Treated in this way, the ordinary tiresome little hall of a London house is metamorphosed, at once, and, as the wooden framework can be so arranged that it can be screwed into the wall and so be made removable at will, I am quite sure this notion of mine will ‘catch on,’ as the Yankees say, more especially as Messrs. Wallace & Co., of Curtain Road, E.C., are willing to erect it ready painted and varnished at about 1l. a foot; that is to say, if the
passage were six feet wide the arches would cost about 6l., if twelve 12l., and so on. The arches could be enamelled to match the hall decorations, and the curtains could be of some heavy material like the ‘Elvira’ tapestry, or the beautiful jute velvet or Bokhara plush, which is undoubtedly the material for draping, while even the humbler serge is not to be despised; but in this case the curtain in the stair arch should be made double and very full, a great deal of the appearance of this ‘notion’ depending on full graceful curtains and proper draperies.
It would even be possible in a hall arranged like this to have one of the hideous hat and coat rails which die so hard; but even here I again repeat my warning against these monstrosities; they can never look like anything save Bluebeard’s wives hanging up against the wall, and are always a temptation to the gentle burglar or the common area sneak who delights to make off with coats and hats even if he can find nothing else; but if the master of the house declines to allow himself to be educated up to keeping his garments out of sight, he may be humoured by allowing him a place behind the hall curtain, which should be then properly draped in such a manner that the coats and hats would be completely hidden; a china or brass receptacle for umbrellas could be put on the other side of the convenient curtain also, and so all these most undecorative items will be put out of sight, thus causing the arches to be as useful as they are undoubtedly ornamental.
In many houses the staircase goes up at the side and does not face the front door, and here, too, the arches come in with great effect. I mean in those houses where there is a straight passage from the front door to a room opposite which faces the door and so ends the house; in the passage there are usually two doors, one on either side, belonging to the dining and morning rooms, the end room being often enough a small back room, or, as was the case in our house at Shortlands, even the drawing-room itself; there the passage opens out on the right hand and discloses the staircase close by the door and a passage leading to the lavatory; here the arches conceal the staircase at once and also the latter arrangement, and make a decoration out of what is always to me a great eyesore. In one case where the arches have been erected the passage led to the servants’ pantry, the door of which always stood invitingly open, disclosing sink and washings-up generally to the eyes of the critical caller; the curtain conceals all that now splendidly, and the whole arrangement gives an idea of space and ‘veiled possibilities’ which is really marvellous.
When we came to our present abode the hall here struck me with dismay, and it was some time before I could understand in the least what could be done with it; it was exactly like a telescope, with a hideous window at one end, opening out on to several dead trees, and what looked like the family washing, with doors appearing just where such doors should be concealed, and, of course, it had beautiful marble papers and graining and a brand-new dado of a dark and hideous design in varnished paper too; the ‘decorations,’ however, I did not consider; but I racked my brains about the long, narrow, awful passage called by courtesy ‘the hall,’ and at last I had an inspiration. I ran a wooden partition across, about ten feet from the end of the place, and behind that put in a hot and cold water arrangement, and made it into a regular cloak-room; opening out another door into that, which previously opened out into a tiny passage leading into the fourth sitting-room, which would have been absolutely unusable had not this been done; and then, by the aid of bent laths and a little plaster, two arches were made in the passage, draped, one to the right, the other to the left, with a ‘khelim,’ looped with cords and tassels; and so I obtained what old Astley used to call a ‘wister’—i.e. a vista—and made a really decorated spot out of a most commonplace passage. Of course all the coats and hats are in the cloak-room, and there is nothing in the hall itself save the buffet illustrated on next page, which is in old oak, and which always looks nice, and forms a place where the cards of visitors can be placed, or the letters from the post, or other trifles; a couple of chairs for emergencies, the gong, and one of Mr. Pither’s beautiful red pots on a bamboo stand holding one of the long-suffering Aspidistras, which will live in draughts, and successfully bear uncomplainingly what would certainly kill at once any other plant, completing the furniture of this so-called hall.
My readers will be amused to hear that since I wrote ‘From Kitchen to Garret’ I have learned a very great