Bernard II van Risen Burgh, Chest, c. 1737.

Fruit wood veneering, Japanese lacquer,

Martin varnish on an oak frame, bronze gilt,

Antin marble, 85 x 127 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris.

 

 

Carved and gilded wood nevertheless became universal; the period of Louis XIV shows it partaking of all the eccentricities of bronze applied to furniture. It surrounds mirrors with its intricate twists of endive foliage and supportive wall lights; vegetation interspersed with strange dragons serve as support brackets. It couldn’t make more sense than when it frames pictures; its foliage, with detached branches and festoons of flowers escaping from rocailles of extraordinary outline, frames portraits in prim washrooms, or the mythological compositions of Charles-Joseph Natoire and of Charles-André van Loo.

Under Louis XVI, the period of refinement of every description, wood was to enter a new phase. Not only were its forms tamed by being covered with delicate details, but it carries coquetry to the extent of abandoning gold ornamentation to show itself clothed with a simple coating of white paint, barely relieved in some cases by mouldings of pale lilac or sky blue. Nothing can be prettier than a little drawing-room in this style, in which the borders of the mirrors are sometimes surmounted by an amorous trophy with its doves and torch, the console tables with white marble tops and furniture in pale figured satin or in striped silk with soft tints have no other relief than the fine ornamented bronzes as delicate as jewellery, thus permitting the triumphant beauty and infinite elegance of the ladies who inhabited and enlivened them by their animated grace to appear unrivalled. It must be admitted that the much-maligned 18th century had in its latter days discovered the secret of the most refined taste and the highest degree of politeness and good manners.

In what precedes, we appear to have neglected one piece of furniture: the bedstead. And indeed, this, for itself alone, would merit an entire history when considering the important role played both in public and private life. At first the curtains were always drawn, then came the fashion of the bedsteads façon d’impériale, which called for the curtains to be lifted. There was even a time when the hangings overran the pillars of the bedsteads, which were surrounded by sheaths of draped cloth. These pillars would later disappear under Louis XIV. The canopy was suspended, allowing the entire foot of the bed to be seen; it was then that the bedside became the rendezvous of pleasant company, bringing the latest news and sometimes scandalous gossip.

In the time of Henry IV, we see the alcove appear and begin to replace the canopied bedstead. In the hall of the Louvre where the dying monarch was carried, the curtains are represented in sculpture, and borne by sprites. The railing still exists in front of the platform on which the bed rests. This fashion may perhaps be found in modest habitations; however, as we have just seen, the formality introduced into the manners and habits of the 17th century prevented it from becoming general; luxurious dwellings still had their bedsteads with canopies. These reappeared under Louis XV and Louis XVI, sometimes cut out or circular, gilded or painted grey, crowned with emblems or sculptured plumes, none of which did not prevent alcoves from affording a retreat for the simple night’s rest. At this period, too, the beds assume a regular arrangement, that is, they have their extremities alike: silk, damask, or flowered calico cover the panels, leaving only the fluted pillars, rounded pediment with wreaths and headings, etc., displayed for view. The carvings in these cases are relieved by gold or pearl-grey tints. The bedroom has an increasing tendency to privacy; the drawing-room and boudoir become the only places of reception.

We leave the bedsteads, therefore, and return to the smaller accessory furniture in gilded wood, which was in vogue during the 17th and 18th centuries: suspension brackets. During the reign of Louis XIV these had real importance; wherever religious clocks were affixed to the wall they required an accompaniment. Busts, small bronzes, and porcelain vases naturally presented themselves to form part of the arrangement, and if the Boulle clocks had their stands of inlaid tortoise shell, gold was perfectly adapted to accompany articles which were less brilliant themselves. The brackets of this period are often important in their composition; the shaped tablets are supported by carved figures of bold style and remarkable execution, or else acanthus scrolls, masks, radiating heads of Apollo, all intended to remind us of the famous motto: Nec pluribus impar.[3] These brackets have become more and more rare over time.

The period of Louis XV entirely abandons this soberness of composition. The rocailles and wreaths are, however, tolerably well adapted to this style of accessory furniture, and give it an importance which enables it to support weighty and bulky objects. Finally, under Louis XVI elegant simplicity reappears; acanthus scrolls with slender stems support the tablets; the mouldings are bordered with pearl headings; in a word, we recognise again the delicacy we had pointed out in the bedsteads and seats.