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XVI
BRIC-A-BRAC
French speech has provided with at least
three designations, each indicating a delicate and almost
imperceptible gradation of quality. In place of bric-a-brac, bibelots, obfets
d'art, we have only knick-knacks—defined by Stormonth as
"articles of small value."
This definition of
the knick-knack fairly indicates the general level of our artistic competence.
It has already been said that cheapness is not necessarily synonymous with
trashiness; but hitherto this assertion has been made with regard to
furniture and to the other necessary appointments of the house. With
knick-knacks the case is different. An artistic age will of course produce any number of
inexpensive trifles fit to become, like the Tanagra figurines,
the museum treasures of later centuries; but it is hardly necessary
to point out that modern shop-windows are not overflowing with such immortal
toys. The few objects of art produced in the present day are the work of
distinguished artists. Even allowing for what Symonds calls the
"vicissitudes of taste," it seems improbable that our commercial
knick-knack will ever be classed as a work of art.
It is clear that the weary man must have a
chair to sit on, the
PLATE LVl.
BRONZE. ANDIRON; VENETIAN
SCHOOL
hungry man a table to
dine at; nor would the most sensitive judgment condemn him for buying ugly
ones, were no others to be had; but objects of art are a counsel of perfection.
It is quite possible to go without them; and the proof is that many do go without them who
honestly think to possess them in abundance. This is said, not
with any intention of turning to ridicule the natural desire to
"make a room look pretty," but merely with the purpose of inquiring
whether such an object is ever furthered by the indiscriminate
amassing of "ornaments." Decorators know how much the
simplicity and dignity of a good room are diminished by crowding it with
useless trifles. Their absence improves even bad rooms, or makes them at least
less multitudinously bad. It is surprising to note how the removal of
an accumulation of knick-knacks will free the architectural lines and
restore the furniture
to its rightful relation with the walls.
Though a room must depend for its main
beauty on design and furniture, it is
obvious that there are many details of luxurious living not included in
these essentials. In what, then, shall the
ornamentation of rooms consist ? Supposing walls and furniture to be satisfactory, how put the minor
touches that give to a room the
charm of completeness ? To arrive at an answer, one must first consider the
different kinds of minor embellishment These may be divided into two
classes: the object of art per se, such as the bust, the picture, or the
vase; and, on the other hand, those
articles, useful in themselves,—lamps, clocks, fire-screens, bookbindings, candelabra,—which art has only to touch to make them the best ornaments any room can
contain. In past times such articles
took the place of bibelots. Few purely ornamental
objects were to be seen, save in the cabinets of collectors; but when Botticelli decorated the panels
of linen chests,
186 The
Decoration of Houses
and Cellini chiselled book-clasps and drinking-cups, there could be no thought of the vicious distinction between the useful and the beautiful. One of the first obligations of art is to make all useful things beautiful: were this neglected principle applied to the manufacture of household accessories, the modern room would have no
need of knick-knacks.
Before proceeding further, it is necessary to know what constitutes an object of art. It was said at the outset that, though cheapness and trashiness are not always synonymous, they are apt to be so in the case of the modern knick-knack. To buy, and even to make, it may cost a great deal of money; but artistically it is cheap, if
not worthless; and too often its artistic value is in inverse ratio to its price. The one-dollar china pug is less harmful than an expensive onyx lamp-stand with
moulded bronze mountings dipped in
liquid gilding. It is one of the misfortunes
of the present time that the most preposterously bad things often possess the powerful allurement of
being expensive. One might think it
an advantage that they are not within every one's reach; but, as a matter of
fact, it is their very unattainable-ness
which, by making them more desirable, leads to the production of that worst curse of modern
civilization—cheap copies of costly horrors.
An ornament is of course not an object of art because it is expensive—though
it must be owned that objects of art are seldom cheap. Good workmanship, as distinct from designing, almost always commands a higher price than bad; and good artistic workmanship
having become so rare that there is practically no increase in the existing quantity of objects of art, it is evident that these are more likely to grow than to diminish in value. Still, as has been said, costliness is no test of merit in an age when
Bric-a-Brac 187
large prices are paid for bad things.
Perhaps the most convenient way of defining the real object of art is to
describe it as any ornamental objeft which adequately expresses
an artistic conception.
This definition at
least clears the ground of the mass of showy rubbish forming the stock-in-trade
of the average " antiquity " dealer.
Good objects of art
give to a room its crowning touch of distinction. Their intrinsic beauty is
hardly more valuable than their suggestion of a mellower civilization—of
days when rich men were patrons of " the arts of elegance/' and when
collecting beautiful objects was one of the obligations of a noble
leisure. The qualities implied in the ownership of such bibelots are the mark of their
unattainableness. The man who wishes to possess objects of art must have not
only the means to acquire them, but the skill to choose them—a skill made up of
cultivation and judgment, combined with that feeling for beauty that no
amount of study can give, but that study alone can quicken and render profitable.
Only time and
experience can acquaint one with those minor peculiarities marking
the successive "manners" of a master, or even with the
technical nuances which at once enable the collector to affix a date to
his Sevres or to his maiolica. Such knowledge is acquired at the cost
of great pains and of frequent mistakes; but no one should
venture to buy works of art who cannot at least draw such obvious
distinctions as those between old and new Saxe, between an old Italian and a
modern French bronze, or between Chinese peach-bloom porcelain of the
Khang-hi period and the Japanese imitations to be found in every
"Oriental emporium."
Supposing the amateur to have acauired this proficiency,
he is
188 The Decoration of Houses
still apt to buy too many things, or things out of proportion with the rooms for which they are intended. The scoffers at style— those who assume that to conform to any known laws of decoration is to
sink one's individuality—often justify their view by the assertion that it is ridiculous to be tied down, in the choice of
bibelots, to any given period or manner—as though Mazarin's great collection had comprised only seventeenth-century works of art, or the Colonnas, the Gonzagas, and the Malatestas had drawn all their treasures from contemporary sources! As a matter of fact, the great amateurs of the past were never fettered by such absurd restrictions. All famous patrons of art have encouraged the talent of their day; but the passion for collecting antiquities is at least as old as the Roman Empire, and Greco-Roman sculptors had to
make archaistic statues to please the popular fancy, just as our artists paint
pre-Raphaelite pictures to attract the disciples of Ruskin and William Morris. Since the Roman Empire, there has probably been no period when a taste for the best of all ages did not
exist.1 Julius II, while Michel Angelo and Raphael worked under his orders, was gathering antiques for the Belvedere cortile; under Louis XIV, Greek marbles, Roman bronzes, cabinets of Chinese
lacquer and tables of Florentine mosaic were mingled without thought of discord
against Lebrun's tapestries or Berain's arabesques;
and Marie-Antoinette's collection united Oriental porcelains with goldsmiths' work of the Italian Renaissance. Taste attaches but two conditions to the use of objects of art:
* "A little
study would probably show that the Ptolemaic era in Egypt was a renaissance of
the Theban age, in architecture as in other respects, while the golden period
of Augustus in Rome was largely a Greek revival. Perhaps it would even be
discovered that all ages of healthy human prosperity are more or less revivals,
and have been marked by a retrospective tendency." The Architecture of the Renaissance in Italy, by W. J. Anderson. London, Batsford, 1896.
Bric-a-Brac
189
that they shall be
in scale with the room, and that the room shall not be overcrowded
with them. There are two ways of being in scale: there is the scale of
proportion, and what might be called the scale of appropriateness. The former is
a matter of actual measurement while the latter is regulated solely by the
nicer standard of good taste. Even in the matter of actual measurement, the niceties of proportion are not
always clear to an un-- practised eye. It is easy to see that the Ludovisi Juno
would be out of scale in a boudoir, but the
discrepancy, in diminishing, naturally
becomes less obvious. Again, a vase or a bust may not be out of scale with the wall-space behind it, but
may appear to crush the furniture
upon which it stands; and since everything a room contains should be regarded as a factor in its general composition, the relation of bric-a-brac to furniture
is no less to be studied than the
relation of bric-a-brac to wall-spaces. Much of course depends upon the effect intended; and this can be greatly modified by careful adjustment of the contents of
the room. A ceiling may be made to look less high by the use of wide,
low pieces of furniture, with massive busts
and vases; while a low-studded room
may be heightened by tall, narrow commodes and cabinets, with objects of art upon the same general lines.
It is of no less
importance to observe the scale of appropriateness. A bronze Pallas
Athene or a cowled mediaeval pleureur would be obviously
out of harmony with the spirit of a boudoir; while the delicate
graces of old Saxe or Chelsea would become futile in library or study.
Another kind of
appropriateness must be considered in the relation of objects of
art to each other: not only must they be in scale as regards character
and dimensions, but also —and this, though more important, is perhaps less often considered—as
regards
190 The
Decoration of Houses
quality. The habit of mixing good, bad, and
indifferent in furniture is often excused by necessity: people must use what
they have. But there
is no necessity for having bad bric-4-brac Trashy
"ornaments" do not make a room more comfortable; as a general rule, they distinctly diminish its
comfort; and they have the further disadvantage of destroying the effect of any
good piece of work. Vulgarity is
always noisier than good breeding, and it is instructive to note how a modern commercial bronze will "talk down " a delicate Renaissance statuette or
bust, and a piece of Deck or Minton
china efface the color-values of blue-and-white or the soft tints of old
Sevres. Even those who set down a preference for
old furniture as an affectation will hardly maintain that new knick-knacks
are as good as old bibelots; but only those who have some slight acquaintance with the subject know how wide is the distance, in conception and execution,
between the old object of art and
its unworthy successor. Yet the explanation is simple. In former times, as the greatest painters occupied themselves with wall-decoration, so the greatest
sculptors and modellers produced
the delicate statuettes and the incomparable bronze mountings for vases and furniture adorning the
apartments of their day. A glance
into the window of the average furniture-shop probably convinces the most unobservant that modern bronze mountings are not usually designed by great
artists; and there is the same change in the methods of execution. The bronze formerly chiselled is now moulded; the
iron once wrought is cast; the
patina given to bronze by a chemical process making it a part of the texture of
the metal is now simply applied as a surface
wash; and this deterioration in processes has done more than anything else to vulgarize modern ornament It
may be argued that even in the golden age of art few could
Bric-a-Brac
Two causes connected
with the change in processes have contributed to the debasement of bibelots: the substitution of
machine for hand-work has made possible the
unlimited reproduction of works of
art; and the resulting demand for cheap knick-knacks has given employment to a
multitude of untrained designers
having nothing in common with the virtuoso of former times.
It is an open
question how much the mere possibility of unlimited reproduction
detracts from the intrinsic value of an object of art To the
art-lover, as distinguished from the collector, uniqueness per se
can give no value to an inartistic object; but the distinction, the
personal quality, of a beautiful object is certainly enhanced when
it is known to be alone of its kind— as in the case of the old bronzes made d cire
perdue. It must, however, be noted
that in some cases—as in that of bronze-casting— the method which permits reproduction is distinctly inferior to that
used when but one object is to be produced.
In writing on objects of art, it is difficult to escape
the charge
192 The
Decoration of Houses
of saying on one page that reproductions are
objectionable, and on
the next that they are better than poor "originals." The United States customs laws have drawn a rough
distinction between an original work
and its reproductions, defining the former as a work of art and the
latter as articles of commerce; but it does
not follow that an article of commerce may not be an adequate representation of a work of art. The
technical differences incidental to the various forms of reproduction make any
general conclusion impossible. In the case of bronzes, for instance, it
has been pointed out that the are perdue process is superior to.that by
means of which reproductions may be made; nor
is this the only cause of inferiority in bronze reproductions. The nature of bronze-casting makes it needful
that the final touches should be
given to bust or statue after it emerges from the mould. Upon these
touches, given by the master's chisel, the
expressiveness and significance of the work chiefly depend; and multiplied reproductions, in lacking this
individual stamp, must lack precisely
that which distinguishes the work of art from the commercial article.
Perhaps the safest
general rule is to say that the less the reproduction suggests an attempt at
artistic interpretation,—the more literal and mechanical is its rendering of
the original,—the better it fulfils its purpose. Thus, plaster-casts of
sculpture are more satisfactory than bronze or marble copies; and a good
photograph of a painting is superior to the average reproduction in oils or water-color.
The deterioration in
gilding is one of the most striking examples of the modern disregard of
quality and execution. In former times gilding was regarded as one of the
crowning touches of magnificence
in decoration, was little used except where great
Bric-a-Brac
193
splendor of effect was desired, and was then
applied by means of a difficult and costly process. To-day, after a
period of reaction during which all gilding was avoided, it is again
unsparingly used, under the mistaken impression that it is one of the chief characteristics of
the French styles now once more in demand. The result is a
plague of liquid gilding. Even in France, where good gilding is
still done, the great demand for cheap gilt furniture and ornaments has
led to the general use of the inferior process. The prevalence of liquid
gilding, and the application of gold to furniture and decoration not adapted
to such treatment, doubtless explain the aversion of many persons to any
use of gilding in decoration.
In former times the
expense of good gilding was no obstacle to its use, since it was employed only in
gala rooms, where the whole treatment was
on the same scale of costliness: it would never have occurred to the owner of an average-sized house to drench his walls and furniture in gilding, since
the excessive use of gold in
decoration was held to be quite unsuited to such a purpose. Nothing more surely preserves any form of
ornament from vulgarization than a
general sense of fitness.
Much of the beauty
and propriety of old decoration was due to the fact that the merit of a work
of art was held to consist, not in substance, but in design and execution.
It was never thought that a badly designed bust or vase could be saved from
mediocrity by being made of an expensive material. Suitability of substance always enhances a work of art; mere
costliness never. The chryselephantine Zeus
of Olympia was doubtless admirably suited
to the splendor of its surroundings; but in a different setting it would have
been as beautiful in marble. In plastic art everything depends on form and
execution, and the skilful hand-
194 The
Decoration of Houses
ling of a substance
deliberately chosen for its resistance (where another might have been used with
equal fitness) is rather a tour deforce than an artistic achievement
These last
generalizations are intended to show, not only that there is an intrinsic
value in almost all old bibelots, but also that the general
excellence of design and execution in past times has handed down to us
many unimportant trifles in the way of furniture and household
appliances worthy of being regarded as minor objects of art In Italy especially, where every
artisan seems to have had the gift of the plasticatore
in his finger-tips, and no
substance was thought too poor to express a good design, there are still to be found many bits of old
workmanship — clocks, appliques, terra-cottas,
and carved picture-frames with touches of gilding—that may be
characterized in the terms applied by the builder of Buckingham House to his
collection of pictures:—"Some good, none
disagreeable." Still, no accumulation
of such trifles, even where none is disagreeable, will give to a room the same distinction as the
presence of a few really fine works
of art. Any one who has the patience to put up with that look of bareness so displeasing to some will
do better to buy each year one
superior piece rather than a dozen of middling quality.
Even the buyer who
need consult only his own pleasure must remember that his very freedom from
the ordinary restrictions lays him open to temptation. It is no longer
likely that any collector will be embarrassed by a superfluity of treasures;
but he may put too many things into one room, and no amount of individual merit in
the objects themselves will, from the decorator's standpoint,
quite warrant this mistake. Any work of art, regardless of its
intrinsic merit, must justify its presence in a room
Bric-a-Brac
195
by being more
valuable than the space it occupies—more valuable, that is, to
the general scheme of decoration.
Those who call this
view arbitrary or pedantic should consider, first, the importance of plain
surfaces in decoration, and secondly the tendency of overcrowding to minimize the
effect of each separate object, however striking in itself. Eye and mind
are limited in their receptivity to a certain number of simultaneous impressions,
and the Oriental habit of displaying only one or two objects of art at a time
shows a more delicate sense of these limitations than the Western
passion for multiplying effects.
To sum up, then, a
room should depend for its adornment on general harmony of parts, and on the
artistic quality of such necessities as lamps, screens, bindings, and furniture. Whoever goes
beyond these essentials should limit himself in the choice of ornaments to the
"labors of the master-artist's hand/'
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