Note: This work would be incomplete, indeed, without a few suggestions
from one-who-understands and has long been _the_ authority on pooning.
Pooning is a highly technical term and may perhaps need definition for
the benefit of laymen. Its significance is subtle, lying between that
of “properly placing” and the sense conveyed by the Italian phrase
“_Dove il dogagna_.” Many true lovers of the quaint-and-rare possess
the patience and the means to make collections, but, when it comes
to the tasteful _pooning_ of these, lack the connoisseur touch that
is distinctive. Madame Thomas’s position as a scholarly decorator is
now recognized as impeccable. Her hints will prove lambent to many a
collector.—_Eds._
* * * * *
A witty Frenchman once said to Madame de Montespan that the feminine
touch in decoration was _para cœli_, but without half measures! Not
pausing to debate the aspersion, I may admit that I have usually found
it more sympathetic to direct the replacing of beautiful old things in
the houses of bachelor and widower collectors than in those of somewhat
more matronly people. After which treachery to my sex, let me proceed
at once to the practical. _Enfin!_
[Illustration:
RECEPTION HELD BY THE AMERICAN ACADEMY FOR THE POPULARIZATION OF
ANTIQUITIES ON THE LAWN BEFORE THE ACADEMY’S BUILDING AT THE SAN
FRANCISCO EXPOSITION
This reception was in honor of the election of Mme. Augustula
Thomas to membership. Mme. Thomas is seen right of center in
conversation with Turrbyl Dewyns (Fellow of the Academy), who
wears the blue ribbon awarded by the Exposition as first prize
for antiquarians. Just eastward of him Hon. P. D. Smith (Member
of Congress from Arkansas) is seen courteously lifting his hat to
Dr. Twitchett in recognition of the latter’s talents.
]
To pronounce my creed, which is synthetic and never subjective, _a
priori_: Why own priceless marvels unless they are where they may be
_seen_? Why lock up Coriobantini enamels, for instance, in a damp
closet? The first thing I do, upon being put in charge of a collection,
is to throw the vitrines out of the house. I shall never forget the
amazement of the late Darrell Hazzard, of Hartford, when I thus
ruthlessly began my work upon his treasures. “What!” he exclaimed.
“Expose my faïence, my Louis Treize snuff-boxes, my Antoinette
miniatures to the careless handling of every chance visitor? This is
radicalism with a vengeance, dear lady! I suppose next you will be
placing my snuff-boxes and miniatures upon the living-room table!”
“Tush!” I replied serenely. “They are to occupy your front veranda
railing.” I had noticed that the railing was flat and within a few feet
of the sidewalk, an ideal location for the priceless little objects,
and there I had them placed. For that was where they would give the
most pleasure—and it will be well for the reader to intrigue himself
with the significance of this simple rule: Put your things where they
will give the most pleasure. I am often asked the secret of my success,
and I always reply with two words: “Simplicity! Pleasure!”
It is a mistake to clutter, as even the most _cadavre_ of amateurs is
aware. A touch here; a touch there—and for the rest, no cluttering! I
have always considered the Metropolitan Museum a dismaying example of
cluttering. One work of art is enough for one room. When I remodelled
the Rockford collection of _Chinoiseries_ I selected just one antique
absinthe-colored jade Buddha, which was exactly an inch and three
sixteenths in height, half an inch wide and three eighths of an inch
in thickness. I then decided upon one of the gallery exhibition
rooms, seventeen feet in height with a floor space sixty-four feet
by twenty-six, admirable proportions for my purpose. I had the floor
and walls lacquered a neutral mauve, and then placed the jade Buddha
in the exact centre of the floor and without a pedestal. Not even a
chair or a settee was permitted within the room; the walls were without
any adornment whatever, and the attention of spectators was thus
concentrated upon the one work of art present, the jade Buddha. The
effect, though slightly Dada and austere, was considered serene and
redolent of that allure of restfulness which is distinctive.
Almost precisely similar to this was my treatment of a pair of signed
Louis Seize candle-snuffers of chased silver, formerly the property of
Judge Bunting Palliphet, of Peterborough, Virginia, whose ancestors
entertained Rochambeau. A well-authenticated family legend had it that
the snuffers were in the Count’s portmanteau, which he was unable to
find at the moment of his departure from Palliphet Manor; and thus it
became an heirloom of the Palliphet family. The snuffers are now in the
possession of Mrs. George Woll Potter, of Jersey City, who visited the
Manor in 1899, during the absence of the Palliphet family, and it was
in doing over the Potter house that I perceived the proper decorative
value of these historic snuffers. I had a simple bit of neutral-toned
rope hung between two posts outside the library windows; and suspended
the snuffers therefrom, forming a vista of approach to them with two
perfectly symmetrical rows of arborvitae in black-and-white tubs. The
effect was harmonious and yet did not lack that touch of originality
which gives the right note at the right moment.
How _few_ people understand what may be done with a simple pair of
brass candlesticks! Does not one weary of seeing them eternally upon a
mantel? Upon a top bookshelf? Upon the gate-leg table? Upon a set-in
window-sill? There we find them invariably, driving us mad with their
monotony, when only a slight exertion of the imagination would give
them the touch that is different, the charm that is permanent. I have
found that it is only necessary to place one such candlestick in the
front yard and the other in the back yard to give them a setting that
is in keeping. Thus they can be seen from the windows, their sheen
rich against the out-of-doors, except at night; and then, if it seems
desirable, they may be lighted. It is not necessary to bring them in
when it rains. A light water-proof canopy, easily removable, may be
placed over them and will be found to give complete protection, and
even to add a note of color, if glazed with silver-gilt, the right
shade of apricot and just touched with cerise.
Now a word of confession: it is not always the easiest thing in the
world to go into a house and give it the _right_ decorative note. The
owners may have their own ideas and one must move tactfully. Let me
give an instance, though the gentleman in question shall be nameless
and designated merely as General X. He was a delightful man, elderly,
a retired army officer, a manly and gallant widower, notwithstanding
the fact that he possessed strong convictions that his own taste was
excellent.
He had gathered about him from all parts of the world a valuable
assembly of antiques, bibelots, paintings, stuffed animals, sculptures,
seashells, wood-carvings, miniatures, and _petiteries_, but had so
misplaced them in his halls and living-room and even in his master’s
rooms that one saw nothing but a heterogeneity of clutter.
I began with his master’s rooms. I went through one after another of
these, ordering everything—absolutely everything—removed to the garrets
and cellars. Then, when all was clear, I had my assistants place one
old Tutu Japanese print in each of his master’s rooms—nothing more—and
awaited the General’s return, for he was out at the time.
He was not at first able to comprehend that the new arrangement was
intended to be permanent.
“Well,” he remarked, smiling pleasantly, “I see you have made a
beginning, Madame Thomas.”
“No,” I smiled. “I have made a conclusion. Your master’s rooms are
finished. They now have that restfulness, that air _intime_ which your
master’s rooms lacked until I retouched them. This is how they are to
remain, General.”
He was dumbfounded. “But I miss everything to which I have been
heretofore accustomed!” he cried, with charming naïvete. “In my
master’s rooms were my favorite claw and ball feet, my inlaid knees,
my carved knees, _all_ my knees of curly maple and walnut! Here
were my bottle drawers, my swell fronts, my double-swell fronts, my
Jacob’s-ladder fronts, my serpentine fronts—all the fronts I had! I
wish my fronts and knees put back the way they were. I won’t have my
master’s rooms as empty as this!”
“This is how they are to be, however,” I made retort serenely. “There
is no alternative.”
“What!” he exclaimed, and his face became seriously empurpled. “You
mean to say I have no control over my own master’s rooms? I want all my
bibelots and _petiteries_ back where I put them, myself. My master’s
rooms are my _own_ master’s rooms, and not yours, are they not, pray?”
“My dear General,” I replied, “I know what your master’s rooms should
be and you do not. You do not see beauty in them now—perhaps you will
not to-morrow—but wait! Within a week or ten days you will begin to
feel the restful harmony I have put into them and you will be grateful.”
“I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!” he said, stamping his foot pettishly. “I
want my bow-backs and my fan-backs back where they were, and I’m sorry
I ever put my master’s rooms into your hands! I do just wish I’d never
seen you at all, Madame Thomas!”
It was then that I perceived I must use diplomacy, and I admit that if
I had not been conscious of wearing a becoming hat, I might have lacked
the courage. I put my hand lightly on his arm and looked full into
his reddened eyes. “General,” I said softly, “I have labored hard over
your master’s rooms. Surely, _mon Général_, you would not have my task
undone!” Then, seeing that he began to melt, I drew a little closer to
him; and he set his manly brown paw over my slender fingers, smiled
at me, and coughed. I comprehended that the moment had come to use my
utmost diplomacy.
“Oo drate bid naughty handsome mans!” I said playfully. “If I had a dun
I’d shoot oo, bang!”
It is perhaps scarcely necessary to add that his master’s rooms
remained as I had done them, and that the dear old General and I are
still the best of friends.
* * * * *
And now a few “Don’ts,” as I call my little inhibitions. Some of them
are culled from my own experience and are rather technical, being
intended for the use of the beginning professional decorator, who is
but too prone to find her path not always strewn with roses, by any
means. Others of these little “Don’ts” of mine are for the guidance of
those who, unable to afford the counsel of established experts, must
fall back upon their own taste and what they may be able to cull from
tomes upon the subject. But let us see for ourselves what my “Don’ts”
portend!
Don’t, in arranging your bookshelves under the arch in the living-room,
place your editions of Boccaccio, Brantôme, Rabelais, and Casanova
on the same shelf with Burton’s “Arabian Nights,” “The Heptameron,”
Balzac’s “Droll Stories,” and your bound files of “Saucy Stories” and
“Le Rire.” The place for all of these volumes is the centre-table; or
they may be scattered about the house anywhere, so that they are handy
for the children to get at them.
Don’t fasten coat-hangers upon the wall just above valuable
water-color paintings. Wet raincoats may cause the colors to run. If
your wall-space is limited, the hangers should be placed above _oil_
paintings. (_Note_: This rule, being somewhat technical, need not be
studied by the amateur. I should advise the beginning professional
decorator, however, to pay particular attention to it, and even to
con it until it is committed to memory. The place for coat-hangers is
_never_ over a water-color painting.)
[Illustration: