The sun shines brightly to-day, and his beams glance lovingly from the
flowers without to those within the room, and rest upon the 'Eve' that
stands among them; the light is toned into softness by this green
drapery, and reminds us of the leaves and tracery which peep in at the
windows. We find, in the effect of the whole, such a delicate reflex
of the nature outside, that we live with a half-conscious perception
that but a tent-like division exists between us and the birds and
blossoms in the garden. We love this room as we do few others, not for
the evidences of wealth in it, though these exist, but because the
idea regulating its arrangement is predominant through all its
details. Affection and love of beauty were present at its creation for
home-life, and worked it into harmony. All rooms might have this kind
of beauty, subject only to slight modifications from position and
wealth.
Character, in reality, has everything to do with it. Rooms tell us
much of their inhabitants. No one will doubt who remembers the stiff,
formal arrangement of the drawing-room 'at school,' where the chairs
stood in the primmest rows and couples, and the whole place breathed
such an air of strict propriety, that we doubted whether a hearty
laugh would not be unbecoming in it; or the uncomfortable, seldom
used, conventional drawing-room, which has such fine-looking,
unreadable books on its polished tables; or the cheerful tiny room of
the friend who has very little money, but very much taste, and who
hangs an engraving there, and puts flowers here, and makes a shrine
out of an ordinary garret. In some rooms, we see that life is
respectably got through in a routine of eating, sleeping,
comfort-loving; in others, that it glances to the stars, and lives
with the flowers; in others, again, that it finds out good in shady
nooks or crowded cities, and is filled with affection and
intelligence.
There are very few rooms, except among the poorest and most degraded,
that have not in them some indications of the love of beauty, which is
so universal in human nature. Influenced by the same feeling, the
cottager's wife scours her tins, arranges her little cupboard of cups
and saucers, buys barbarous delineations of 'Noah in the Ark,' or
'Christ with the Elders,' from the pedler; and the nobleman collects
around him all he thinks precious in bronze or painting. Cleanliness
and order are certainly the simplest manifestations of the love of the
beautiful in the household--the germ, which the feeling in its highest
development must include; but too many among us remain satisfied with
the lower form, and from some reason or other, fail to see the further
gratification that is possible to all. Nature, however, stimulates and
satisfies this love everywhere, and society in many directions is
following in her footsteps. Let us see what can be done in the matter.
After all, rooms must still retain the impress of the character of
their inhabitants. Yes; but there are certain general rules which all
who do arrange them would do well to remember. In the first place,
they should be well lighted, and as thoroughly ventilated as they can
be made; the eye should be pleased with their general effect; no
detail of colouring or furniture should mar it; they should be filled
with gentle relief, not uniformity of colour; and there should be as
many waving lines, instead of angles, as possible. They should contain
all things necessary to their several characters, but nothing very
superfluous; and their whole arrangement should indicate, and be
subservient to, the idea that prompted it. Above all, they should have
in them some thing, or things, to soothe the thoughts, stimulate the
fancy, and suggest something higher than the ordinary uses which they
serve. Human beings, even in the life of a day, experience many
fluctuations of mood, of joy or sadness; and there should be some
thing, if not person, in their homes, that would suggest to them mute
sympathy and comfort.
Are we sad? It is winter now, and these hyacinth bulbs are unsightly,
but spring will bring flowers to them, as time and patience will to
us. Are we glad? These roses and geraniums glow in the sunbeams, and
we rejoice together. Are we dull? That beautiful Greek form rouses us
into activity again. Are we weary of climbing, and dissatisfied with
our want of success? Turn to that Raphael, and let us remember, that
all who faint not by the way, and aspire worthily, shall at length be
transfigured in the light of truth and beauty. There are few if any
rooms that need be without some such suggestion and comfort. Nature
offers them lavishly to all who care to seek them; and first, and most
generously, her loveliest of treasures, flowers, which are the
brightest of drawing-room accessories, as well as the sweetest of
cottage adornments. Sea-weed, too--which is more difficult to get, but
when arranged with taste, is so exquisite in colour--is a sweet
remembrance of sea-side beaches and the odour of the spray. Bits of
pine-bark and fir-cones are beautiful as to colour, and bring back to
us pictures of woods gleaming in the western light, and well-known
landscapes seen through vistas of tall stems; sprays of clematis and
bryony, a group of ivy-leaves, or bunch of ripe corn, require nothing
but a little graceful arrangement to throw a light of beauty over many
a dull corner. But some of these ornaments are perishable, and can but
delight us for awhile. We must have something more permanent. Ah,
then, there are shells which still echo faintly the delicious murmur
of the waves, and reflect all the colours of sea and sky together; one
or two of them we must secure: the graceful nautilus, from whose mouth
shall hang in summer some pendent blossoms; and that Venus's ear,
which glitters in the sunbeams as it lies upon the table, and bears
the impress of spirits' wings upon its inner surface. Bronzes,
marbles, and paintings can be purchased only by the wealthy, so we
will not speak of them; we will see them as often as we can in public
galleries, and meanwhile rejoice that such fine substitutes in plaster
and engraving may become ours. These are yearly becoming more common
among us; and treasures of antique and modern art, Grecian gods, and
Italian Madonnas, may be our own household delights by the expenditure
of a few shillings. Of course, to the taste and requirements of each
individual must be left the selection of the kind and character of the
beauty he desires to have around him.
Some subjects in art are best suited for enjoyment in rooms destined
for solitary use, others for those of general resort--some touch us
peculiarly in one mood, some are welcome to us in all. Of this last
character 'St Catherine borne by Angels' is a specimen: the earth
sinks beneath them, they fly so swiftly and yet so calmly! we are in
the air too with them, and mark how small the world looks, with its
burdens of wrong and suffering, as we cleave our way through the
fields of ether up towards the stars; and that lovely one the spirits
hold so tenderly, how still and calm is every line!--she is at peace
after the storm and the agony, and for a space we lie still as she in
those angel arms. Of the same class is Raphael's 'Transfiguration,'
which is magnificent if we only contemplate the grouping of the
figures, but truly sublime in the ideas it suggests. Flaxman's
'Mercury and Pandora' likewise, elegant and graceful in the highest
degree, is peculiarly suited for generally used rooms and constant
delight. But specimens crowd into our recollection for which we have
not space. General sitting-rooms can bear a _variety_ of subject and
suggestion--they will have a variety of inhabitants or visitors; and
while bearing the impress of a certain unity, they should contain
pleasure for all, and stimuli for differing minds. We would not
habitually admit in them works of art which rouse too painful a class
of emotions. Fuseli's picture of 'Count Ugolino in Prison,' in which
the stony fixedness of despair deprives us, as we gaze, almost of the
living hope within us, we could not bear to have near us habitually.
That wonderfully beautiful marble of Francesca di Rimini and her
lover, which appeared in the Great Exhibition last year, would come
under the same law of banishment. It realised so perfectly the
hopelessness of hell, that at sight of it we swooned in spirit as
Dante did in reality. Life has so many stern realities for most of us,
that in art we need relief, and generally desire to find renewed hope
and faith through delight and gladness.
In rooms where we need care to please only ourselves, we can follow
our own tastes more entirely and freely. In them, shall we not have a
Madonna whose 'eyes are homes of silent prayer?'--a copy of De la
Roche's 'Christ,' so touching in its sad and noble serenity? or some
bust or engraving of poet or hero, which shall be to us as a
biography, never failing to stimulate us in the best direction? Or
shall we have a copy of that fine Mercury, who stands resting lightly
on the earth with one foot, and raised, outstretched arms, in the act
of ascending from it--the embodiment of aspiration? All these things
are symbols of noble thought, and they may belong to us as easily now
as a copy of Bacon or Shakspeare. Here is great cause for rejoicing.
Fantastic furniture, old china, and such-like things, will one day be
superseded in drawing-rooms, just as the old, barbarously-coloured
'Noahs' and 'Abrahams' of the cottage may now easily be by pictures in
better perspective and purer taste. Then there will be danger of
crowding rooms with good things--a great mistake also: an ornament
should have a simple background, should 'shew like metal on a sullen
ground.' Rooms, from temptations of wealth or taste, should never
become mere pretty curiosity-shops. Forbearance and self-control are
necessary in this as in all things. 'To gild refined gold' is worse
than useless.
Let us not question the need of such thought and care for mere
dwelling-places. Are not rooms the nurseries of the young spirits
among us, the resting-places of all others on their pilgrimage? And
because everything is important that influences and educates the
soul, love and thought shall work together in our homes, and create in
all details something akin to the universal harmony they should
typify.