Hotel Bedrooms
For discomfort and unwholesomeness the average hotel bedroom is hard to beat. I have occupied, in a very smart hotel, a bedroom which was 18 feet long, 13 feet high, and had a varying width from 10 feet at the window end to 8 feet at the door end (the room was wedge-shaped, owing to its being at the turn of a building which had a fine circular front facing towards two thoroughfares). The top of the window was at least 3 feet from the ceiling. The window was huge and unmanageable, and access to it blocked by a big dressing-table carrying a large looking-glass, which, in company with a once white (but now dingy yellow) roller-blind (which would not stop up) and absurdly heavy and costly (and dusty) valance and curtains, succeeded in keeping out most of the light which might otherwise have succeeded in getting through the murky atmosphere of a manufacturing town. The cubic capacity of this room was considerable (2,080 feet), but the 160 feet of floor-space was so occupied by bed, dressing-table, writing-table, wardrobe, chest of drawers, sponge-bath, fender, portmanteau stand, besides pedestal, two chairs and armchair, bidet, coal-scuttle, and boot-jack, that after having extinguished the light, which was at the farthest point from the bed, it was no easy matter to thread one's way back.
The planning and fitting of a room to serve in the best way possible the purpose for which it is intended is a problem to which architects have paid as yet but little attention. The house-builder might very well take a few hints from the ship-builder. On board ship space is economised to the utmost, and it is a matter of interest and wonder to observe how many luxuries one can have on board a well-planned ship, mainly by reason of the cleverly-designed fittings which economise space; and it is, further, a matter of interest to observe how the principle of 'a place for everything and everything in its place' lends itself to cleanliness and wholesomeness. The besetting sin of modern hospital architects is the giving of an extravagant excess of space in places where it is not needed. Because one gives, let us say, 120 feet of floor-space to every patient, it does not follow that any sanitary object is gained by giving a single square inch more than is absolutely necessary for ward offices. On the contrary, ward offices should be kept as small as possible, so that the 'place for everything' doctrine must necessarily be followed. I have seen 'ward kitchens' for twenty patients, in which the only cooking done is the heating of a little milk or beef-tea over a gas-jet, which have been about three times as big as a P. & O. galley, in which a succession of banquets are daily prepared for one or two hundred persons. If ward offices be carefully planned, and be merely 'big enough,' with no excess of cubic capacity, not only will initial cost in construction be saved, but cleanliness will be facilitated and cost of maintenance and repair lessened.
So it is with hotel bedrooms. One lives in hopes of some day seeing a competition among hotels in making the rooms occupied by travellers as convenient and wholesome as possible. There can be no doubt that a 'single' bedroom 12 feet square and 9 feet high, containing 1,296 cubic feet, if properly planned, fitted, lighted, and ventilated, would be far more wholesome and convenient than the wedge-shaped apartment containing 2,080 cubic feet to which allusion has been made. Without entering into the whole question of bedroom fittings, one may say a few words as to that very necessary article of daily use, the looking-glass. The swing looking-glass, which continues to hold its own, and which, in spite of 'curses not loud but deep,' refuses to stop at any angle, surely ought to be abandoned now that looking-glass plate has become so inexpensive. Fig. [11] represents a bedroom window comprising a thoroughly illuminated long mirror, so that for toilet purposes the face and figure are easily inspected. The looking-glass is surrounded by window, and the window itself is easily accessible, and is opened and shut with ease. All bedroom windows in tourists' hotels ought to have a balcony, in order that dusty clothing may be shaken in the open air. In hotels all heavy draperies, hangings, and carpets should be tabooed, and every effort should be made to give an appearance of elegance and luxury with a minimum amount of dust-retaining decoration. Hotels are like hospitals in this respect, that guests know nothing of the previous occupants of their room, and it must often be that such ignorance is blissful. Convenience for the guests and facility in cleaning are the objects to be attained by designers and fitters of hotels.
Fig. 11.