BEDS AND BEDDING.
When we discuss a bed-room, the bed ought certainly to be the first
thing considered. Here at least, is a great improvement within even the
last forty or fifty years. Where are now those awful four-posters, so
often surmounted by huge wooden knobs or plumes of feathers, or which
even offered hideously carved griffin's heads to superintend your
slumbers? Gone, "quite gone," as children say. At first we ran as usual
into the opposite extreme, and bestowed ourselves at night in frightful
and vulgar frames of cast iron, ornamented with tawdry gilt or bronze
scroll-work, but such things are seldom seen now, and even the cheap
common iron or brass bedstead of the present day has at least the merit
of simplicity. Its plain rails at foot and head are a vast improvement
on the fantastic patterns of even twenty years ago, and the bedsteads
of the present day will long continue in general use in modern houses.
Their extreme cheapness and cleanliness are great points in their
favour, and when they are made low, and have a spring frame with one
rather thick mattress at the top, they are perfectly comfortable to
sleep in besides being harmless to look at.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.]
But in many rooms where the style of both decoration and furniture has
been carried back for a century and a half, and all the severe and
artistic lines of the tastes of those days must needs be preserved, then
indeed an ordinary iron or brass bedstead, of ever so unobtrusive a
pattern would be ludicrously out of place. Still, if our minds revolt
from anything like a return to the old nightmare-haunted huge Beds of
Ware, we can find something to sleep on which will be in harmony with
the rest of the surroundings, and yet combine the modern needs of air
and light with the old-fashioned strictness of form and beauty of
detail. Here is a drawing (Fig. 1) made from an old Dutch bedstead by
Mr. Lathrop. The sides are of beautifully and conscientiously inlaid
work, whilst the slight outward slope of both the head and foot-board
insures the perfection of comfort. To avoid a too great austerity of
form, the upper cap of the foot-board has been cut in curves, and the
solidity of the legs modified ever so slightly. The bedding of this
bedstead must by no means project beyond its sides, but must fit into
the box-like cavity intended to receive it. In this bedstead (Fig. 2),
which was made from a design by Mr. Sandier, more latitude is allowed
in this respect, and its perfect simplicity can only be equalled by its
beauty.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.]
The form of wooden bedstead (Fig. 3), which could easily be copied at
all events in its general idea, by any village carpenter, would be
exceedingly pretty and original for a young girl's bed-room. It is
intended to be of oak with side rails which are to pass through carved
posts, and be held by wooden pins, as are also the end rails. For
durability as well as simplicity this design leaves nothing to be
desired, and it can be made in almost any hard wood, whilst every year
would only add to its intrinsic worth. How many of us mothers have taken
special delight in preparing a room for our daughters when they return
from school "for good"--when they leave off learning lessons out of
books, and try, with varied success, to learn and apply those harder
lessons, which have to be learned without either books or teachers.
What sumptuous room in after years ever affords the deep delight of the
sense of ownership which attends the first awakening of a girl in a room
of her very own? and it is a vivid recollection of this pure delight of
one's own bygone girl-days which prompts us to do our best to furbish up
ever so homely a room for our eldest daughter. If a pretty, fresh
carpet is unattainable, then let us have bare boards, with rugs, or
skins, or whatever is available. Necessity developes ingenuity, and
ingenuity goes a long way. I never learned the meaning of either word
until I found myself very far removed from shops, and forced to invent
or substitute the materials wherewith to carry out my own little
decorative ideas.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.]
Some very lofty rooms seem to require a more furnished style of bed, and
for these stately sleeping-places it may be well to have sweeping
curtains of silk or satin gathered up quite or almost at the ceiling,
and falling in ample straight folds on either side of a wide, low
bedstead. They would naturally be kept out of the way by slender arms or
brackets some six or eight feet from the floor, which would prevent the
curtains from clinging too closely round the bed, and give the right
lines to the draperies. But, speaking individually, it is never to such
solemn sleeping-places as these, that my fancy reverts when, weary and
travel-stained, and in view of some homely wayside room, one thinks by
way of contrast, of other and prettier bed-rooms. No, it is rather to
simple, lovely little nests of chintz and muslin, with roses inside and
outside the wall, with low chairs and writing-table, sofa and toilet all
in the same room--a bed-room and bower in one. Edgar Allan Poe declares
that to
"slumber aright
You must sleep in just such a bed."
But he only says it of the last bed of all. Without going so far as
that, I can declare that I have slumbered "aright" in extraordinary
beds, in extraordinary places, on tables, and under them (that was to be
out of the way of being walked upon), on mats, on trunks, on all sorts
of wonderful contrivances. I slept once very soundly on a piece of
sacking stretched between two bullock trunks, though my last waking
thought was an uneasy misgiving as to the durability of the
frail-looking iron pins at each end of this yard of canvas, which fitted
into corresponding eyelet holes in the trunks. I know the uneasiness of
mattresses stuffed with chopped grass, and the lumpiness of those filled
by amateur hands with wool--_au naturel_. Odours also are familiar unto
me, the most objectionable being, perhaps, that arising from a feather
bed in a Scotch inn, and from a seaweed mattress in an Irish hotel, in
which I should imagine many curious specimens of marine zoology had been
entombed by mistake.
But there is one thing I want to say most emphatically, and that is that
I have met with greater dirt and discomfort, worse furniture, more
comfortless beds (I will say nothing of the vileness of the food!), and
a more general air of primitive barbarism in inns and lodgings in
out-of-the-way places in Great Britain and Ireland, than I have ever
come across in any colony. I know half-a-dozen places visited by heaps
of tourists every year, within half-a-dozen hours' journey of London,
which are _far_ behind, in general comfort and convenience, most of the
roadside inns either in New Zealand or Natal. It is very inexplicable
why it should be so, but it is a fact. It is marvellous that there
should often be such dirt and discomfort and general shabbiness and
dinginess under circumstances which, compared with colonial
difficulties, including want of money, would seem all that could be
desired.
However, to return to the subject in hand. We will take it for granted
that a point of equal importance with the form of the bedstead is its
comfort but this must always be left to the decision of its occupant.
Some people prefer beds and pillows of an adamantine hardness, others of
a luxurious softness. Either extreme is bad, in my opinion. As a rule,
however, I should have the mattresses for children's use _rather_
hard--a firm horsehair on the top of a wool mattress, and children's
pillows should _always_ be low. Some people heap bed-clothes over their
sleeping children, but I am sure this is a bad plan. I would always take
care that a child was quite warm enough, especially when it gets into
bed of a winter's night, but after a good temperature has been
established I would remove the extra wraps and accustom the child to
sleep with light covering. A little flannel jacket for a young child who
throws its arms outside the bed-clothes is a good plan, and saves them
from many a cough or cold. In the case of a delicate, chilly child, I
would even recommend a flannel bed-gown or dressing-gown to sleep in in
the depth of winter, for it saves a weight of clothes over them. I never
use a quilt at night for children; it keeps in the heat too much, but
blankets of the best possible quality are a great advantage. The cheap
ones are heavy and not nearly so warm, whereas a good, expensive blanket
not only wears twice as long, but is much more light and wholesome as a
covering. Nor would I permit soft pillows; of course there is a medium
between a fluff of down and a stone, and it is just a medium pillow I
should recommend for young children and growing girls and boys. The
fondest and fussiest parents do not always understand that, on the most
careful attention to some such simple rules depend the straightness of
their children's spines, the strength of their young elastic limbs,
their freedom from colds and coughs, and in fact their general health.
Often the daylight hours are weighted by a heavy mass of rules and
regulations, but few consider that half of a young child's life should
be spent in its bed. So that unless the atmosphere of the room they
sleep in, the quality of the bed they lie on, and the texture of the
clothes which cover them, are taken into consideration, it is only half
their existence which is being cared for.
[Illustration: FIG 4.]
All bedsteads are healthier for being as low as possible; thus insuring
a better circulation of air above the sleeper's face, and doing away
with the untidy possibility of keeping boxes or carpet-bags under the
bedstead. There should be no valance to any bedstead. In the daytime an
ample quilt thrown over the bedding will be quite drapery enough, and at
night it is just as well to have a current of air beneath the frame of
the bed. The new spring mattresses are very nearly perfect as regards
the elasticity which is so necessary in a couch, and they can be suited
to all tastes by having either soft or hard horsehair or finely picked
wool mattresses on the top of them. Whenever it is possible, I would
have children put to sleep in separate bedsteads, even if they like to
have them close together as in Fig. 4.
There are many varieties of elastic mattresses, though I prefer the more
clumsy one of spiral springs inclosed in a sort of frame. For transport
this is, however, very cumbrous, and in such a case it would be well to
seek other and lighter kinds. It must be also remembered that these
spring mattresses are only suitable for modern beds in modern rooms; the
old carven beds of a "Queen Anne" bed-room must needs be made
comfortable by hair and wool mattresses only.
In many cases, however, where economy of space and weight has to be
considered, I would recommend a new sort of elastic mattress which can
easily be affixed to any bedstead. It resembles a coat of mail more
than anything else and possesses the triple merit in these travelling
days of being cool, clean, and portable.
The frowsy old feather bed of one's infancy has so completely gone out
of favour that it is hardly necessary to place one more stone on the
cairn of abuse already raised over it by doctors' and nurses' hands. A
couple of thick mattresses, one of horsehair and one of wool, will make
as soft and comfortable a bed as anyone need wish for.
[Illustration: FIG. 5.]
Instead of curtains, which the modern form of bedstead renders
incongruous and impossible, screens on either side of the bed are a much
prettier and more healthy substitute. I like screens immensely; they
insure privacy, they keep out the light if necessary, and are a great
improvement to the look of any room. It is hardly necessary to say they
should suit the style of its decoration. If you are arranging a lofty
old-fashioned room, then let your screens be of old Dutch leather--of
which beautiful fragments are to be found--with a groundwork which can
only be described by paradoxes, for it is at once solid and light,
sombre and gay. Any one who has seen those old stamped leather screens
of a peculiar sea-green blue, with a raised dull gold arabesque design
on them, will know what I mean. There are also beautiful old Indian or
Japan lacquered screens, light, and with very little pattern on them;
even imitation ones of Indian pattern paper are admissible to narrow
purses, but anything real is always much more satisfactory. If again
your bower is a modern Frenchified concern, then screen off its angles
by _écrans_ of gay tapestry or embroidered folding leaves, or
paper-covered screens of delicate tints with sprays of trailing blossom,
and here and there a bright-winged bird or butterfly. Designs for all
these varieties of screens can be obtained in great perfection at the
Royal School of Art Needlework. But for a simple modern English
bed-room, snug as a bird's nest, and bright and fresh as a summer
morning I should choose screens of slender wooden rails with fluted
curtains of muslin and lace cunningly hung thereon. Only it must be
remembered that these entail constant change, and require to be always
exquisitely fresh and clean.
It often happens that another spare bed is wanted on an emergency, and
it is a great point in designing couches for a nondescript room, a room
which is some one person's peculiar private property, whether called a
den or a study, a smoking-room or a boudoir, that the said couch should
be able "a double debt to pay" on a pinch. I have lately seen two such
resting-places which were both convenient and comfortable. The first was
a long, low settee of cane, with a thin mattress over its seat, and a
thicker one, doubled in two, forming a luxurious back against the wall
by day. At night, this mattress could be laid flat out on the top of the
other, which gave increased width as well as softness to the extempore
bed.
The other, of modern carved oak, had been copied from the pattern of an
old settle. It was low and wide, with only one deep well-stuffed
mattress, round which an Algerine striped blue and white cotton cloth
had been wrapped. Of course this could be removed at night, and the bed
made up in the usual way. It struck me, with its low, strong railing
round three sides, as peculiarly suitable for a change of couch for a
sick child, though it could hardly be used by a full-grown person as a
bed.
So now all has been said that need be on the point of a sleeping place.
It is too essentially a matter of choice to allow of more than
suggestion; and at least my readers will admit that I am only arbitrary
on the points of fresh air and cleanliness.