CHIPPENDALE was followed by another great English upholsterer, whose works often do duty for his predecessor, but whose name is not current in men’s mouths. In 1791 Sheraton published his volume of designs, which included not merely chairs and tables, but “sophas, bureaux, cloth chests, and “china cases.” He thought no part of the house decoration unworthy of that facile pencil which traced the outlines to which we are now beginning to get accustomed. But his work, it must be noted, was not purely English. His weakness is for French ornamentation, and the simplicity, indeed the severity, of his predecessor is departed from. It is to his influence we must ascribe the taste for various light woods that then commenced for the English house-holder. Walnut, happily, does not seem to have been discovered, or, at least if it was, it was considerately rejected. But rosewood, ebony, zebrawood, “tortoiseshell mahogany,” and satinwood were all brought into requisition. Our ancestors had a certain independence about the way they treated their apartments. The problem was not to supply an oval table and two card tables, a comfortable armchair for the master of the house, a less attractive one for the lady, and then six or eight standard chairs to match. The upholsterers, or their customers, had opinions of their own, and had the courage of them. A beautiful piece of wood was made into a beautiful piece of furniture, and the result was considered in a sense as a work of art. In the galleries at Knole Park, or even in the small but select collection of furniture at South Kensington, it will be seen that a cabinet or a jardiniere might well lay claim to be due to what Chippendale called “the suggestions of his fancy.” The work was thought worthy of the workman, and the sister art was called in to enrich or express his idea. Angelica Kauffmann would paint the plaques or Hamilton the R.A., decorate the panels. In the old English drawing rooms, mixed with good native work, will be found good imported work. Thus the reign of William and Mary witnessed the introduction of Dutch marquetry, which had for our ancestors something like the charm which Japanese designs have for their descendants. Buhl also became a dominant fashion. This kind of work, like the English “Chippendale,” takes its name from its maker. It was very popular in Paris during the last years of Louis Quatorze, when André Charles Boule set up the factory for his new work. But the change in taste through which we are now passing is less due to the influence of a particular maker or the fashion led by a particular Court than to a widely-felt disgust at the low level which we have gradually attained. The recurrence to purer models seems to show that Mr. Carlyle’s science is possible for us. There is even fear that we should grow too “aesthetic” and adopt as a fashion what is to be commended, not because it is fashionable, but because it is fit.
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An Interesting Anecdote of Constable — In the memoir of the late Mr. Richard Redgrave, R. A., just issued by Cassell & Co., occur some amusing stories of artists, and as they are set down as entries in Mr. Redgrave’s diary, they may presumably be taken as being nearer the truth than hearsay stories usually are. Here is one: — On one occasion, when Constable was on the Council of the Royal Academy, a picture of his was passed before the judges without their being told the name of the painter. It was condemned by one and another of the judges, and the carpenter was just about to mark it with a cross when he read the name “John Constable.” The judges made apologies, had the picture brought back from the rejected heap, and placed with the work of the other Academicians. But when the judging was over, Constable took the picture under his arm, and, despite the remonstrances of his colleagues, marched off with it. “I can’t think,” said he, “of its being hung after it has been fairly turned out.” The work so condemned was “The Stream bordered with Willows,” now in the South Kensington Museum.
