CHAPTER XIV.
Tampa Bay Hotel, One of the Modern Wonders of the World—Its Architecture, Furniture, Works of Art, Decorations, Tapestries, Paintings, Inlaid Table and Three Ebony and Gold Cabinets from the Tuileries, a Sofa and Two Chairs once Owned by Marie Antoinette—The Dream of De Soto Realized—A Palace of Art for the Delight and Joy of Those who are in Health, and an Elysium for the Sad and Sorrowful.
THE following account of the Tampa Bay Hotel, from the pen of W. C. Prime, is taken from the New York Journal of Commerce:
“The most charming book in all the world of literature is the collection of tales known to common fame as the Arabian Nights. Their charm consists in the total freedom from all restraints of verities, of either probabilities or possibilities. Events occur in dreamlike succession, and transformations take place with such delicious swiftness and ease that, if you read the story as you should, with forgetfulness of self, and without any of the folly of critical judgment, you are removed into another world than this—a world of refreshing liberty, wherein thought has no bounds and imagination flows in glorious revelry.
“That which the unknown Saracen story-teller created in words and fancies, this late nineteenth century seeks to create in reality, by the aid of wealth and steam and electricity. It does not succeed. But it comes so near to success that we may wonder and admire, and for a moment at a time we can forget that the result is artificial, not natural, and that it is a miracle of human invention which dazzles and astonishes our senses. All this by way of introduction to my letter....
“The scene changed suddenly. The train emerged into a blaze of electric light. By this blaze of light you could see, high in the air and stretching a thousand feet to right and left, bright domes and minarets, appearing and disappearing with all the swiftness of magic. It was bewildering. A few steps lead into the blinding light of the grand hall of the new hotel, a wilderness of all that is gorgeous in works of modern art. Rich furniture in gold and ebony, velvets, tapestries, grand vases of porcelain, massive figures in pottery, bronzes in groups, small and of life size, oil-paintings, works of masters, etchings, engravings, carvings, in short, countless examples of the most costly and superb art productions of the age, under a flood of light from a hundred electric bands; all this bursting on the gaze of the traveller at the end of his journey, it forms what may well be considered a modern artificial approximation to one of the transformations in dreams of the Saracens.
“It is not to be denied that this Tampa Bay Hotel is one of the modern wonders of the world. It is a product of the times. It illustrates the age, the demands of the people, what they enjoy, and what they are willing to pay for. I have no space to enter into a description of it. It would require a guide-book for a full description. ‘It is splendid, but it is incongruous,’ said a friend. ‘Why should it be incongruous?’ was my reply. ‘It is a hotel, not a private house.’ There is, nevertheless, a sufficiency of uniformity in the building and decorations, while the general principle of the furnishing is in harlequin style, which is most pleasing to the mass of visitors. Each work of art (of which there are hundreds and hundreds) is chosen by some one who has exercised taste of high order. The objects are good, each worthy of examination. The many large tapestries are costly, and are fine works. The paintings are of extraordinary rank. There is no more striking feature of the furniture than the table porcelains. These are exquisite works of ceramic art. The plates are of infinite variety. You may have your beef on a very charming bit of French porcelain, your salad on a reproduction of an old Vienna plate of semi-Saracenic pattern, your ice on one of the little plates designed by Moritz Fischer, and copied elsewhere, your coffee in a very perfect repetition of one of Wedgewood’s simple and lovely bordered cups. In fact, there is no end to the variety of these lovely porcelains. And just here I may add, that the cooking and the service are unexceptionable. The table is of the very best class, and equal to that of any hotel in the world. This, too, is miraculous, in a new house at this remote point.
“I may sum up a sketch of the hotel in a few words. There is nothing cheap, nothing inferior in it. Money has been freely expended in the purchase of the most costly objects, in all departments of art, for furniture and decorations; good taste has been exercised in the selection of these objects, and they are brought together in lavish profusion. The building is vast in extent. The grounds around it have been rescued from savage nature and reduced to order and beauty. The river is in front and Tampa lies across the river, which is narrowed to less than three hundred feet wide. Some hundred palmetto trees have been transplanted to form a grove near the river. Orange blossoms in neighboring orchards fill the air with their odor. Pineapples grow in luxuriance. To one who knew this spot as I knew it years ago, the gorgeous hotel and its surroundings may well seem the creation of a dream.”
Mr. Henry G. Parker, in the Boston Saturday Evening Gazette, writes:
“It was reserved for the sagacious and enterprising railroad and steamboat magnate, Mr. H. B. Plant, to reap the honor of erecting in tropical Florida the most attractive, most original, and most beautiful hotel in the South, if not in the whole country; and it is a hotel of which the whole world needs to be advised. It has one vase, which is the admiration and wonder of all who behold it, in the grand office rotunda, where ladies and gentlemen congregate at all hours of the day and evening. The entire estate, including land and building, cost two millions of dollars, and the furniture and fittings half a million more. No one who does not see it and dwell in it for at least a day, can form the faintest idea of the comprehensiveness of its purpose, the breadth of its plan, the ideal refinement of its comforts, the noble scale of its luxuries. Nothing offends the eye or the taste at any point, and while the first view of the hotel exteriorly is impressive, the effect produced by a first glance on entering its broad and inviting portals is one of astonishment and delight.
“The architecture of the Tampa Bay Hotel is Moorish, patterned after the palaces in Spain. The horseshoe and crescent are everywhere visible in its design, and minarets and domes tower above the great building, which is five stories high above the basement. The house is constructed of Atlanta red brick with rolled steel beams, and brick partitions, floors, and ceilings, and so is absolutely fire-proof.
“Numerous flights of stone steps lead up by easy ascent to the long verandas that extend along each side of the structure. These piazzas vary in width from sixteen to twenty-six feet. The length of the main building is 511 feet, but with the solarium and dining-room, which are connected with it, the house affords a continuous walk of twelve hundred feet, and the walk around it on the outside is exactly one mile. On the building there are thirteen minarets and domes, each surmounted with a gilt crescent, making in all a complete lunar year. The hotel contains, nearly five hundred rooms.
“The drawing-room, in perfect taste throughout, is a museum of beautiful things, embracing fine contrasts, rich harmonies, and pleasant innovations that render it indeed ‘a joy forever.’ Here there is an inlaid table which once graced the Tuileries, as did also three ebony and gold cabinets. On the table is a rare bit of sculpture, The Sleeping Beauty, in Carrara marble. There are a sofa and two chairs that were owned by Marie Antoinette. A set of four chairs may be seen that belonged to Louis Philippe. Then there are numerous French and Japanese cabinets, and above each is suspended a dazzling crystal mirror. All these and hundreds of other wonderful things were personally secured in Europe by Mr. Plant and his accomplished wife, while Boston, New York, and Grand Rapids have been drawn upon for what is best in their specialties in useful and ornamental furniture.
“The dining-room is octagon in shape, lighted from above, and is decorated with costly and elegant tapestries and Japanese screens. Its tables and nicely upholstered chairs are the very acme of comfort, and the whole apartment is tempting, aside from the unsurpassed excellence of the cuisine. The waiters are well groomed and well trained, having gained their knowledge and their courtesy in the leading hotels and clubs of New York. The chef is Joseph P. Campazzi, celebrated all over this country. He has fourteen first-class assistants, besides a dozen others, in his kitchen, which is the largest, most thoroughly equipped and most convenient to be found in the United States. He has arranged his departments for the care of meats, game, and fish on a plan of his own, which is worthy the attention and examination of every chef in the land. His ice-box contains between four and five tons, and he provides also for The Inn (also Mr. Plant’s property), at Tampa Port, and for the Havana steamers of the Plant Line. Meats are shipped in a refrigerator car from New York, while game goes from Baltimore, and largely from the sportsmen in and about Tampa. Fish is to be found in great variety and abundance in Southern Florida, at very low prices, and red snapper, pompano, sheepshead, and shad, deliciously cooked, are always to be found upon the table. Giovanni Carretta, who for fifteen years enjoyed a remarkable fame in New York at Delmonico’s and the Union Club, is the pastry-cook, and his deft hand has lost none of its wonted cunning. Rossi, from the Manhattan Club, is the baker.
“There are two hundred employees in the Tampa Bay Hotel, all of them carefully selected with a view to their special fitness for the places they fill. The chambers and suites are handsome and convenient proportionately with the public rooms. The carpets everywhere are harmonious in color, restful to the eye, and in the best of taste; more than thirty thousand yards of them have been laid.
“The music-room is a special feature. It is large, well ventilated, attractive in its circular form, simple in decoration, has a raised stage, and its acoustic properties are fine. Moreover, the band is superb. It consists of sixteen picked and skillful musicians, six of whom were taken from the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Their performances of classical music, as well as of the tuneful and delicious dance music, will stand the test of severe criticism, and not be found wanting. This important feature of entertainment is to be maintained at any cost, and it affords a great deal of pleasure to all who visit the Tampa Bay Hotel.
“Tampa is of interest historically, being the place where Ferdinand De Soto landed, May 25, 1539. From there he started on his search for the mines of wealth supposed to exist in the New World, which resulted in the discovery of the Mississippi River. There also Navarez, having obtained a grant of Florida from Charles V. of Spain, landed with a large force, April 16, 1528. Tampa is on the Gulf coast of Florida, 240 miles from Jacksonville. There are two trains daily, with Pullman cars, from Jacksonville and St. Augustine to Tampa, passing through Palatka, Sanford, and Winter Park, both having direct connection with all Eastern and Western cities, and one being a through train from New York. Its rapid growth during the past seven years, from eight hundred inhabitants to as many thousands, has been brought about by the Plant System having completed the South Florida Railroad to Tampa for the purpose of developing it commercially. The climate is perfect, and it is the only city in Florida with all the advantages of both inland and coast without the inconvenience of either; the only city that affords all the delights of a sportsman’s life to hunter and fisher, yachtsmen and horsemen, along with first-class business facilities in all directions. No malaria ever infects the delicious air, and the water is as soft as lavender. It is the place of places for invalids, and a lapse of two years will see Tampa the most important business city in its State. We are writing, not for the interest of the Tampa Bay Hotel alone, fine as it is, but to impart information and to convey suggestions that may be valuable to many of our readers. By no means fail to go as far as Tampa if you visit Florida in this tempestuous winter.”
AT TAMPA BAY.
“Was it not some old reportorial ruse played upon the credulity of the ancients that made the story of Aladdin’s wonderful lamp to live in literature and come down to us through the ages to make us listen with open ears, gape with open mouth, and wonder with open eyes at the wonders of it—and I wonder if that ancient reporter could prove in any way the foundation of his story of the lamp and the rubbing of it. Aye, there’s the rub—I think he couldn’t prove it. He might show the lamp, but no palace would rise up at his rubbing, however hard. But, to-day, the vision may be produced and the palace reared, and yet no lamp to rub. I would lead to a land where balmy breezes blow and sigh among the pines, and make the feathery palm trees wave as nodding plumes. Coming out from under these, on a night when the moon is bright, to the banks of a beautiful river with banks fringed with ferns, look across its waters where the moon and stars are reflected and so many, many lights that are on the river’s other shore, there the palace is, a brighter than Aladdin’s, and more beautiful. That’s Tampa Bay. That your coming under these pines and palms may be in a palace car, produces no disillusion,—there’s a palace at Tampa Bay.
“It might have been, in the long centuries agone, when his ship floated lazily and his barges glided noiselessly over the waters to the fern-fringed banks of Tampa’s river, that that ancient and original tourist, on the same mission bent as those of to-day, in search of the fount of perpetual youth, might have looked, disheartened, on the tangled forest and heard the moaning of the winds through the pines that brought no tidings of a land of life.
“I wonder if in his dreams that night, when his ship came in to Tampa Bay, this grand old Grandee was back in his castles in Spain, and sported in fantastic fandango with the dark-browed Señorita of fair Castile. Was his dream a prophetic vision that it seemed to be an Alhambra just there under the lee of his ship, or did some grander palace with Moorish minarets and silvered domes, glistening with more silvery brightness under the rays of a tropic moon, topped with golden crescents that could only come from the Orient to ornament its towers high above the pines, seem to be here in this far-off land—a dream passing all realization. And what a disappointing awakening awaited this ancient cavalier who sought the waters that would make him young again, for when the morning came, and the sun shone brightly, the knight must have trod the deck with restless impatience; the vision of last night carried him back to lordly Spain, the awakening brought him here again, and only a lofty pine stood in the place of the tallest tower, the swaying top was not a silver dome, and the mournful moaning in its boughs fell not as sweetly on his ear as the tinkling tingle of guitars and his dream-made mandolins. And I am sure, in haste he left a spot so disappointing, and perhaps to the tune of ‘Over the Hills and Far Away,’ marched to find the great Mississippi.
“I say, perhaps old De Soto dreamed all this when he landed here at Tampa, and if he did, behold ’t was prophecy—for the swaying pines have toppled and in their places have risen higher the golden crescents of the Orient, and the silvered domes and Moorish minarets that ornament a palace, and here at Tampa Bay the Spaniard’s dream has been realized two hundred years after.
“The tourist of to-day does not approach from the direction of his illustrious predecessor, but has the decided advantage, whether the coming be by night or day. If by day, the grandly magnificent picture comes suddenly upon the view as the train makes a turn and stops between the little town and the river. The foreground is the river, the middle distance, green sloping lawns dotted with flowers, around whose beds are winding walks that circle fountains and lead through groves of palms and oranges to the pines beyond, the same great pines that De Soto walked under in the struggle to get off his ‘sea legs.’ In the brightness of a semi-tropic sun the domes and crescents glisten intensely, and the massive pile grows to immensity. The broad galleries extend all along the front, the roof commencing above the third-story windows, slopes gently, so as not to obstruct the view, and at its outer edge drops in huge ornaments, in arched and hanging pendants ending in brackets at every column, and at the walls; the grateful shade inviting as on a summer’s day.
“The lawn, carefully kept and green as one of Kentucky’s own, has a miniature fort with mounted cannon and a flagstaff that floats the country’s colors by day, and sports a crescent of electric fire at night. The fountains, the flowers, and tropic fruits growing here as if ’twas their natural home, serve as ornaments. A dainty little boat-house at the bottom of the lawn is headquarters for all sorts of boats for rowing or sailing, as well as for naphtha and steam launches. The view from the cars comprises all this, as also from the bridge that spans the river from the hotel to the town. The intending guest need not leave the train here; after a short stop it will cross the river and come right to the galleries of the west entrance and stop under the shadow of the great hotel at Tampa Bay.
“If in the ecstacy of a first impression I likened this to a palace of Spain that Ponce de Leon might have dreamed of, I had no retraction to make when the second day of my visit came and I saw it with modern surroundings of railway and steamer—it is a palace still, and more of that than the hotel, and in its appointments more like a gentleman’s residence on a scale exaggerated to positive magnificence—totally unlike any other, and it is no disparagement to any to say it is the most unique in the world—I was about to say of its kind—it has no kind; there is none other in similarity with it, and taken all in all is the finest in the world.
“I say this not without thought of what it means—the Ponce de Leon at St. Augustine may have cost more dollars to build, decorate, and furnish, and the name and fame of the Ponce de Leon has gone to the four quarters, and ’tis not intended to compare invidiously. Here at Tampa Bay, the surroundings take one back through the centuries even before De Soto came, and this may have been the very spot where he landed.
“The horseshoe arches of the Moorish curve are everywhere, from the grand galleries to the rotunda doors, in the salon entrances and to the grand banquet hall, for it is nothing less, and every minaret is crescent crested, and passing under them leads to some old picture, antique, or cabinet that ornamented some palace hall before the land on which this one stands had been discovered,—and herein is the argument that this is the only one in the world. The others boast of their ‘especially made’ appointments, while these were made before the land was discovered.
“The rotunda is a grand assembly hall with its polished floors, rich carpets and hangings, antique vases and bric-a-brac, divans and luxurious lounges, as little like a hotel office as the ‘east room’ of the White House is like a railway station. The apartment is seventy-eight feet square and is thirty feet from the floor to the ceiling. The massive doors are of Spanish mahogany, highly polished, encasing heavy plates of bevelled glass, the frames are carved in designs of great beauty. Thirteen marble columns support a balcony that looks over from the second floor, around which is a carved rail, also in Spanish mahogany.
“The Moorish and Spanish styles which prevail in the architectural work do not always obtain in the decorations and furnishings—the divans in the rotunda were once in the Tuileries salons, and there is an original portrait in oil of Louis XIV. of France, also a clock of the same period. The paintings are varied in design, as they are in age and history, and every one, every antique and cabinet, has its history. On one wall is a beautiful canvas, the Return from the Masquerade, on another, Wine, Woman, and Song, these suggest the gay side of life, while some of the old faded examples of the school of long ago carry one back to the old masters. Two dwarfs in bronze that suggest the Black Forest legends guard the entrance to the hall of the grand salon, and near them are two Japanese vases, six feet high, which were exhibited at the Vienna exposition.
“Mirrors in antique frames rich in gilded carvings are on the walls, massive doors in bevelled glass lead to parlors, halls, libraries, and writing rooms, electric lights are imbedded in the ceilings and walls, and hang down in chandeliers. This is the rotunda. The business office occupies the smallest corner, as if it was of the smallest importance in a hall so replete with ornament and so devoted to comfort and luxury. The telegraph and ticket offices are also in the rotunda, and everything that pertains to the more prosaic business ideas—but they do not intrude upon the dreamy existence that obtains from the antique surroundings.
“The grand parlor is magnificent. Every nook and corner has some dainty bit to show a woman’s hand has been here, and in all the grand apartment shows what might have been done by a princess in her own house. It was a woman’s design that this divan should have growing flowers from its centre, and between the seat-arms, that roses and calla-lilies should mingle their perfume where beauty holds sway. Her idea that this cabinet, three hundred years old, should be brought from some castle in Seville or Salamanca to ornament this salon. It is an exquisite piece with inlaid woods, ebony, pearl, and ivory, with quaint little paintings under marvellously clear glass in the carved panels. The bronzes, gildings, and inlaid woods of the cabinets contrast with the white and gold of the surrounding decorations in pleasing effect. The white and gold of the upholstery and the hangings have their beauty enhanced by the shaded electric lights in ground glass, softly tinted, that are set in the arched dome above; the light falls on these cabinets, tables inlaid in a hundred woods and pearl and ivory, bric-a-brac and candelabra from every land. Paintings not from this shop or that, but from the old masters to salon celebrities of modern times. One is a portrait of Marguerite de Valois and another of the Duc de Savoy. On the mantels and cabinets are some beautiful, exquisitely chased ewers and drinking cups in silver, and busts of Elizabeth of England and Mary, Queen of Scots, in very rare silver bronze.
“There is marble statuary in exquisite designs from the chisels of the best sculptors—some Sedan chairs with the eagle of France in their decorations.
“The drawing-room is a museum of beautiful things, embracing fine contrasts, rich harmonies, and pleasant innovations that render it indeed ‘a joy forever.’ Here, there is an inlaid table which once graced the Tuileries, as did also three ebony and gold cabinets. On the table is a rare bit of sculpture, ‘The Sleeping Beauty,’ in Carrara marble. There, are a sofa and two chairs that were owned by Marie Antoinette. A set of four chairs may be seen that belonged to Louis Philippe. Then there are numerous French and Japanese cabinets, and above each is suspended a dazzling crystal mirror.
“There are eight cabinets of antique pattern that have been brought from this or that province of old Spain, gathered in their travels by Mr. and Mrs. Plant, and not, as I have said, ordered from this factory or that, in the ordinary way of the modern hostelrie.
“The carpet—scarlet, with its black lions rampant, made in France—is a replica of one of Louis XIV., and covers the entire floor of this splendid salon, in which are chairs of gold and silk and plush of the same era—as there are also tapestries of incalculable values and richness that have hung in palaces before they came to this one. The writing and reading rooms just off the rotunda are furnished in the same unique manner—one which might be called ‘the Louis XIV. room’ has all its decorations and appointments of the era of that monarch; these are replicas, or in some cases originals.
“In the grand chambers the style is not less regal; in magnificence these surpass anything I have ever seen; no two of them are alike. They range in size from the grand suite of complete living apartments with parlors and libraries, to the chamber for two, with silken hangings of gros-grain watered silk, in white and delicate rose color; a canopied dressing-case, as dainty as the bride who may stand before it to attire her pretty self for the grand halls outside her door. The guest rooms on the floors above have every convenience known to modern inventive genius, including telephone connection with the office and through a ‘central’ to every other room in the house. A grand hall-way extends from south to north seven hundred feet, passing through the rotunda. Just south of the rotunda is the grand staircase, with its life-size bronzes, holding groups of electric lights, and near by are the elevators to the upper floors. The north hall passes from the rotunda by the grand parlors to the gracefully rounding curve of the solarium till it ends, where shall I say it ends?—in modern parlance at the dining-hall, but what might be the banquet-room of a Moorish king, with its lofty dome and arches that rest on fluted pillars.
“There is no more striking feature than the table porcelain. These are exquisite works of ceramic art. The plates are of infinite variety. You may have your beef on a very charming bit of French porcelain, your salad on a reproduction of an old Vienna plate of semi-Saracenic pattern, your ice on one of the little plates designed by Moritz Fischer and copied elsewhere, your coffee in a very perfect repetition of one of Wedgewood’s simple and lovely bordered cups. In fact, there is no end to the variety of these lovely porcelains. And just here I may add that the cooking and the service are unexceptional. The table is of the very best class and equal to that of any hotel in the world.
“The room may not be faithfully described in its frescoes and its lights and pictures, any more than I could satiate your appetite by copying the menu here—it can’t be done.
“Just at the end of this hall and very near the entrance to the dining-room is a grand orchestrion, which, with interchangeable rollers, plays the latest music, from the popular airs of the day to the classic productions of the great composers.
“Just off the rotunda is the music-room with its waxed floor for terpsichorean uses. There is a perfect stage suitable for concert, lecture, or tableau, there are foot-lights, and overhead, the electric fire gleams in a star and crescent group. The room is circular in form with broad galleries extending around it, so the company may sit in the open air and listen to the music or look in upon the dancers. These broad galleries extend on the west and east side, forming a grand promenade for the gay company such a place attracts.
“The interior scenes under the brilliant glow of the lights is entertaining, but I remember in more dreamy way a stroll by moonlight, down by the river under the palmettos. The moon shone bright and made a wide silver ribbon far up the broad river and across it, and here came to me the idea of Ponce de Leon’s dream.
“The arched and towered façade, the silvered dome, again silvered by the moon’s rays, lifted up more brightly against the star-lit sky, the crescented minarets, the electric-fired crescent on the color-staff, the lights from a hundred windows, the soft patter of the water in the fountains falling on the lily-pads, the perfume of the flowers, the splash of an oar and the half murmur of a love song from him who splashed the oar. Think you this is not an Alhambric picture? Then you have not read of the Alhambra nor seen Tampa Bay.”
