Victorian Homes: Public Spaces

Part of my second mystery, Marry in Haste, will take place in a large Victorian home in 1893. I lived in such a house when I first moved to Monmouth, Illinois in the 1960s. In my last post I discussed the history of the W.W. McCullough house, and now I'm continuing that thread with a post about two of the rooms in the house: the front hallway and the front public parlor. Both were meant to impress because the worth of a woman and the wealth of a man back then were measured by the state of their home. After extensively researching the houses and furnishings of that time, I can imagine what the McCullough house might have looked like in 1893.

W.W. McCullough's house at 402 W. Broadway would have been

impressive. It contained three floors and a full basement with a staircase in the front going up to the bedrooms and a ballroom, and stairs in the back for the servants. [Besides the front entrance, this photo shows an entrance on the west side of the house that went into a library/office. The entrance was gone when I lived there in the 1960s.]

At the main entrance, visitors, facing north, walked up the six porch steps to a large, wooden front door with a round, brass bell knob. They first brushed the dirt and dust from their shoes since the streets and sidewalks were not yet bricked this far west of the Square. Then they pulled on the knob to ring an inside bell, summoning a servant. According to the city directories of that time, servants were of various ethnicities, some of their last names being Blusma, Martin, McCleary, Quinlan, and Wennerstrom.

The front hallway--designed to impress--had a high ceiling, which afforded the opportunity to use fashionable, leaded windows high on the west wall and a hanging light fixture. The visitor faced a wide staircase whose carpeting continued the same dark, richly colored Brussels carpet on the floor of the hallway. Walnut railings and woodwork with ornamental carvings decorated the staircase. At the first landing, a large vase sat in the corner with tall ferns. A family member reached the landing, turned right, and followed another set of stairs to the second floor. The walls of this front hallway were painted a light color with wooden wainscoting and a chair rail dividing the tall walls into thirds.

In the hallway were three critical items: a hall tree, a chair, and a card receiver. The hall tree had curved arms to hold canes, umbrellas, and walking sticks. Also, a space for hats and coats surrounded a mirror on the hall tree where a caller could check her appearance before meeting the family. A chair was placed nearby so a visiting servant might sit and wait for an answer to a message he'd delivered. Sometimes the chair was actually part of the hall tree.

The card receiver was often silver-plated and sat on a small stand.

From 1870-1910, calling and card leaving rituals were crucial for women "of society." Ladies would "call" in the afternoon. If the owner was "at home," the visitor left two of her husband's cards on the receiver but kept her own. If the lady of the house was "not at home," the visitor left all three cards. The response might be an actual visit from the lady of the house or a written note delivered by a servant. 

A set of beautifully carved pocket doors opened to the visitor's right and led into a front (or public) parlor. In the late 1960s, when I lived in this house, the downstairs was a massive room that went from the front to the back of the house with no barriers. But in the late 1800s, the downstairs contained a wall across the middle of the living room, separating a public parlor and a private, or family, parlor. Let's consider what the front parlor might have looked like.

A Victorian parlor in Galena, Il.

First, it was designed to make a strong impression of wealth, health, moral values, and happiness, and it was cleaned daily. It had a chandelier--probably gas-lit by the late 1800s. Gas lighting was in use during this decade and the wall sconces were still apparent when I lived in the house in the 1960s. Other lighting came from south and east windows that were draped in large-patterned lace curtains. The walls would have been painted in light tints--cream, pearl, olive, or gray--or might have been wallpapered in a delicate scroll or vine pattern. On the floor was a combination of Brussels carpet with colored rush matting around the edges of the room.

A table generally graced the center of a Victorian parlor and on it was a leather-bound, hefty, family Bible, along with other treasures. A corner etagere displayed artifacts the family had collected: shells, figurines, and dried flowers. As for the furniture, the front parlor held gentlemen's chairs (high backs with arms) and side chairs. Ladies' chairs had no arms and, thus, no back support. This allowed women to position petticoats and skirts and encouraged the female posture requirements of that day. Gender defined by furniture! Often the chair backs would be covered with

washable doilies and antimacassars to keep them free of hair pomade. They placed the furniture symmetrically against the walls with small and large works of art hung just above them. This helped balance the high ceilings. Mirrors, portraits, and family photographs decorated the room and also free-standing easels or pedestals held paintings and prints. The chairs were made of mahogany and the tables topped with marble.

The east wall of 402 was rounded outward about halfway to the dining area on the north end of the house. This was probably the point at which a wall divided the front and back parlors in 1893. 

My next post will imagine the rest of the main floor in 1893: the back parlor, dining room, kitchen, and library.

The Manderley of My Dreams: This Writer's Research

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again...secretive and silent as it had always been, the gray stone shining in the moonlight of my dream, the mullioned windows reflecting the green lawns and terrace. Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, nor the site itself, a jewel..."

These opening words by the second Mrs. de Winter in Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca are some of the most famous in literary and cinematic history. I thought of them as I did novel research over these past weeks.

My second mystery, Marry in Haste [working title], needs a Victorian house for part of its setting. Did that come from my subconscious memories of a house I lived in, or did it appear out of plot necessity? As usual, it is a question of the chicken or the egg.

This huge Victorian house was my first 'home" when I moved to the small town of Monmouth, Illinois in 1968. My husband and I lived on the entire first floor for the next three and a half years, and the upper two floors contained five apartments. What fascinated me was the idea that this huge mansion was a one-family home during the late 1800s and well into the 20th century. Alas, the house was razed in 1990, and only lives on in my imagination and this photo. I heard it variously called "the McCullough house" and "the Allen house." [Even small town memory today calls houses in Monmouth by their earlier occupants.]

Regardless of whose house it used to be, I decided to delve into its history, a past highly entwined with that of the town. I have been digging away at its "mysterious long ago" at the Warren County Genealogical Society and the Warren County Courthouse, and interviewing Jeff Rankin (local historian), Dale Unverferth (another past occupant of the house), and Marcum Spears (attorney.) While my fascination might seem like a detour in my book research, it isn't. The folks who lived in this house have provided me with many ideas about the mysterious, imagined characters who will occupy my novel's fictitious house.

Two houses sat on the lot at what began as 400 and became 402 West Broadway. The Victorian was preceded by a smaller house and that's where I began my search.

The earliest mention of a lot at the corner of West Broadway and Pine Street (currently North "C" Street), is 1863. Once the land was organized into subdivisions, an attorney and local businessman sold Lot 5 to Amanda Jerome, a widow, in 1865. Either they or she built a house on that corner since it is visible on the 1869 town map. But it is not the Victorian house of my dreams. Across the street, on the east side of North "C" Street was a Weir factory, built in 1863. Fortunately for Mrs. Jerome, it moved to South 4th Street in 1865. The house at 400 West Broadway was a boarding house, not at all unusual for a woman back then.

Alas, Mrs. Jerome did not stay there long. She sold

The Monmouth Square, late 1800s

the early house to a Miss Sarah McBroom in 1886. Sarah had two sisters--Jennie (a teacher, I'm happy to say), and Mattie, who moved with her from a boarding house "between North Boston and Clinton." 

This is where things begin to get murky (enter confusing music.)

Someone built the huge Victorian mansion during this time period and now I must do some guessing. In 1893, Sarah sold the house and lot to Charles L. Barnes who was a building contractor living a block east at 308 W. Broadway. It appears that he financed the deal through an attorney named Almon Kidder. However, this is speculation on my part, based on the block and lot descriptions. Whether Barnes built the Victorian house or simply razed the McBroom house, I don't know. However, now W.W. McCullough enters the picture, one of two important men who would live in this house.

W.W. McCullough owned a lumber yard and he most likely supplied the boards for "402" West Broadway. He was living in "my" huge house with his family in 1896, but never actually owned the mortgage, according to the property description. The house is called "the McCullough House" in an 1899 city publication. This means my house was probably built between 1893 and 1899. McCullough and his family lived there until June 19, 1902. 

W. W. McCullough was a wheeler and dealer who had his hands in lumber, coal, implements, and the interurban railway. He resigned as secretary of Weir Pottery in 1902 (wisely holding on to his shares), to devote his time and money to the electrical lines and power station that would provide an interurban cable car/train between Monmouth and Galesburg (12 miles to the east) and eventually Monmouth to Rock Island (44 miles to the north.) 

An ad for John C. Allen's dry good store from the 1905 Monmouth College Ravelings yearbook.

John C. Allen, the second amazing house occupant and actual owner of the house, came to town in 1896 from Nebraska where he had been a merchant and

from A History of Warren County

Nebraska's Secretary of State. By 1905, he owned a huge dry goods store at 55 S. Side of Public Square and also at 105 and 107. It had an entrance on both the Square and on South 1st Street so it occupied almost a block. 

He also became president of the Board of Education in 1917, and president of the People's Bank. That same year my house acquired something new: a phone

The Monmouth Square early 1900s

number--4407.  Allen ran for Congress and served two terms in the House of Representatives in Washington, DC. All the while he and his family were living in my house. Imagine the social gatherings they must have had, especially with a ballroom on the third floor. He or his widow, Eudora, owned the house until 1944 when she deeded it to her son (or he inherited it.)

In 1948, Mr. and Mrs. Mell Moody bought the house. When they died in a car crash, their three daughters came into possession of the house in 1967. They sold it to Bruce Langford of Roseville in 1970, and he was our landloard during the last two years we lived in the house.

When the house was subdivided into apartments is a good question. The city directories show only Widow Allen living there when her son came into possession of it. My guess is that it was subdivided after that by either the Allen son as an investment, or by the Moodys.

And so this brings us to the end of the recoverable history of the painted lady at 402 West Broadway. Like Mrs. de Winter and her musings about Manderley, I often think about this house and its splendor back in the late 1800s, wondering what it would have been like to live in the entire home. In my next post I'll describe the house's interior as I remember it. Then it is a short jump to imagining the fictitious people who will inhabit it in Marry in Haste. 

Murder as a Fine Art

     Murder as a Fine Art, by David Morrell, is part historical novel, part mystery, part thriller, and wholly enjoyable. It contains real people--essayist Thomas de Quincey--and fictional counterparts, like his ahead-of-her-time daughter, Emily de Quincey. The atmosphere of fog-shrouded Victorian London in 1854 is researched down to the last weapon and sewer detail, and we are steeped in the atmosphere of that time with tidbits like the 37 pounds of clothing women wore with their corsets and pantaloons. But, most importantly, Morrell has based his plot on a real set of ghastly East End murders called the Ratcliffe Highway murders of 1811. If you look on the internet you can even hear a folk song about those murders.

   

 It is 1854 in the East End of Victorian London and a series of murders has occurred that exactly duplicates the Ratcliffe Highway murders forty-three years earlier. Unfortunately for Thomas de Quincey, his writings described those murders down to the smallest detail and now someone is using them as a blueprint for murder. De Quincey wrote the memoir Confessions of an English Opium-Eater which was so scandalous that everyone read it. Now he becomes the major suspect in these 1854 murders.

     

     The killer seems to be using de Quincey's essay, On Murder Considered as One of the Fine Arts, as a manual for the killings. (De Quincey's essays influenced such classic mystery writers as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Wilkie Collins, and Edgar Allan Poe.) This sets up a superb plot involving two intrepid Scotland Yard detectives, de Quincey, and his daughter, Emily. They struggle to prove his innocence and find the real killer. Time is of the essence because the vicious murderer is set to strike again.

   

David Morrell is known for his Rambo novels and his thrillers, but he has taken a totally new turn in writing historical fiction. However, his research is meticulous and the reader feels like she is in the streets of London dashing through the fog; watching the police department of that time; seeing the work of fledgling detectives; speaking to the prostitutes who know the streets; learning about the opium trade, whalebone hoops, and corsets; visiting prisons with horrible living conditions; and seeing how the lower classes live. All of this is told in dramatic style and is never pedantic.

     The point of view is actually one that is prized by Victorian novelists: an omniscient narrator who can give us background on the details of the plot. And Morrell does this in a masterful fashion. Obviously, this was a deliberate choice on his part to echo the books of that time. It reads like spun silk.

   

     I have always liked novels with "spunky" heroines who figure out how to solve problems head on. Murder as a Fine Art has one of the best in the form of Emily de Quincey. She took off her corset, wears bloomers so she can keep up during the chases, and does not act at all in appropriate Victorian female style. While others raise their eyebrows at this behavior, her father supports her unflinchingly. She is ahead of her time. She acts in defense of her father and literally saves the day on many occasions because she uses her wit, feminine wiles, and intuitive empathy to figure out what has to be done. She is a wonderful creation.

   In short, this is an entertaining read, a page turner,

and a book you won't be able to put down.

     

The Bookman's Tale is for Book Lovers

I picked up The Bookman's Tale by Charlie Lovett at the library and had no idea it would be one of the best books I've read in a long time. It reminded me of People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks. Her novel is about a book that was saved through many centuries by people of various religions and cultures who loved beautiful books. The Bookman's Tale is a love story about books as valuable in themselves: their beauty, history, bindings, and covers. It is a novel of suspense and intrigue that traces both a literary mystery and a personal mystery down the centuries. I could not put it down!

Peter Byerly, a young antiquarian book dealer, leaves

North Carolina in 1995 for a cottage in Kingham, England, hoping to escape the grief of being suddenly widowed. He finds a book about Shakespearean forgeries in a small bookstore in Hay-on-Wye, and a painting falls from the pages. It is a Victorian watercolor of his recently deceased wife. How could this be? The painting appears to be from the late 1800s and she just died--young--in 1995. He searches for the answer and ends up in the literary hunt of a lifetime.

The novel moves back and forth seamlessly between three time periods with smooth plot connections. Lovett is an expert when it comes to structure and transitions.

In 1995 England, Peter is tracking down the Victorian

painting. In doing so, he stumbles onto yet another mystery about the identity of the writer of Shakespeare's plays. [Yes, much debate has gone on over the centuries about that.] Peter finds a copy of Pandosto written by Robert Greene in the 1500s with notes in the margins by none other than the Bard himself. Shakespeare based his play, A Winter's Tale, on Greene's romance. If this copy of Greene's work is authentic, Peter may have stumbled onto one of the greatest finds in literature: a connection proving that Shakespeare did, indeed, write the plays attributed to him. He becomes obsessed with proving the authenticity of the book.

In 1983, Peter and Amanda--his future wife--meet at a college in North Carolina. Peter is socially introverted, totally unsure of himself, but definite about his love of books. He works in the Special Collections area of the college library and learns how to mend sadly broken books. He loves every aspect of their history. The learning curve ensures that he will understand the worth of an antiquarian book that connects to Shakespeare. In these 1983 passages, Lovett details Peter and Amanda's shy and unfolding love story and courtship. After her death, Amanda appears to Peter in brief moments, but the paranormal aspect of the plot is minor.

The third set of passages is from Southwark, London, in 1592. In these pages we see the robust drinking lives of Christopher Marlowe, Thomas Nashe, Robert

Greene, and Shakespeare himself. Peter follows these clues through an unscrupulous, fictional 1500's bookseller, Bartholomew Harbottle, who is a link in the mystery of Pandosto and Shakespeare.

Before all is done, Peter chases the Pandosto manuscript and the painting through London, the countryside, tombs, and dark passages, trying to evade a present day murderer who is also searching for Pandosto. On his quest, Peter uncovers some truths about his own early life and also that of his wife.

Charlie Lovett

The characters are vivid, the structure of the plot is amazing, and the focus never leaves the hunt. Lovett's pacing is spot on and I had a tough time putting this book down. I found the ending a bit contrived, but the story was so exciting I could forgive Mr. Lovett for that.

        If you are a book lover, a Shakespeare enthusiast, a reader, a book collector, or a mender of books, you will love The Bookman's Tale.

An English Teacher's Review of The Great Gatsby (2013)

 

   Over the weekend I saw the new Baz Luhrmann 3-D interpretation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Having taught that novel for twenty+ years, I know most of its lines by heart. Did I mention it's one of my favorites? I've also viewed the '74 film starring Robert Redford probably forty times in my classroom. Make no mistake--I love Robert Redford. That '74 film, however, is ponderous and, at times, poorly directed, but it stuck with the book and its 1920's music is haunting..."What'll I do when you are far away and I am blue---what'll I do?" Love that music. So it was with great skepticism that I watched the new film version.
     I won't summarize the story since you probably know it if you're reading this post. I will say that the English teacher in me has mixed feelings about the film, but the movie-goer in me would still recommend it as intriguing entertainment.
     If you can survive the frenetic, high-on-steroids,

first half of the film, you'll like the second half better as a reader of the book. Luhrmann is giving us a 2013 interpretation of the novel and that means a modern soundtrack that will appeal to the 20-something crowd. I didn't mind the music. His take on 21st century consumerism, invasive media, and scandal-worshipping masses is in-your-face obvious and certainly true of the 20's also. But he would have been wiser to cut back on the parties and concentrate more on the human tragedy at the core of the story.
     The film has two parts and the mood totally changes with the dinner party at the Buchannan's. Where Luhrmann truly succeeds is in showing the illusion and artifice Gatsby has created to win Daisy Fay Buchannan back. His entire life, his false history, and his house are stylish conjurer's tricks, as fake as the unread and uncut books in his library. I wasn't sure I'd like Leonardo DiCaprio as Gatsby, but I thought he was amazing. He captured both the self-confidence and swagger of the character and also his desperation as he sees his dream falling apart. He is a glittering illusion and a handsome and charming one at that.

George and Myrtle Wilson are well done and definitely capture the characters as I pictured them. Daisy, played by Carey Mulligan, is the glittering embodiment of Gatsby's dreams--but other than that, she fades into the scenery. In the novel and earlier film I found her annoying, but she didn't strike me at all in this film. I was not impressed by Tobey Maguire as Nick, but he drew a difficult part to play. He is too muted. His joy at believing in Gatsby and his eventual disillusionment with the whole situation are played on a middle scale without sharp edges.

Three key points were left out--pieces that would have made the tragedy more compelling. Two scenes done with great tension are the dinner party at the Buchannan's and the following scene in a New York City hotel.

The '74 film

In the novel, Daisy introduces her daughter, Pammy, at the dinner. This is Gatsby's first indication that perhaps he can't erase five years. A child is a concrete example of why his dream is doomed. Pammy never appeared at the dinner in the Luhrmann film.
     The second disappearance from book to film was the visit by James Gatz's (Jay Gatsby) father from Minnesota. In the novel Nick has to make all the funeral arrangements because there is no one else. Gatsby's father shows up and confirms for Nick that all of Gatsby's story about his real past is true, including his childhood yearnings to be successful and rich. Henry Gatz accompanies Nick to the funeral where only a few people--mostly servants--attend, revealing how lonely and superficial Gatsby's life really was. It was all about his quest for Daisy. Luhrmann chose instead to eliminate this scene and emphasize the paparrazi pushing each other around Gatsby's casket at the funeral home.
     The last scene--a pivotal one--Luhrmann left out was Nick's meeting on Fifth Avenue with Tom and Daisy the following October after Gatsby's death. Nick finally realizes their shallow lives, their egotism, and their carelessness, and he can't forgive them for their parts in the death of Gatsby and his dream.
     All three of these omissions would have made the tragedy deeper, but Luhrmann chose to leave them out. They bring the reader to Gatsby's side with Nick, but Luhrmann's film is devoid of emotional ties with the characters and is filled instead with the Hollywood version of the 20's.
     Luhrmann added a frame that bothered me at first. Nick is telling--then typing--his story from a sanitarium. While I'd dispute the doctor's diagnosis that Nick is an alcoholic and suffers from mental illness, I did eventually like the reminder that he--Nick Carraway--is truly the narrator of the story. We see it through his eyes. Even Fitzgerald's words occasionally appear and fall off the screen as Nick types them. It is through Nick that we understand the tragedy of Jay Gatsby, and although it's a controversial aspect of the movie, I liked the frame.

Overall I'd recommend The Great Gatsby as a 21st century re-telling of the story. Even as an English teacher who loves the novel, I found the new film entertaining.