The furniture collector

Most collectors of old English furniture find that the periods to which the objects of their search belong are within the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Earlier examples than those dating from the reign of James I. are as a rule unattainable, and furniture of a later date than the end of the reign of George III. is not worth attention. The following pages, therefore, confine them-selves to the consideration of the most easily recognizable styles evolved in Stuart and Georgian times.

An attempt has been made in the various chapters to visualize the interior of the English home as it changed in character from one period to another, by giving from contemporary sources the different pieces of furniture in common use. It is hoped that this treatment will assist the collector to create in his own mind a background against which his possessions will take their appropriate places.

Extended consideration has been given to certain aspects of collecting which appear to the writer of special interest to those of moderate means who cannot hope to compete for exceptional pieces of furniture at auction, yet may reasonably expect to assemble specimens even to-day which may in time become enhanced in value.

The illustrations have been taken principally from furniture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensington, and in the descriptive note accompanying each plate the room in which the original may be seen is given, for the information of those who may have the opportunity of making what the author feels to be a valuable reference.

Illustrations of furniture, however satisfactory, can never take the place of that examination of actual specimens which should become a habit of all collectors. At most they must simply be regarded as records of type to form an introduction to practical experience.

Collectors whose habit it is to look with suspicion on every dealer in old furniture with whom they may be tempted to do business would be better advised, on the whole, to transfer their misgivings from the tradesman to his wares. Antique dealers are no more dishonest than any other class, but their business is a peculiar one, and the public almost begs to be deceived. It is not satisfied with the ordinary article, the commonplace piece of furniture made for a definite purpose and for nothing else. It wants to show its cleverness in making a find. "Whatever is the use," apparently asks the well-informed collector, "of my having all this knowledge of historic art at my finger-ends, if I cannot show it by adding to my collection valuable old curios unrecognized by the thoughtless and ignorant?" This represents the attitude of mind of hundreds of collectors of old furniture. They seek and the dealer takes care they shall find. A little incident - one of many of similar kind - occurred in the experience of the writer which illustrates this point. A dealer in Yorkshire had a nice, plain mahogany wardrobe. He had bought it at a sale in his neighborhood. It dated from about the third quarter of the eighteenth century and was a well-made piece of furniture without applied decoration except the row of dentils under the cornice. This piece of furniture would not sell. Now the dealer had to get his living, and he adopted what he knew by experience would be the method most likely to result in business. He simply took the doors off and inlaid in the middle of each fine plain mahogany panel one of those shell ornaments used so much by the brothers Adam and Sheraton. The wardrobe was sold within a few days of this piece of vandalism, and the buyer was by no means a dupe. He knew all about style. He recognized the inlaid ornament as a bit of decoration frequently seen in furniture of the latter end of the eighteenth century. He talked quite learnedly about it, discussed it, called to mind something he had at home where a similar ornament occurred in each of the four comers, not in the middle as in this most interesting specimen. He even went so far as to doubt whether the inlay had not been put in at a "later date," wondered if after all it was not a "transitional" piece, then decided that it must be so, but finally bought it.

Now the experience the dealer had had with this piece of furniture was that no one ever took any notice of it at all before it had the inlay put in. He dare not call anyone's attention to it because in the minds of so many timid buyers the rule appears to be that if a quiet, inoffensive looking salesman points out some particular article as being worth buying it is proof that the dealer wants to get rid of it, and if so then it cannot be any good. This dealer said that he never
succeeded in selling an article if he introduced it first to the customer, unless indeed he was dealing with someone to whom he was very well known. Even then the chances of a sale were less than if the collector made the first advance. The psychology of the matter seems to be that the customer wanders into the dealer's shop to see what he can find, and if he can find something he may buy it. But he does not want to have anything sold him.

This makes the dealer stock articles which are likely to be remarked upon, things which - as he puts it - sell themselves.

Most dealers do not consciously set out to deceive people, any more than their customers seek to overreach them. It is a much more difficult thing to carry on a business by fraud and deception than to live by honest trade. It requires more executive skill in the first place, extraordinary effrontery, and a very profound knowledge of human nature. Now it is absurd to credit dealers in old furniture with possessing these qualities in a greater degree than other members of the community. Some do possess them, of course. On the other hand some collectors are not devoid of craft, by any means. It should also be remembered that many collectors are themselves amateur dealers.

A case came to the notice of the writer of a dealer who bought in France a carved oak wardrobe of the period of Louis XV, It was not an extraordinary piece of furniture, probably worth £15 to £20. But the fact that it was not extraordinary was against it. There it stood for years in the shop utterly unremarked. It was in beautiful condition. The wood had been regularly cleaned, no added polish had ever touched it, and a good color and " patina " was the result. The dealer offered it over and over again. He could induce no one seriously to consider it. And if he adopted the policy of silence then no one ever appeared to see it. So one day the bright idea occurred to him of making two wardrobes out of it. He took off the two big doors and made each the front of a separate hanging cupboard, rejecting the original interior and substituting "carcase work" of his own. Then he put one in the shop and kept the other out of sight. Both were quickly sold, one after the other, of course. Exactly the same thing happened as in the case of the inlaid piece already referred to. A man came in and glancing round remarked that he had never seen a late eighteenth-century French wardrobe like that before. It should be explained that in the original piece the carving on each door was unsymmetrical, but the two doors together made a symmetrical front. One was practically the reverse of the other. That is quite common in French furniture.

One would have thought that the very slightest acquaintance with the style would have shewn in an instant that something was wrong. The buyer, indeed, stumbled almost immediately on the fact, and said that it looked as if "some time or other" there had been a double wardrobe, that probably damage had occurred to one door and the owner had no alternative but to use the piece which was intact for making a fresh piece of furniture. He thought it was very interesting, had never known such a thing to have been done before, and after a most instructive chat with the dealer he became the purchaser.

The two wardrobes were sold for £15 each instead of the £20 which might possibly have been realized by the original piece. Old furniture in a shop must advertise itself in some way, and the dealer must find out the best means to make it do so.

Still another case was that of an old oak "refectory" table - so called because the name is picturesque and suggests a time previous to the dissolution of the monasteries and for no other reason whatever - which would not sell in the place where it was because it was too plain. The dealer took it out and introduced small perforated brackets in the angles between the upper parts of the legs and the top rails. The result in the eyes of the seller justified the proceeding. Someone "found" it.

The psychology of buying is full of the most extra- ordinary turns and twists. The writer bought from a gipsy fifteen years ago six country-made chairs of the Sheraton period. The price given was £5 for the six. They may be worth to-day about double. While the owner of the caravan was busy bringing out the chairs his wife quietly cautioned him not to shew "the one with the claw feet." So it was not brought out. But the remark had the desired effect up to a point.

No one could possibly resist the temptation to insist upon seeing "the one with the claw feet." It proved to be a poor and most clumsy copy of a bad design of the time of Chippendale. But the loud upbraiding of his wife when she saw how her husband, notwithstanding the caution, had shewn the precious chair, sounded most genuine. Hadn't she told him not to bring it out ? He knew quite well it wasn't for sale. Then why trouble the gentleman with it ? And a whole pantomime of mysterious nods, winks, and dark looks went on to induce the gipsy to put the wretched thing out of sight for fear it should be purchased under her very eyes. It is quite possible the woman believed it to be particularly good, and merely adopted this crafty but rather overrated diplomacy to stimulate desire for possession.

A well-known expert who was asked by a friend what course he would suggest to enable him to get a sound knowledge of old furniture replied briefly: "Buy some." That was not altogether sarcasm. After a cabinet or table is purchased and brought home it has then to stand not only daily scrutinizing from the owner, who likes to think he has got hold of something really good, but frequent examination from friends who may or may not know anything about old furniture. Whether they know much or little does not matter. Out of politeness they must look at the precious find and make remarks. And even fools have been known occasionally to say something very illuminating. I can see in my mind's eye now a set of chairs which once stood in a public museum where they were on loan and cataloged as "late Sheraton," A lady who was exceedingly bored at the Exhibition and knew nothing whatever about the subject remarked in an off-hand manner that they looked too small to be sat upon. She had unconsciously detected the fault which even experts had failed to see. Good old furniture never looks " skimpy." It never exhibits cheeseparing in the use of material. It does not look mean and small. Economy in the use of wood is for the most part a modern idea born of the factory system. When a man made an oak dresser in the seventeenth or eighteenth century his view was limited to the construction of that one piece of furniture. Of course there must have been a good deal of waste, and it is perfectly obvious to anyone that in many instances far more wood was used than the actual necessities of the case demanded. But a modern maker knows how to make two pieces of furniture out of material which in former times would have been regarded as no more than sufficient for one.

In factories, of course, economical manufacture is an important point, particularly where articles are turned out by the score instead of one or two at a time. The chairs alluded to had been made from Sheraton designs probably a few years prior to the 1851 exhibition. They were old enough to look time-worn, and as the pattern was all right they were regarded as genuinely of the eighteenth century. Sheraton furniture was always light and elegant. It was never thin and poor looking in proportion, though it seems sometimes almost too light in construction. But Sheraton was a great master of construction and succeeded in combining strength and grace better than any other designer of furniture.

A quaint sidelight upon the use of material is the very common explanation of a dealer who is questioned as to the use of deal inside drawers with solid mahogany fronts. "That is always a sign," he will say, " that the piece is old and that the mahogany has been specially selected, because the latter was rare and consequently very dear in the old days. They could not afford to put anything better inside the drawers when the fronts were of such exceptionally fine material as these." The same dealer will, however, point in triumph to the oak linings of another chest and remark : "They always did things well in those days. Never skimped a job. Always made it of good stuff throughout, either mahogany or more usually good oak," which as a matter of fact is true.