CHAPTER XII

CONCLUSION

The eye of an artist differs structurally not at all from the eyes of other people. His constant having to do with lines, values and all that, gives him an enviable facility in delineation, the same facility that training would impart in any other vocation; but it is the man--the artist temperament that exists behind the ocular sense that denominates the artist, a matter of pure luck, however, or of birth, which amounts to the same thing.

When nature issues his temperament to a man, she stamps on the back of it the words “not transferable” rubricated. By no effort of his own can he bestow his temperament upon anybody else nor materially alter it within himself. He looks upon things always in a certain way--envious folks call it a squint--never may he see them in any other. He struggles with a personal bias so strong, that, in nine cases out of ten, he had much rather die than have to live his life contrary to the cherished autonomy imposed by temperament.

The artist contends with a temperament unusually exacting and, at times, very inconvenient. I remember having to ride my bicycle twelve miles one afternoon some years ago, to a bakery in another town from where I lived, to gratify a whim of temperament, I suppose, for some particularly delicious tea rolls that were manufactured there. I felt I could not possibly get along with the plain bread and butter I knew we had for supper. I purchased the rolls, and was tying the precious bundles to the handle-bars of my wheel when a carriage drove up in front of the bakery. It contained two rather unprepossessing women who were evidently acquainted with the baker’s wife, judging from the familiar way they called to her from the curb. The baker’s wife came out upon the doorstep, and inquired what kind of bread she should bring them. It was then, without an idea of causing the slightest shock to the sensibilities of the man they saw, with a bicycle, they replied with picturesque indifference--“Oh, any kind, just so long as it is bread to fill-up on!” Overhearing this I could not help making the necessary mental memoranda what unpromising subjects for art influences were the temperaments of these women--how little education could really do for them! how utterly impossible it would be for them to change their temperaments, and how, in all probability, they had much rather be dead than to be continually harrassed by the fastidious obligations of art!

But the case I have chosen is, perhaps, extreme. There is a pleasure for most temperaments in art--a certain happiness that it contributes in a mild way. The average temperament experiences through art a sensation akin to that produced by music, and like music to the average temperament, art is by no means a necessity. It is merely the graceful accomplishment to be cultivated after the serious business of life is off the stage for the day, and we turn to playthings; whereas in the case of the artist, it is his whole existence. My mother ridiculed me about episodes like that of the rolls, but always commended my talent for drawing. Although I tried to explain, she refused to believe that my talent for drawing was only one result of the

PLATE LXXXIX.

temperament which sent me for the rolls. For does it nor naturally follow that if any old bread will do to live on, why, any old house will do to live in, and I should have had no interest for anything better, certainly no incentive to the laborious grind of the drawingboard? Still, in no instance, I believe, is art or charity--for they are one and the same--wholly absent, if sometimes obscure, in the temperaments of civilized people. Without the artistic sense, charity is the uncut diamond, it yet accomplishes its own mission; while again, the gentle passion reveals itself in singular guises, we recognize it with a little patience. Unique among which guises let me cite the astute financier’s well-known love of flowers,--and here let me tell you something besides! It may be a strange observation, but the love of one’s fellow beings, and an inordinate love of flowers, in a man, rarely go together. Robespierre, at the fête to the Supreme Being, walked ahead of his colleagues, laden down with flowers, and away back in the morning of time the avocation of Cain was the cultivation of flowers. So, whenever you see a man passionately fond of flowers (professional florists excepted) you may know that every atom of charity which, normally, should be distributed throughout his whole nature, has been focussed at this one point; and it behooves you to mind the painted notice to small craft you have seen suspended from the guardrail of an awe-inspiring ocean liner in port, namely--

......................................... . . . Keep clear of this ship’s propellers! . . . .........................................

In his conservatories, surrounded by brilliant flora from all over the world, it is quite different; here you will find your astute financier the most charming of hosts; but in your business deals with him, have a care!

No true artist could be entirely happy to look at the world from the financier’s standpoint. He may listen attentively to the cunning of expediency fascinatingly unfolded, for his own good, for the good of his family, and the assurance of the future, he may heartily wish to exchange temperaments with that financier, temporarily, till he shall have gained independence of the world commercial, in vain. The unaccommodating

PLATE XC.

temperament again will not let him. He is perfectly aware that there is not half enough in the world to go round, and that he must divert the earnings of other people somewhat into his own coffers if he is to be entirely comfortable; but he had rather that circumstances divert these earnings than his own cupidity. He hopes that God will, after a little, see how hard He has made it for the people individually, and order a new dispensation. It may be a forlorn hope, but it is none the less a hope divinely implanted in every true artist and in every other charitable nature. What else is it that applauds the dramatic note whenever and wherever it is struck, even though it be the Laura Jean Libby kind from the melodrama and the threadbare theme of the indigent heroine who arraigns the conventional villain thus--

“I’d rather be the poor working-girl that I am than all your cruel gold can make me!”

These are the sentiments which reflect those of every true artist. The profession of architecture even more than that of the ministry should be entered without hope of much financial gain. For the sake of goodness don’t believe any such Munchhausen stuff about it as you, perhaps, read in a popular magazine lately. The preacher’s service to God is direct, something which He must take into consideration at least every Sunday; while the service of the architect is indirect--so subtle indeed as to create the natural fear in a student’s mind lest God forget about him entirely, even to the barest livelihood. Professor Ware of the school of architecture at Columbia College once told me that if he paused for one moment to consider how very few of the new class of pupils which every year assembled to be instructed could succeed by reason of the inexorable laws of supply and demand alone, he could not teach them. “But,” he added with a twinkle of satisfaction in his eye for having placed his finger squarely on a grim but unerring philosophy--“I had much rather starve to death in a profession that I loved than in a business that I hated, since success in everything is achieved only by the same meagre percentage.”

I am not forgetting that the profession of architecture is frequently turned into a business enterprise, run

PLATE XCI.

upon business principles, used merely as a means to an end, and that end financial success--a state of things which has retarded the development of American Renaissance more than any other one factor--but this leads me back again to art and commercialism, to which I have already consecrated a chapter of this review. Let us consider for the present only the different kinds of architects we have in America, so differently equipped as to cause positive amazement while cataloguing them. What diversity of talent confronts us! talent, in some cases, one would say, that scarcely concerned architecture. I can think of no other profession which has quite so many branch specialists. Incredible as it may seem, there are prominent and successful architects--trained architects of ability--who are able to draw plans but who cannot draw elevations, and others who can draw elevations but cannot plan. There are architects who are skilful draughtsmen who cannot design, architects who can design but cannot draw at all, architects who can only write specifications and superintend--two very important branches of the profession, however, that usually go together--while stranger still, there are practising architects who can neither design nor draw nor write specifications nor even superintend, but who possess a wonderful business aptitude and personal magnetism by which they command clients for their partners or draughtsmen who actually prepare the drawings and the other instruments of service.

This class of architects is, by no means, confined to America or to the epoch.[8] As long ago as the reign of Louis XIV in France, Jules Hardouin Mansart was a shining example of the financier-architect. The description of him given in Miss Wormeley’s admirable translation of the memoirs of Saint-Simon[9] is so intensely interesting that I believe I cannot do better than to quote the fragments which succeed:

PLATE XCII.

PLATE XCIII.

“He [Hardouin Mansart] was ignorant of his business. De Coste, his brother-in-law, whom he made head architect, knew no more than he. They got their plans, designs and ideas from a designer of building named L’Assurance whom they kept, as much as they could, under lock and key. Mansart’s cunning [his name was probably assumed for what we would call in America an ‘ad.’] lay in coaxing the king by apparent trifles into long and costly enterprises, and by showing him incomplete plans, especially for the gardens, which instantly captured his mind, and caused him to make suggestions: then Mansart would exclaim that he never should have thought of what the king proposed, went into raptures, declared he was a scholar compared to him, and so made the king tumble whichever way he planned without suspecting it.”

* * * * *

“He made immense sums out of his works and his contracts, and all else that concerned his buildings, of which he was absolute master, and with such authority that not a workman, contractor or person about the buildings would have dared speak or make the slightest fuss. As he had no taste, or the king either, he never executed anything fine, nor even convenient for the vast expenses he incurred.”

The episode about his bridge at Moulins that floated down the river to Nantes is excruciatingly funny as told by Saint-Simon, but I must not appropriate the space necessary for its relation.

I cannot think, however, that the damage of an occasional Hardouin Mansart in France or a Mr. Pecksniff, I may say, in England, to the architecture of either country has been anything like as great as that done American Renaissance by their numerous colleagues upon this side of the water. That our modern architecture is as good as it is, is no less than remarkable, considering, too, how we are always trying to make it pay financially. And when at last there comes a scintillating opportunity where an architect is no longer obliged to turn out a rent-trap, a manufacturing plant, or something else that will pay a given percentage upon the investment, as happens in the case of a large country house, the marks of our national trade are very apt to obtrude themselves in a hundred amusing ways. The commercial habit cannot be relinquished in a moment, and thus, unconsciously, we betray ourselves.

Of the modern country seats of America, I should select Biltmore (see Plate XCII), in the North Carolina mountains--the masterpiece of Richard Morris Hunt--as standing first and foremost at the time I write. It is one of the very few examples of domestic architecture we have that can be compared with the historic castles of England to which I have referred and we are accustomed to seeing illustrated so beautifully in _Country Life_. We call Biltmore French Renaissance now; it will be American Renaissance later on. No other of Mr. Hunt’s designs can begin to equal it. You may observe that Ochre Court at Newport has a fine elevation to the sea. It is true. But the place is much marred by an overgrown servants’ wing, while the notorious Marble-house appears to have been created under pressure when the artist was overworked, for it has neither his inspiration nor individuality, merely representing several thousand cubic feet of classic architecture which would serve to better advantage for a plate in a text-book. But at Biltmore, we have an original design with the necessary attributes--attributes which I need not take the trouble to enumerate again, having been so particular about the reader’s making their acquaintance in the other chapters.

I remember I also mentioned the house of H. W. Poor, Esq., at Tuxedo (see Plates XCIII and XCIV), as an example of modern work in America that might withstand the odious ordeal of international comparison. Really, it is a very simple thing, the Anglo-Saxon home idea; for the life of me, I do not see why we have so little of it. The Jacobean manor-house historically developed to date is an admirable medium of expression, and in the illustration in Plate XCIV we may discover one other example of good American Renaissance. If you think the Tuxedo house looks too English to be called that, place it, it you please, beside Blickling Hall in Norfolkshire, a genuine Jacobean prototype, several fine illustrations of which will be found in the _Architectural Record_ for October, 1901. Upon the long gallery of the latter, I think, Mr. T. Henry Randall, the architect of Mr. Poor’s house, has improved. The gallery of Blickling Hall has some

PLATE XCIV.

ugly features. In my opinion, this American architect understands the adaptation of a Jacobean manor-house better than any other of his day.

It is style and historical development--not fashion--that produces the architectural comedy--its story, its personality, its life. And now that I am about to speak again of the most popular kind of houses of all in America--Colonial houses, notwithstanding the very great number of them erected during the last decade or two, I am yet almost in despair of finding illustrations where the architectural comedy, its personality and life are to be sufficiently discovered. Perhaps the firm of architects who have been most noted as specialists in this line have done nothing better than the house they designed in the eighties of the last century for Mr. William Edgar, on Beach Street in Newport (see Plate XCV). This design was always very much superior to that of the Taylor house, of which I drew a sketch for Chapter IX; and as time goes on the gap between them widens, while I do not see that the Edgar house loses by contrast with a number of much more pretentious successors in the same style of composition.

That there is so much room for general improvement in America is what I have to offer in extenuation for the questionable sarcasms into which I have sometimes fallen in these articles. Because of its salutary influence, I have found sarcasm useful in scoring my points, preferring it greatly to flattery, which D’Israeli used, he averred, for the same purpose--he “found it useful”--adding, “and when it comes to royalty you want to lay it on with a trowel.” I do not know that the simile holds good as far as that, and I fear my sarcastic allusions have already become fatiguing.

In glancing back over what I have written, I find yet another class of architects and another theory of architecture to which no credit has been given. I refer now to that class of architects who publish books of readymade plans, and who advertise for clients in the periodicals, and to their theory of architecture which does not allow that the artist enters into the proposition. This is as I understand it, at least, from one of their advertisements, which reads, “Plans made _not_ by an _artist_, but by an _architect_.”

Bored nearly to death by having to listen to unwelcome

PLATE XCV.

art discussion which to them does not seem either necessary or practical in what they consider a purely utilitarian business for housing the people, they have conceived a positive aversion to architecture as a fine art. I do not know exactly what they mean by the affectation and exaggeration they exploit if it is not intended to be artistic; but it is quite possible they deprecate all that, themselves, as the necessary amount of tawdriness the American people will have, feeling the while unequal to educating such hopeless material. For it may be that I do these wholesalers of printed plans a great injustice--it may be they realize, as do other architects, only too keenly, that architecture is the cubic measure of art, and requires an artist of the third power to fuss with it successfully, in which case I fancy I recognize even greater method in their madness.

THE END

INDEX

Alexandria, Va., 71, 72; Fairfax house, 71; Carlyle house, 71.

Alice in Wonderland, reference, 31.

Alison, Archibald, historian cited, 108.

American Notes, Dickens’ criticisms in, 89-91.

American Renaissance explained, 17-20; its local color, 21-27; sincerity of, 21-23; various observations concerning, 21-27; its derivation, 25-27; outraged by modern Romanesque, 27-29; Andrew Jackson’s influence upon, 41, 48-50; early architects of, 42-44; designing a farmhouse in, 46-48; modern farmer’s knowledge of, 40, 49, 50; not taught in schools, 35, 49, 50; contrasted with architecture of England, 51-53, 77; restoration of an old house, 55-57; various motives, 57-60; roofs, 60; development under aristocracy, 62-78; Washington connoisseur of, 73; originality of, 76, 77; in Annapolis, 62-64; in Bristol, 81, 82; in Salem, 82, 83; in Middletown, Conn., 84, 85; in Philadelphia, 85-88; influence of Ruskin Gothic, 95-97; influence of Civil War, 108-17; of Centennial Exposition, 118-20, 125; Colonial revival, 128-31; adaptations, 132; criticised by writers, 132-34; apprenticeship of, 140-41; injured by financiers, 131, 166; traditions of, 40-42; legislative buildings, 134.

Amplification, modern, houses injured by, 75.

Annapolis, Md., 62-65, 68, 70, 82.

Anne Arundel Town, 62.

Applied ornament, 120, 131.

Architectural Record, articles in, mentioned, 62, 147.

Architectural Review, articles in, mentioned, 80, 102, 104.

Architecture, ignorance concerning, as a fine art, 132-33, 171; adaptation, soul of, 136; contrasted with literature, 76, 136; plagiarism in, 137, 151; Jacobin, 41, 111-15, 117; Elizabethan, 138-40; Tudor, 96, 140; Queen Anne, 125-28; Jacobean, 25, 41, 138, 140, 168; Romanesque, 28; Gothic, 95-97, 146; French Renaissance, 123-24, 135, 142-44; eclectic style a fallacy, 20; not taught in schools, 35, 49, 50; newly invented, 30-33, 114; American extravaganza, 46; atmosphere necessary to, 116; modern Colonial, 128-30; cubic measure of art, 171.

Architects, different kinds of, 163-65; publishers of plans, 170-71.

Arnold-Shippen house, Fairmount Park, 69.

Art and charity, 38, 39.

Art and commercialism contrasted, 37-39.

Artist temperament, 156-61.

Astor Library, mentioned, 105, 107.

Astor, John Jacob, 105, 106.

Atmosphere necessary to architecture, 116.

Azay-le-Rideau, château of, 143.

Back-buildings of Philadelphia, 86-88.

Bancroft, George, his history of United States cited, 77.

Bates & Guild Co., publications by, 63.

Beaconsfield, Earl of, mentioned, 123; his use of flattery, 170.

Bell, Frederick A., buys the Danforth place at Madison, N. J., 122.

Bellwood, Madison, N. J., 121-23.

Belmont houses, New York City, 37.

Bennett house, New Bedford, Mass., 102, 104.

Bennett, James Gordon, his account of an assembly ball cited, 92.

Berkshires, modern architecture in, 35, 36.

Beau Brummel, quoted, 148.

Blickling Hall, 168.

Biltmore, North Carolina, 52, 167.

Bond Street, N. Y. City, No. 23, 99-101.

Boston, Mass., Scarcity of Colonial houses in, 68.

Bramante, architect, 45, 122.

Brandon, Va., mentioned, 63.

Brice-Jennings house, Annapolis, mentioned, 63.

Bristol, R. I., 68, 80-82; Capt. Churchill house (house with the eagles), 81; doorways, 82; De Wolf-Colt house, 80, 81; De Wolf-Middleton house, 81, 82; Norris house, 81.

Brown, Albert F., book on early Connecticut houses, 57.

Browning the poet mentioned, 95, 98.

Burns, Robert, cottage of, 53.

Canterbury Keys, Wyoming, N. J., 139.

Capitol at Washington, 71, 134.

Carlyle house at Alexandria, Va., 71; adaptation of, 71.

Carlyle, Thomas, cited, 108.

Carrère and Hastings, extension designed by, 122.

Centennial Exposition, its influence, 118, 120, 125.

Charity, its relation to architecture, 38, 39; anatomy of, 107.

Charlecote Hall, 139.

Chambord, château of, 143; mentioned, 145.

Charm not deducible by mathematics, 61.

Chase house, Annapolis, mentioned, 63.

Chenonceau, château of, 143-144.

Chew house, Germantown, 69.

Chopin, étude by, cited, 67; quoted, 106.

Coles house, Farmington, Conn., 23.

Colonial houses in Switzerland, 147.

Colonial houses, modern, 154; scarcity of good ones, 169; ultra-fashionable, 130.

Colonial revival, 128-30.

Colonnade, N. Y. City, 104-6.

Congress at Berlin, reference, 123.

Connecticut, early houses in, 57, 59.

Country house for Mrs. H. at Morristown, 144.

Country Life, the English periodical, 51; illustration from, 52.

Cupolas (see chapter Reign of Terror, 108) correctly placed, 153.

Curious analogy between art and nature, 89.

Cypress as a building material, 147.

Delafield house on Long Island, 72-73.

Dickens, Charles, his criticisms, 89-91; quoted, 108.

Don Juan, quotations from, 49, 78.

Du Barry, Madam, mentioned, 79.

Durham, Conn., Miles Merwin house, 46-48.

Dutch influences in New York and New Jersey, 59.

D’Israeli, his use of flattery, 170.

Early Renaissance of England, book by Gotch, 140.

Eastlake School of Design, 119-20.

Eclectic style, its fallacy in architecture, 20.

Ecole des Beaux Arts, Paris, 121, 142; graduates of, 143.

Efflorescence of commercialism, 85.

Elmington, Gloucester Co., Va., 73.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, mentioned, 95.

English Renaissance under the Georges, 124, 140; a vast treasure house, 77; various other allusions, 22-27, 51-53, 61, 77, 96, 138-41, 168.

Fanciful houses (see Reign of Terror), 108.

Farmhouse, modern, 49, 50.

Farmington, Conn., Coles house, 23.

Field of art an enchanted garden, 149.

Financier architects, 164.

Financiers, their love of flowers, 160; their influence upon American Renaissance, 131.

Flat-iron Building, N. Y. City, 37.

Florence, Italy, mentioned, 28.

Fontainebleau, Château of, 135, 142, 145.

Ford Mansion, Morristown, N. J., 75.

Fouquet, minister of Louis XIV, mentioned, 44.

Fourth Street, N. Y. City, doorway, 99.

French Renaissance, 123-24, 135, 142-44.

French Revolution cited, 79, 108.

Gabriel, architect, mentioned, 144.

George, Henry, cited, 109.

Germantown, Pa., 70; Colonial houses in, 69, 70; Morris house, 69; Wyck, 60, 61, 69; Stenton-in-the-fields, 69; Wister house, 69.

Gerry, Mrs., engages Mr. Hunt to be her architect, 124.

Girondists and mountain, cited, 113.

Gloucester Co., Va., 73, 74.

Gotch’s Early Renaissance in England, 140.

Gothic architecture, in wood, 24; recommended by Ruskin, 95-97.

Grace Church, N. Y. City, 134; rectory, 96-97.

H. Mrs., her house at Morristown, N. J., 144.

Haddon Hall, 138.

Hackensack, N. J., old house in, 60.

Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 105.

Hampton Court, Wolsey palace, 141; South palace, 141.

Hancock house, Boston, mentioned, 68.

Hartford, Conn., mentioned, 83.

Harwood house, Annapolis, mentioned, 63.

Hawthorne, Nat’l, reference, 83.

Historical succession in architecture, 116.

Hone, Philip, diary of, 91-94.

Hoods, Dutch, 59, 60; Germantown, 59, 60.

House Beautiful, articles in, cited, 80, 82, 137, 139.

House with the eagles, Bristol, R. I., 81.

How to make a successful house, reference, 137.

Hunnewell Gardens, cited, 53.

Hunt, Richard M., architect, 120-24.

Invented architecture, 30-33, 114-16.

Irving, Washington, 105-7; Life and Letters, mentioned, 107.

Isham, Norman M., book on early Connecticut houses, 57.

Italian villas, cited, 110-11.

Italian palaces, 135.

Jackson, Andrew, 41, 48, 50.

Jacobean architecture, adaptation, 168; Renaissance, reference, 25, 41.

Jacobin, architecture, 41; see also Reign of Terror, 108.

Jones, Inigo, mentioned, 44, 136.

Jumel mansion, N. Y. City, 68.

Kidd, Capt., treasure, reference, 109.

Kingdor, Summit, N. J., adapted from the Swiss Gothic, 147-48.

Kipling, Rudyard, read for style, 150.

Kullak, the musician, anecdote concerning, 54; mentioned, 56.

Ladd house. Portsmouth, N. H., mentioned, 68.

Lambton Castle, 137-38.

Langdon, Gov., house, Portsmouth, N. H., mentioned, 68.

Le Nepveu, Pierre, architect, cited, 143.

Le Nôtre, landscape gardener, reference, 80.

Lescot, Pierre, architect, cited, 144.

Library of Congress, mentioned, 71.

Lines, their effect upon the mind, 116.

Litchfield, Conn., 75; Demming house, 75; Hoppin house, 75.

London Terrace, 104-5.

Looking Backward, reference, 100.

Louis XIV, 44, 135; J. H. Mansart’s influence upon, 164-65.

Louvre, Paris, 135, 142; caricatured, 146.

Love’s Labor’s Lost, quotation from, 67.

Lower Fifth Avenue, houses on, 104.

“Man cannot live by bread alone,” cited, 117.

Manhattan, congestion of, 31.

Mansart, François, mentioned, 146.

Mansart, Jules Hardouin, 135; described by Saint Simon, 165.

Marble house, Newport, criticised, 167.

Martin Chuzzlewit, mentioned, 46; criticisms in, 89, 91-92.

Marvel, Ik, quoted, 34.

McIntyre, Samuel, architect, 43.

McPhædris house, Portsmouth, N. H., 66, 67, 153.

Medici, Lorenzo de, court of, mentioned, 28.

Metal window frames, 139.

Michelangelo, architect, 44, 45, 122, 136.

Middletown, Conn., 68, 84; de Zeng house, 103-4; house on High Street, 97; Watkinson house, 23, 84, 85; Sumner house, 57; Mansfield house, 84.

Miss Polly Fairfax, quotation, 61.

Mitchell cottage, East Orange, N. J., 153.

Modern American dwelling, 61, 153.

Modern obtrusion in a Colonial house, 131.

Molière, anecdote concerning, 154-55.

Monticello, Va., 74.

Montpelier, Va., 74.

Morris house, Germantown, 69.

Morris house, Philadelphia, 70.

Morristown, N. J., 75; Ford mansion, 75; house at, 144.

Mouldings, Eastlake School, 119.

Mt. Vernon-on-the-Potomac, 71-73, 153.

New Art reference, 29, 78.

New Bedford, Mass., its most interesting landmark, 102.

New Haven, Conn., mentioned, 84.

Newly-invented architecture, 30-33, 114-16.

Newport, its congestion, 53; H. A. C. Taylor house, 130, 169; Edgar house, 169; marble house, 167; Ochre Court, 167.

New York City, absence of Colonial relics in, 68; Washington Square, North, 22, 104; Walton house, 68; Waterbury house, 104; Colonnade, 104-6; 23 Bond Street, 99-101; doorway on East Fourth Street, 99; congestion in, 31; injured by commercialism, 37; houses in lower Fifth Avenue, 104; Flat-iron Building, 37.

Niecks’ Life of Chopin, quoted, 106.

Ochre Court, Newport, mentioned, 167.

Open timbered work, 139.

Osmaston Manor, Derbyshire, 52.

Palladian windows, 130.

Palladio, architect, 26, 44.

Parc aux cerfs, 83.

Paris cabinet makers, 95.

Patina on Swiss châlets, 147.

Patti, Adelina, and the musical critics, 61.

Peacock Inn, Derbyshire, reference, 25.

Pecksniff, architect, character from Dickens, 166.

Pennsylvania, German influence in, 59.

Pepys, Samuel, diary of, 91.

Perrault, Claude, architect, mentioned, 144.

Philadelphia, Pa., Colonial houses in, 70; aristocratic section, 85, 86; backbuildings, 86-88; peculiarity of architecture in, 85-87; municipal buildings caricature of Louvre, 146; Morris house, 70; Roberts house, 103-4; restoration of an old house in, 86; Willstack house mentioned, 103; Dundas-Lippincott house, 103.

Pickering house, Salem, Mass., 25.

Poe, Edgar Allen, quoted, 32, 33; Poems, 106.

Poor, H. W., House at Tuxedo, N. Y., 52, 168.

Portland, Conn., quarries at, 84.

Portsmouth, N. H., 66-68, 70; McPhædris house, 66, 67, 153; Ladd house, 68; Gov. Langdon house, 68; Rockingham Hotel, 66.

Princessgate, Wyoming, N. J., 154.

Providence, R. I., 83; Mme. Brown mansion on Benefit Street, 35.

Psychological needs of domestic architecture, 61, 116.

Psychological preparation to understand architecture, 19.

Quartered oak, toughness of, 97.

Queen Anne architecture, 125-28.

Queen Anne and Romanesque composite style, 127.

Queen Anne house at Short Hills, N. J., 126.

Queen Anne house ultra-fashionable, 126.

Randall, T. Henry, architect, article by, referred to, 62; architect of Mr. Poor’s house, 168-69.

Renwick, James, architect, mentioned, 134.

Restoration of houses in Philadelphia, 86.

Reveries of a Bachelor, quoted, 34.

Rich young man in Bible, cited, 39.

Richardson, H. H., architect, 27-29, 120.

Richmond-Dow house, Warren, R. I., 97.

Robespierre, his love of flowers, 159.

Rockingham Hotel, Portsmouth, N. H., 66.

Rococo style, cited, 119.

Roland, Madam, quoted, 146.

Romanesque architecture, 28, 120.

Roofs, French Renaissance, 144; gambrel, 60; Mansart, 117.

Rosewell, Gloucester Co., Va., 73.

Ruskin, John, 25; advocates Gothic architecture, 95-98; mentioned, 135.

Sabine Hall, 74.

St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, cited, 77.

St. Peter’s Cathedral, Rome, 45; an adaptation, 141.

Saint-Simon, Memoirs of, quoted, 135, 165-66.

San Marco, Library of, 142.

Sansovino, architect, references, 26, 142.

Salem, Mass., 24, 68, 70, 82; Derby-Ward house, 55; Pickering house, 25; Capt. White house, 83.

Scammozzi, architect, reference, 26.

Scaramouch houses. See chapter, Reign of Terror, 108, 117.

Scarlet Letter morals, 55.

Schopfer, Jean, articles by, 147.

Schuyler, Montgomery, quoted, 122.

Searles cottage, Block Island, 152-54.

Sesame and Lilies, 98.

Sharon, Conn., 36; John Cotton Smith house, 36, 37.

Shingles, wide gauge, 59.

Shirley, Va., cited, 63, 74.

Skyscrapers, 37; recipe for, 30, 31.

Southgate, Eliza, Letters of, quoted, 72.

Staccato style, 122.

Stenton-in-the-fields, Germantown, not pretty, 69.

Stratford, Conn., old house in, 59.

Stunts, architectural, 44.

Sturgis, Russell, mentioned, 43.

Style, architectural, see Chapter XI, 149.

Style an architectural comedy, 155.

Sunswick, Delafield house, Long Island, 72, 73.

Swiss châlets, 25; travestied, 120; adaptation of, 146.

T squares and triangles unsympathetic, 61.

Tadema, Alma, mentioned, 32.

Tale of Two Cities, quoted, 108.

Talmage, Dr., his comment on Queen Anne architecture, 127.

Temperament, artist, 156-61.

Through the Looking-glass, quoted, 46.

Todsbury, Gloucester Co., Va., 73.

Tombs, royal, at Westminster, mentioned, 47.

Tribune Building, New York City, 123.

Trinity Church, Boston, 27, 28.

Trinity Church, New York City, cited, 134.

Tudor castles, 96, 138.

Tuxedo, N. Y., H. W. Poor house, 52, 168.

Twombly, H. McK., mentioned, 122.

Ulalume, quoted, 32, 33.

Upjohn, architect, reference, 134.

Vanderbilt, Cornelius, 124.

Vanderbilt, W. K., house of, 123, 135.

Vaux le Vicomte, mentioned, 44.

Versailles, mentioned, 80, 135.

Victorian-Gothic, 120-122.

Viollet-le-Duc, architect, reference, 143.

Voyage of Life, series of paintings, 93.

Walton house, N. Y. City, mentioned, 68.

Ward, Harry, and his house, 99-101.

Ware, Prof. W. R., his philosophy, 162.

Warren, Russell, 43, 80.

Washington, George, his taste in architecture, 73.

Washington, D. C., 90; Capitol at, 71, 134; Library of Congress, 71.

Washington Square, North, N. Y. City, 22, 104.

Westover, Va., mentioned, 63.

White, Fred’k B., architect, 126.

Whitemarsh, Gloucester Co., Va., 73.

Wiscasset, Maine, Gov. Smith house, 19.

Witch-Colonial exemplars, 54, 57.

Witch-house, modern, plan of, 58.

Witches, Salem, 83.

Wolfert’s Roost, Tarrytown, mentioned, 106.

Wormeley, Katharine F., her translation of Saint-Simon, 164.

Wren, Sir Christopher, 25, 26; mentioned, 27, 44, 136, 141.

Wyck, Germantown, Pa., 60, 61, 69.

Yankee, the, U. S. privateer, 81.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This house is known by three different names.

[2] On Plate XXXIII is presented a modern adaptation of the Carlyle house at Alexandria, which may convey to the reader some faint suggestion of the pleasantness of the original in the hey-day of its prosperity.

[3] It was some new kind of love Julia hoped to invent.

[4] A kind of looking-glass peculiar to Philadelphia and usually attached to a second-story window, whereby the occupants of a house may “keep tab” of not only whatever is occurring up and down street, but of whoever is bold enough, under the circumstances, to ring the front door bell.

[5] The panic of 1837 broke the boom for a while, but it was practically rehabilitated by the inauguration of Harrison in 1841.

[6] Within the last year death has removed the faithful mourner, and the house has been turned into a kind of sweat shop, consequently the photograph on Plate XLVIII cannot be duplicated. The inner doorway of the vestibule has been taken away bodily, no doubt to adorn some modern Colonial house, also the tapering posts of wrought iron, and the starting newel of the staircase. Mockery of an intense drama!

[7] Pay no attention to the modern Swiss châlets. They are infected with the architectural maladies we have in America.

[8] There is one other kind of architect I have failed to include who I believe is indigenous to America. I refer now to the man who can neither draw, design, write specifications nor superintend, and who has no business ability, but who belongs to the genus “angel” of a theatrical company, who pays the rent of an expensive suite of offices, and becomes a special partner, perhaps, but by no stretch of courtesy, I should say, should be truthfully called an architect.

[9] Versailles Historical Series--Hardy, Pratt & Co., Boston.