THE GRAND EPOCH
Then there came a time when the legitimate development and prosperity of
the colonies produced, not what the forcing box of commercialism has
produced--a _moneyed class_ under obligations to no one--but an
_aristocracy_ whose _noblesse oblige_ vouchsafed the encouragement of
architecture in common with other arts and refinements. And if there
remain to us, yet fairly intact, a representative town of this
aristocracy that we may go to look at, to-day, to see what it was like,
I should say it was Anne Arundel Town (Annapolis), the ancient capital
of Maryland.
The best description of Annapolis in that relation which concerns us
most--its fascinating old houses and their history--is written by T.
Henry Randall in the “Architectural Record” (New York), Vol. 1, No. 3.
Indeed, I regard this description as the most valuable
PLATE XXVII.
[Illustration: MOUNT VERNON ON THE POTOMAC. THE MOST ORIGINAL AND
REPRESENTATIVE OF COLONIAL EXEMPLARS.]
paper to American Renaissance that has appeared in periodical
literature. Besides this article on Colonial Annapolis, wherein all its
remarkable buildings are duly accredited and illustrated, editions _de
luxe_ in folio, on Colonial architecture, may also be had of the Bates &
Guild Company, of Boston, publishers, containing splendid photogravures
of the Chase house, the Harwood, Hammond or Lockerman house,[1] the
Brice-Jennings house and other enchanting representatives of our most
celebrated régime. These revered authorities, together with Westover,
Shirley and Brandon--plantations along the James River--are so well
presented in this way to architectural students that I have concluded to
reserve the space at my disposal to other subjects which, while nearly
as interesting, and exemplifying nearly as well the particular phase of
our architectural history under discussion, have a decided advantage in
that they have been little exploited (with the exception of Mt. Vernon)
in books.
But no writer upon American Renaissance can afford to slight the subject
of Annapolis in the letterpress of his work, for its didactic value is
immense. The very plan of its streets was formulated according to the
principles of art uninfluenced in the smallest degree by America’s
ubiquitous ogre, commercialism, which was here relegated, by municipal
ordinance, to certain extremely restricted sections of the city, beyond
which it trespassed at its peril. The relation these patches of
territory bore to the whole equalled, perhaps, one-fourth. In other
words, the Annapolitans looked upon commercialism as the mere machinery
of their household, and the idea was to sacrifice no more room to its
offices than was absolutely necessary. Commercialism during the grand
epoch was essentially a steward’s department, and the Annapolitans would
have been the last people in the world to tolerate its meddling with
architecture.
Moreover, Annapolis stands for the supreme moment of the grand epoch. It
was here that the treaty of peace between Great Britain and the United
States was formally ratified in 1784, and here Washington went through
the ceremony of returning his commission as commander-in-chief of the
army to the august
PLATE XXVIII.
[Illustration: MOUNT VERNON ON THE POTOMAC.
The West Front.]
power whence it had come to him. The constitution itself owes its first
glory to Annapolis, where the initial proceedings were held. Annapolis
and American Renaissance are, therefore, indissolubly associated. You
speak of one and the other follows as a natural consequence. The
amplification of the American dwelling-house was here carried to a
higher degree of excellence and refinement than has been elsewhere
attained, before or since, for Annapolis was practically finished by
1770, and, happily for this generation, has staid so.
It is disappointing that there should be no good place to “sup and
lie”--to resuscitate, a rather poetical archaism--in Annapolis, no snug
old tavern with the king’s arms upon a sign-board still swinging over
its door. And Annapolis, besides, is most inaccessible and expensive to
reach; yet every student of American Renaissance should contrive to
make, at least, one pilgrimage thither during his lifetime to gain, if
possible, a better idea of the most characteristic development his
national school of architecture has seen.
After Annapolis, the honors of American Renaissance are divided between
a score of more or less historic towns, among them the Colonial capital
of New Hampshire claiming especial recognition. Portsmouth also has the
atmosphere which means the elixir of life to the housebuilder in quest
of inspiration. To breathe this atmosphere here, at his ease, however,
will cost him $4 per day at the Rockingham; but then, what enthusiast is
there who would begrudge $4 for the sake of making the acquaintance of
such a raving, tearing beauty as the house built by Capt. McPhædris in
1723 (see Plate XXX). I could tell you how the bricks to build it were
all imported from England, only, this trite piece of information is so
applicable to Colonial houses generally as to be of little real interest
to the reader, who, I imagine, cares not at all whether the bricks were
imported from Kamtschatka or manufactured in a nearby kiln. But when I
say that his house cost Capt. McPhædris something like the equivalent of
$30,000, I receive instant attention, because a modern admirer might
think himself warranted in exploiting an adaptation with just about
one-third that sum of money. Of course, he would fail, that is, to carry
out the scheme properly. The principal rooms of the first
PLATE XXIX.
[Illustration: A SALEM GATEWAY. NICHOLS’ HOUSE.]
[Illustration: HOPPIN HOUSE FROM THE CLOSE. RAREVIEW, LITCHFIELD.]
story are paneled in wood from floor to ceiling, and the panels are
beveled flush panels--the most expensive kind.
Here is a wonderful old house intensely affecting to stand and
contemplate. It seems to be sinking into the earth, as many old houses
in England have the appearance of doing, and possesses a tone like a
Stradivarius violin, which cannot be counterfeited. The day in the
summer of 1896, when I spent a delightful hour in its company, was a
sort of reception day, I remember. There were many summer visitors
calling, and they “de-ared” it and gushed over it as society people gush
over a Chopin étude, because they think it proper to do so, without
appreciating the subtle sentiment of the thing at all. It is not so much
an affair of one’s education as it is an affair of the heart. People
must have the right kind of a heart and the right kind of a charitable
nature before they may really enjoy either a Chopin étude or the
McPhædris house at Portsmouth. To quote the lines of Holofernes in
“Love’s Labor’s Lost”: They
“Find not the apostrophes, and so miss the accent.”
While Portsmouth is on the main line of travel north from Boston, it is
still almost as much neglected as Annapolis, and it is a great pity that
many of its once splendid mansions are falling into decay. The Governor
Langdon house, the Ladd house and others should receive the attention
they bestow upon such priceless relics in Salem, where everything of the
kind is jealously guarded. But Salem is so distinctly illustrative of
early nineteenth century work that I intend to refer to it later, under
that head, likewise to Providence and Bristol, in Rhode Island, and
Middletown, in Connecticut.
New York and Boston have practically nothing left of the grand epoch.
The Walton house of Pearl Street and the Hancock house of Beacon Street,
respectively, with all their less noted colleagues, have passed into
history, the Walton house (i.e., in its original splendor) before the
advent of photography; so that we have not even pictures of it of any
value. The Jumel mansion (A.D. 1758) perched upon a dizzy height
overlooking the Harlem, is a sole survivor intact whose permanency is
threatened at the time I write.
PLATE XXX.
[Illustration: HOUSE OF CAPTAIN McPHAEDRIS, AT PORTSMOUTH N. H.]
PLATE XXXI.
[Illustration: DOORWAY AT WARREN, R. I.]
[Illustration: CHIMNEY-PIECE.
AMERICAN RENAISSANCE. 1899.]
But Philadelphia, with Fairmount Park and Germantown contiguous, is
still, historically, very interesting, the most celebrated relics of
this vicinity being the Chew house at Germantown, and the Arnold-Shippen
house (called “The Dairy”) in Fairmount Park. Presentments of the famous
Chew house (still standing) will be found, however, in every illustrated
history of the Revolution, including the popular juvenile, “Boys of
’76”; but pictures of Wyck, at Germantown (see Plate XXXIII) equally
historic, are rare, as are also the pictures of some other places I
shall mention, and which I have taken much pains to obtain for this
review.
Wyck is the oldest house in Germantown, at least, part of it is said to
be, and its extreme length, together with the great passage there is
through it to an inner court or garden, make it the most curious as
well. Stenton-in-the-Fields has many legends and things to commend it to
the antiquarian, but it is not pretty at all, and does not appeal to the
architect, who is much more attracted to the Wister house, numbered 5261
Main Street, and to the Morris house (both appearing on Plate XXXII),
standing a little farther along upon the old turnpike, both of which,
like the Strauss waltz I mentioned in a preceding chapter, are _awfully
nice_. Germantown itself is much overrated and disappointing. It is not
a picturesque town like Annapolis or Portsmouth or Salem, and lacks
character generally.
Journeying into Philadelphia we shall find hidden away in the midst of a
cheap, _bourgeois_ neighborhood in South Eighth Street another Morris
house (Plate XXXVI) belonging to the grand epoch. This stunning relic is
rarely photographed, and then the professional photographer sets up his
camera directly in front of it, uses his wide angle lens, which is sure
to distort, and he cannot avoid cutting off part of its base line, and
foreshortening the dormer windows. This Morris house has outlived all
the friends and acquaintances of its youth. Down by the Delaware River
there may linger a vestige, here and there, of the old-time gentry; but
most of the architecture which may be called “old,” in Philadelphia
proper, belongs to a later generation.
Again, let us turn in the direction of Annapolis, not
PLATE XXXII.
[Illustration: MORRIS HOUSE, GERMANTOWN.]
[Illustration: WISTER HOUSE, GERMANTOWN.]
because it is an irresistible magnet that the student of architecture
feels, more or less, all his life, but because he cannot afford to miss
Alexandria. And I do not mean Alexandria itself, for it is pathetically
decrepit. The Carlyle house[2] is a wreck, and the Fairfax house is
ugly. But I mean to say he cannot afford to miss Mount Vernon, which is
usually reached via Alexandria. If time is limited in Washington, cut
out the new Library of Congress, which is a _political_ job, one degree
more vulgar than a _commercial_ one. Indeed, if worse comes to worse in
the matter of time, cut out everything but the Capitol, only, be sure to
see Mount Vernon! (Plates XXVII and XXVIII.)
Familiar as everybody is with its pillared portico high above the
Potomac, and good as many of the modern photographs are of this
effective view of the mansion-house, he who has never visited Mount
Vernon can form no idea of the enchanting beauty of that Colonial
estate. The ride on the electric road from Alexandria is through a
country scrubby enough and rough enough to send dismay to the most
persevering tourist; but do not dismay, for at the end a transformation
scene awaits you which you will never forget, and if you be an
architect, will supply inspiration worth many times your travelling
expenses.
Walking out upon the magnificent stretch of greensward that overlooks
the river, one cannot but agree with Washington in preferring Mount
Vernon to every other country seat of America. I can think of none that
equals it naturally, while architecturally, it is thoroughly admirable
from stylobate to cupola.
Within, the wainscots, cornices and chimney-pieces are models of
excellence; and if, perhaps, we could nowadays achieve better success in
ventilating bedrooms than was achieved by Washington with his, we must
own, we are still largely the debtor party by the amount of education we
imbibe relating to what Eliza Southgate calls--in her edifying book of
letters of a girl written eighty years ago, bound between samplers,
concerning Sunswick, the Delafield house on Long
PLATE XXXIII.
[Illustration: WYCK, GERMANTOWN.]
[Illustration: TERRACE AND GARDEN FRONT OF A HOUSE AT WYOMING, N. J.
1899.
Modern Development of the Carlyle House, Alexandria, Va.]
Island--“Ease, elegance and hospitality,” and which we carry away with
us.
As one looks back from the west gate toward the manse which he sees at
the end of a vista of verdure, another conception of the first American
comes to him which no biographer out of all he has had seems to have
thought worth while delineating. Washington has always been our greatest
military commander. We were convinced of that long before our visit to
Mount Vernon, but he has _not_ always been our greatest connoisseur of
American Renaissance.
Colonial estates as carefully restored and preserved as Mount Vernon are
extremely scarce, especially throughout the South. I number among my
acquaintances some enthusiasts who spent several weeks in Gloucester
County, Virginia, a year or so ago, and who did me the honor of writing
glowing accounts of some ancestral halls they had discovered there. They
were not architects, and could hardly have judged of the architectonic
merit of their find; but as the names of the plantations were
euphonious--names like “Elmington,” “Whitemarsh,” “Todsbury,” and
“Rosewell,” I was anxious to see the pictures they brought home, one of
which, with their permission, appears on Plate XXXVII. Visions of more
estates like Jefferson’s Monticello, Madison’s Montpelier, Sabine Hall,
Westover and Shirley easily flitted across my brain; but alas! I was
doomed to disappointment! The photographs revealed many typical Virginia
plantations entailed and beautiful, but not at all remarkable
architecturally. In my anxiety to know the truth about Virginia I
repeated the question, “Were there no houses as nice as
Shirley?--nothing as nice as Shirley?” (see Plate V), when, after
considerable explanation and some excuses, there was left but frankly to
own that the great plantations I had enumerated were the homes of the
wealthier planters and proprietors under the royal patents, and as a
matter of fact, there was nothing in Gloucester as representative of the
grand epoch as was Shirley-on-the-James.
Throughout New England and the middle States isolated examples of
exceptionally good Colonial architecture are still numerous, and some of
them in good repair. There will be just one, perhaps, to a town
PLATE XXXIV.
[Illustration: JOHN COTTON SMITH HOUSE, SHARON, CONN.]
[Illustration: THE DEMMING HOUSE, LITCHFIELD, CONN.
(The front has not been altered.)]
PLATE XXXV.
[Illustration: FORD MANSION, MORRISTOWN, N. J. 18TH CENTURY.
Headquarters of His Excellency General Washington during the Winter of
1779-80.]
[Illustration: DOORWAY WITH HOOD, LYNN-REGIS. 1897.]
which played its part in the American Revolution, and where any one
might suppose there would be more that had survived the menaces of
commercialism. This is the case at Morristown, New Jersey, where the
Ford mansion (see Plate XXXV) is a lone patriarch whose simple lines
make a neighboring and hideous Franco-American roof constructed during
our Reign of Terror--the seventies--all the more ugly and exasperating.
Then there are some towns like Litchfield, Connecticut, whose claims for
Colonial architecture are hardly warranted. There are but two good
exemplars in Litchfield to see, and but two indifferent hotels to stop
at. As a friend of mine expresses it: “When I dine at one I always wish
I had dined at the other.” The two good examples are, namely, Professor
Hoppin’s house (Plate XXIX) and the Demming house (Plate XXXIV),
standing nearly opposite on North Street. They have both been altered
and enlarged, and are therefore so much injured. The fronts of each are
happily intact. Modern amplification often makes me wish I could borrow
the efficacious sign that used to hang upon the wall of an old saw mill,
across which was rudely inscribed the impressive legend: “Don’t monkey
with the buzz-saw!” Only, for my purposes, I should omit “the buzz-saw,”
substituting therefor “this house.” I sincerely believe a great deal of
good could yet be accomplished in that way, or, rather, much evil
averted.
A number of celebrated relics properly belonging to this chapter, which
is already overstepping the limits assigned to it, I have failed to
mention. The foregoing form but a very imperfect list of living
representatives of the grand epoch. Still, taken each as a type, they
fairly cover the historic period cited. My selections present houses
variously constructed of stone, of wood, of brick, and of stucco. They
are all original designs, original as the times and the conditions which
prevailed in the colonies suggested or permitted--original as the
literary styles of authors are dissimilar and original, for every art
has its grammar, its glossary, and whatever transcends is not art, but
_aberration_. It ought to be entirely unnecessary for me to say this;
but I have lately been confronted with a startling misapprehension upon
this point even among architects.
PLATE XXXVI.
[Illustration: MORRIS HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA.]
PLATE XXXVII.
[Illustration: WINTER VIEW OF EASTOVER.]
[Illustration: A GHOST OF THE GRAND EPOCH, ROSEWELL, GLOUCESTER COUNTY,
VA.]
Of course, these Colonial houses are Renaissance, because Renaissance,
since Mediæval times, has been the connecting link history has found
convenient to unite the present with the past. Yet there is not a
building in either England or France or Italy like any of them. They are
intensely American in every line, and express as much American history
as George Bancroft was able to express in his great literary work.
Architecture is not architecture which does not express history. St.
Paul’s Cathedral in London is strictly Renaissance, yet who shall say it
is not _original_, that it is not _English_ Renaissance, and
architecture above everything?
The Renaissance of America has as much if not more local color than that
of Great Britain. And I do not believe there is an architectural scholar
in the country who would have the hardihood to declare the vast treasure
house of English Renaissance to be a weak imitation of an older school.
No, I cannot clearly make out what the promoters of the newly invented
modes of building expect to teach us. There are two lines of poetry
wholly irrelevant to architecture, but so irresistibly significant of
the propositions of “New Art” in all its guises, that I may not do
better than append them here, to wit:
“He might be taught by love[3] and her together--
I really don’t know what, nor Julia either.”
_Don Juan, Canto I, LXXXI._
PLATE XXXVIII.
[Illustration: DE WOLF-COLT MANSION, BRISTOL, R. I. EPOCH 1810.]