’
says one person; ‘have the beautiful linoleum which imitates
parqueterie,’ remarks another, regardless of the fact that such
imitation is as vulgar as it is ugly. Why! it would be an advantage to
me that the pattern should wear off, a pattern being generally a mistake
on any hall floor; and, therefore, should the hall be untiled, or not
made of the silent wood blocks which are the ideal component parts of
any floor, and which are not likely therefore to be found in any
suburban residence, one should be resolute, and refuse flatly to have
anything at all but the soft-coloured cork carpet, which we can
supplement with rugs. I am aware that at first one feels as if one were
going mad over my pet material, for then every footmark shows, and
every atom of dirt is visible, but I prefer to be able to see dirt, in
order to ensure its speedy removal. Still if at first we give the cork
carpet one thorough good rub with linseed oil and turpentine, and one
only, all we need to do afterwards is to have it washed over with warm
water, or milk and water. Soap should never be used on any account
whatever, and then if once a week it has a real polish with beeswax and
turpentine, it will wear for ever, and, after the first, will not unduly
agitate us by bringing into prominence the erring footmarks of ourselves
and our friends. But, of course, it must always be supplemented by rugs.
Then we have an ideal hall covering, for the rugs can be taken up and
shaken daily, and so is cleanliness ensured, and without that the house
cannot possibly be habitable at all. On no account, not even in houses
where ‘expense is no object,’ should a fitted carpet be allowed in the
halls and passages, for it is utterly impossible to keep such an
arrangement even decently clean. Think of the traffic in a hall! the
muddy boots, the paws of the dear dogs (and everyone should have an
_un_chained dog, it’s the chained-up victims that are the terrors of the
suburbs), and the drippings from wet umbrellas and garments, and
renounce carpets there for evermore. Besides which, we have to remember
the fact that it is almost impossible to sweep out any corners in rooms
or halls, and that should the housemaid attempt to do so, she only
knocks great pieces off the paint in her endeavours, and finally has to
resort to a damp duster to pick up the ‘fluff’ which congregates there.
Damping woollen carpets is one of the easiest methods of procuring a
visit from the fatal moth, so should not be resorted to unless we are
quite at our wits’ end.
The ordinary suburban staircase is another of the things we have to
approach with fear and trembling. As a rule, Jacob’s ladder has
suggested its design, and it is so proud of its appearance that it
thrusts itself on our notice the instant we enter the house. In this
case we can only grin and bear it, the while we make its long expanse of
open balustrade and wooden understructure as bearable as we can by
covering in the first with Eastern dhurries or Khelim curtains, and
filling in any panels in the latter with Japanese leather paper, which
is invaluable for this purpose. But should it be modestly stationed at
one side, as has been the position of the three staircases which have
been my portion in the suburban residences I have dwelt in most
complainingly; then one can curtain them off better with the same
arrangement of a fretwork arch I described when writing about the
vestibule; or by a couple of stronger arches which one can get at
Wallace’s, one of which encloses the stair, and the other leads to the
back premises and lavatories and cloak places. These arches are of
course, curtained, and so the ordinary visitor sees nothing save the
sitting-room doors or door and the hall itself, and is spared those
awe-striking glimpses into unsuitable spots, which are all too often
exposed guilelessly to the unhappy and much-embarrassed guest, who
neither wishes to see into the parlour-maid’s pantry, nor to view a vast
line of old hats, waterproofs and tennis rackets, and who much prefers
to remain ignorant of these and many other secret arrangements of the
innermost recesses of our home.
Now not only are the position and design of the staircase more annoying
than I can say, but the stairs themselves are, as a rule, simply too
painful for words. They generally consist of a series of short, sharp
ascents, and are never by any chance low and broad, as a self-respecting
stair should most undoubtedly be, and are moreover so extremely narrow
and sharp at the edges that they are warranted to wear through any stair
carpet in less than a twelvemonth, save perhaps a pile carpet, and that
they will ruin in a couple of years at the outside. No one can alter
either the steepness or narrowness of the stairway. Alas! they are both
past praying for, but if the sharp edges are circumvented by carpet pads
sold by any good upholsterer for a few pence or manufactured at home out
of curled paper enclosed in linen covers, and made to resemble a very
small, thick cushion, and if we put carpet felt under the carpet we
shall find the carpet itself wear decently at anyrate, especially if we
see it is carefully moved once a month in such a way that the portion
that was at the top one month lives at the bottom the next, reversing
this same position once more when the time comes to move it again. I
have often remarked that there is no such thing as a cheap stair carpet,
and that the cheapest article at first is the dearest in the end, and I
have seen no reason to alter my opinion. Pile with only a small design
as pattern and no fidgety border, is the best thing in the world, and
can be bought at from 4s. 11d. to 7s. 9d. a yard. Next to pile comes
Brussels at about 4s. 6d. Then comes Wallace’s ‘Dunelm’ at about 4s.,
and, finally, a new, self-coloured, all-wool material called ‘Roysse,’
sold by the Abingdon Carpet Company at 2s. 3d. three-quarter width--the
ordinary stair width--and at 2s. 11d. a yard wide. Lower than this I
cannot for one moment advise even the most impecunious among us to go;
neither can I advise the ‘bargains’ and ‘odd lengths’ of pile and
Brussels that are often obtainable at really good shops. If they are
bargains as far as material and make are concerned, they are absolutely
hideous, and are only got rid of because even the British taste has
refused them; and if they are odd lengths we cannot ever match them, and
that means replacing the whole carpet should an accident happen to one
small part of it, which we could have replaced in one moment had we
bought a proper carpet. Such an one as is always kept in stock by most
of the best shops in London, the owners of which have learned that a
good and pretty thing is a joy for ever, and that once it is pronounced
such it can be always recommended and brought forward, not because it is
the ‘last new thing,’ but because it is old, and has been well and truly
tried and not found wanting.
The upstairs passages should be treated to more cork carpet and rugs,
and under no circumstances must a ‘walk’ of carpet be allowed, neither
may the rugs be put down in a wearisome, unbroken line unless the
passage is very narrow and allows of no deviating from the straight
path. If there be a landing, as a rule two rugs are required, and in the
passage the rugs can be put one after the other in a somewhat similar
way, less, as I remarked before, the passage is very narrow. In that
case a ‘vestibule rug’ must be procured either from Shoolbred, Hewetson
or the Abingdon Carpet Company. These can be had in lengths of about 6
feet by 4 wide, and 9 feet by the same width, while there are both
longer and wider rugs to be procured, but then the passage should be
long enough to allow of there being two in use, if not more, when they
can be placed in any position save in a long, straight line.
The doors of the upstairs rooms must always be securely curtained, and
here one wide, full curtain should suffice. There is not the continual
exit and entrance to these chambers there is to the downstairs rooms, so
then one curtain upstairs will be enough. These should be kept in place
by putting the end rings past the bracket on which the brass rod rests,
then the last hooks on the curtain are put into them, thus ensuring that
the curtains are always kept drawn. Anyone who has passed by a vista of
open bedroom doors, left open when the owners have, at the sound of the
gong, rushed downstairs to meals in too great a hurry to put their
rooms tidy, will not need to have impressed upon them the fact that it
is absolutely necessary to decency to have _portières_ which fall into
place behind the person who leaves his or her bedroom door open, and so
discloses to all comers the ravages which getting up too often leaves in
view. It is a good thing also to conceal the entrance to the bathroom
and lavatories by a curtain, which should depend from a beaten iron arm
which stretches straight out into the passage. This arm can be procured
from Bartholomew & Fletcher for about 18s. 6d., while the curtain should
be heavy; printed velveteen made double and fan-edged making an
absolutely perfect if somewhat expensive curtain. Godfrey Giles has a
charming velveteen, which is a mixture of blue and green. Wallace has a
beautiful yellow and cream one, and Smee & Cobay have these velveteens
in most colours, notably in a rich and exquisite red, which it is a
pleasure to look at, and which also wears extremely well, even in
windows where the sun has a certain amount of actual power, and is never
really kept out at all.
Any cornice upstairs as well as down must be coloured ‘cream’ or ‘real
ivory,’ and the ceilings here as elsewhere must be papered with some
simple, inexpensive paper, in a colour which harmonises with the
decorations. And now let me impress upon my readers that even if they
have only taken their suburban villa on the usual tentative three years’
lease: which is so rarely renewed: it is always worth while to make
their surroundings charming, even should they not remain in the house
after the first term of the three, seven or twenty-one years’ lease is
over. First because if the lessee and the owner combined would take
trouble to ensure beauty and comfort, I am quite certain that moving
would not be as continual as it is at present. The trouble taken over
the house would endear it to the dwellers therein, while the comfort
would cause them to think twice before they deprived themselves of it;
for once let one’s roots really strike home, and no one who has not
tried it can tell how difficult it is to drag them out of even an
uncongenial soil. While from a congenial one! well, there is nothing on
earth so hard to do and so fearfully difficult to bear, and no
after-delights can cause these wounds really and truly to heal!
Secondly, dear readers, it is always worth while to have beautiful and
harmonious surroundings, ay, even for a few months and even if we have
to leave them. For in this latter case, we shall have left them as an
art legacy to our successor, who will not be very difficult to find if
we leave behind us charming papers and appropriate decorations to mark
where we have once made our home!
Of course each individual hall requires individual treatment, and it
would be well-nigh impossible to lay down any hard and fast rules to be
followed implicitly; but a dado, a real not a sham one, is an absolute
necessity in any narrow hall, and no one should be afraid of one of
coloured paper, bold in hue as in design, for a large, bold pattern
makes a small place appear larger, and real colour must always be a
pleasure, which a muddled, pale and timid tint can never be. A dado
could be of wood, if the lease is long enough, and the purse too, to
allow of it. In this case Godfrey Giles’s ‘gœhring’ material and
‘Glastonbury’ panelling will suit those who cannot afford oak. Arras
cloth, with a pattern printed on it is beautiful, especially if hung
like the old-fashioned arras used to be, to resemble a gathered curtain.
Then I am devoted to the plain, string-coloured matting, sold on purpose
for dados at 10½d. a yard; and there are of course, anaglypta and
Japanese leather paper always with us, while the printed arras cloth
paper is a strong and good material which is not to be despised by any
manner of means at all. In all cases there must be a real dado-rail, and
the paper above, as indeed every single thing in the hall, should
harmonise. I am devoted to a blue hall myself: the one described in the
first part of the chapter can well be absolutely copied, while it should
be remembered that a dark hall calls for yellow and cream, or red and
cream a real, bold, sealing-wax red: let there be no mistake about the
colour: and nothing should authorise the employment of either a green or
a terra-cotta hall. Green can never be a success there, while
terra-cotta spells fear and shows artistic hankerings which the owner is
unable, or not bold enough to carry out. I am not devoted to any
terra-cotta save some shades sold only by Liberty. I would never have
even these, save in some bedrooms and an occasional, a very occasional,
dining-room or library.
As a rule the lighting of the hall should be managed by placing first,
in the vestibule, a gasalier in the very centre of the ceiling, where
the gas should be enclosed in a bucket-shaped glass in a beaten-iron
lantern frame; secondly, in the hall itself a similar treatment should
be followed out, if the ceilings be high enough to allow of it: if not,
side-brackets near the dining and drawing-room doors should be used. And
finally more side-brackets should be upstairs, these again of
beaten-iron, and with the same shaped glass. These can be bought very
inexpensively of Shoolbred, while Messrs Strode & Company, of 48
Osnaburgh Street, Regent’s Park, make beautiful and more expensive
brackets and lanterns and lamps on the same lines.
There should be as little furniture as possible in the ordinary suburban
hall or passage. The really necessary furniture has been described as
placed in the vestibule; but, if we have room we should undoubtedly
have a tall palm on a stand, a grandfather clock in one corner, a couple
of chairs: tall, high-backed ones for choice: and, if possible, between
the dining and drawing-room doors, which are often close together, or at
anyrate close to the latter door, have a nice plain walnut table. This
would hold the necessary bowl for cards left during the afternoon, and
taken away every day, because keeping them seems like parading the
amount and quality of one’s friends; and, if we visit much a book is of
course kept in which visits and addresses are entered. Beside this, have
only a small vase of flowers and maybe a couple of books placed across
each other at one corner. These give an air of life even to the smallest
hall somehow; and on little touches like these, absurd as it may seem to
mention them, depend the artistic completeness of the whole house.
One word more, hats, cloaks and umbrellas must be put out of sight
somewhere; while all should recollect that it is extremely easy to
over-furnish any place, but especially so to over-furnish a hall, and
that in a narrow passage and in small quarters, one had far better have
too few impedimenta than too many. The former state of affairs can
always be remedied as we come to understand the capabilities of our new
abode; the latter can only draw down upon us the objurgations of our
friends, the while we collect dirt and dust, and can’t comprehend why we
are as uncomfortable as we most undoubtedly are.