One thing I have always appreciated about historic homes are the “man-hours” that went into the design, craft, and execution of such places. The attention to detail, the expertise required to execute such beautiful elements and details, the pride with which the work is performed; exquisitely turned balusters defining the charm of a Southern porch, the deeply carved corbels lending visual support to the eaves of a house, the castings of the terra-cotta faces and figures breathing personality into doorways and windows. In each layer of molding along a staircase and the carefully inlaid pieces of parquet in a decorative floor, I see hours and hours of thought, time, effort, experience, and care; to not only create that element, but to take care of and protect it for so many years.
While the architect and designers conceived of and drew up the plans, it was the rough hands of the craftsman who was responsible for creating the details. A craftsman who spent years as an apprentice; who handled the materials and tools of his craft for so long that they became a part of him. The stained glass artists, the woodcarvers, the tile-setters, the cabinetmakers. Each of these people were highly-skilled and it showed. Without the decorative elements, like the icing on a cake, these homes would be far less inspiring, less interesting, contain less character and personality. Even in their anonymity, the craftsman always has my utmost respect and undying admiration.
Sure, I can see the merit of the simplicity of a Federal-style home, and appreciate the stately moldings and tradition of its accoutrements. I can even see the beauty of a shaker cottage, and imagine the quiet lives of its occupants. I can’t say I’m a particular fan of mid-century modern, as the homes seem cold and sterile to me, but I can appreciate the lines of the architecture of some of its architectural giants.
For me, the Victorian era and the exuberance of its architectural detail is what gets my heart pounding. The sheer visual stimulation of it all, I understand how many are turned off by the exuberance and excess of details, but my brain seems not to be able to get enough of it. It’s like I’m hard-wired for the visual excesses of the Victorian era.
It is no surprise, then, that our travels found us in Newport, Rhode Island one Summer. We were there to visit the Summer “Cottages” of the wealthiest Americans from around the turn-of-the-Century. Marble House, as anyone has ever been there can attest, was an absolute show-stopper. I am fascinated with Richard Morris Hunt’s architecture and was excited to see this home. I was not disappointed. It was a monument, splendidly decorated, massive in scale. After a breather to recover from such a visual feast, we set our sights on a more modest “Cottage” re-done by Richard Morris Hunt: Chateau-Sur-Mer, originally built by William Shepard Wetmore. His son George Peabody Wetmore had it enlarged and re-decorated by Mr. Hunt in 1875.
At the time, Mr. Hunt had working with him a Florentine woodcarver named Luigi Frullini (1839-1897). Mr. Frullini had already gained international acclaim, having won the medal of the Legion of Honor in his first ever appearance in Paris for his woodcarving “Dance Of The Hours.” In 1861, his native Florence awarded him a medal at the Italian Exposition, with subsequent medals in 1862 in London and 1865 in Dublin. In 1867 he won the Gold Medal at the Paris Universal Exposition, and another award in 1878. He also exhibited at the World’s fair in Vienna in 1873 and in Philadelphia in 1876. By the time of the Chateau-Sur-Mer remodeling, he was a well-known woodcarver whose work was much sought after.
The son of an artist, his talent was recognized at a young age, and he was apprenticed to a sculptor when he was only twelve years old. His talents, however, eventually earned him a place at the Florence Academy of Fine Arts, where he further honed his skills as an artist, designer, and carver, and gained an understanding of architecture as well. Against all advice, he decided to take up the craft of woodcarving, at that time a dead art. There were no woodcarving masters from which to learn the craft, and the tools which had been used many centuries ago to create the woodcarvings which had inspired him, no longer existed. Without the benefit of instruction from an experienced teacher, or proper tools, he experimented, hand-forging the tools he required to achieve the effects he was striving for.
He studied nature extensively, attempting to copy from actual specimens. Studying the proportions and details, he was exacting in his execution of flowers and leaves in various stages of blooming and withering. His ability to create robust cherubic putti (angelic fat little baby boys without wings) was unequaled. He created a dizzying repertoire of demonic and fantastic creatures as well. His imagination had no end to the variety of winged, crawling, swimming and slithering beasts he could create at the sharp end of his chisel. His carving style is best identified with the neo-renaissance and neo-mannerist movements. His carving technique was unusual, as well. He was known to carve, like Michelangelo, starting at one end of the raw material, and moving through to the other end, without tracing out or planning the entire composition first. His popularity gained the attention of the wealthiest of European and United Kingdom clients, earning him commissions from the daughter of Queen Victoria as well as the daughter of the Grand Duchess of Russia. Eventually he even captured the attention of the fast-growing upper class and nouveau-riche across the ocean, in the United States of America.
Examples of his work can be found in museums around the country and abroad, notably in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Carnegie Museum of Art, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, and the Museum Angewandte Kunst in Vienna. Though his works do not often appear at auctions, they can occasionally be found for sale at various galleries who specialize in such rarities. The most awe-inspiring way to view his art, however, is to see it in-situ with the furniture providing the focal point, while his outrageously carved paneling and mantelpieces, ceilings and built-ins provide the backdrop. There were few of these commissions created in the first place, and Chateau Sur Mer is possibly the only one open to the public where you can view the genius of Luigi Frullini’s entire composition as a fully-decorated room. In fact, it has two. The Dining Room and the Library.
The first thing you notice about the dining room is the tooled painted gilded leather lining the walls. The floral pattern stands out in front of the warm glow of the golden background which reflects every angle of light coming in from the windows and from the various sconces and chandelier. It seems as though the entire room is glowing with a warmth from within, and reflecting that warm light onto all that it touches. The dining room table is heavier underneath than it is above, but it is the built-in server and side pieces that grab your attention.
The Bacchante drinking from the barrel of wine over the fireplace mantel, with grapes and vines dripping from every surface is reminiscent of an ancient Greek scene of the children of the great Dionysus. The winged harpies spilling ewers of wine further lend to the sense of plenty and drunken pleasure.
The server, with a central porcelain plaque mirroring the colors of the rectangular porcelain on the fireplace is flanked by boldly-carved gryphons on the lookout for threats, as these mythical beasts were the guardians of wealth. The images of wild animals, fruits, and symbols from the ocean signify plenty and wealth. It was also not uncommon for sea-side homes to contain a myriad of carvings of fruits from the sea. The porcelains contain images of pastoral hunting scenes against a bright blue sky.
The library is a more somber affair, with the bookcases lining the walls in all of their solid verticality, adorned with serious faces of youth, and methodically-carved flowers and vines tracing and emphasizing their height. Everywhere you look there are books, a wealth of knowledge at the fingertips of the person fortunate enough to possess such items.
Beneath the library table is perched a serious owl, wings outstretched in welcome, gesturing to the knowledge around him. Gryphons with knowing expressions flank his feathered stance. The paw feet, typical of the furniture of Frullini, stood their ground, taking a soft position on the rug underfoot.
The folio stand in the library is a built-in cabinet supported by two gryphons chained to balls, and resting upon little cushions adorned with stars. They stand guard, ready to protect the wealth of knowledge contained in the folio above them. The depth of the carving in this piece is much more severe, and the beasts and grotesques contained here are far more fanciful and elaborate. The library scene on the front door of the folio cabinet itself evokes a timeless scene of domestic tranquility and a somber reminder of the purpose of this room.
As we leave Chateau Sur Mer, I find myself in one of my favorite places, beneath the canopy of the ancient weeping beech tree in the front of the mansion. If you ever have the chance to visit, don’t miss the opportunity to see this wondrous specimen and marvel at the beauty which nature has wrought. It is a cool dark sanctuary of leaves and branches and gnarled roots, a peaceful place.
I feel that Luigi Frullini felt that same sense of awe when re-creating the masterpieces of nature, as the care and attention he brought to the subject, left behind by his careful hands, to form a graceful and aesthetically balanced specimen in wood; almost too perfect to have been created by nature. The fruits and nuts, leaves and berries, appeared fresh and at their peak of ripeness. You could almost smell the fragrance of the flowers, feel the softness of the leaves, sense the earthiness of the branches and twigs. He must have delighted in the natural world, as a true fascination lies beneath the mastery of his reproduction of it.
As we pursue our interest in antiques, we regularly leaf through our many antiques periodicals, browsing the various antique auctions and shows, mining for the “good stuff.” Occasionally something of interest will catch our attention, and off we will go. Driving up and down the East Coast was nothing new, as we sought pieces that caught our eye, so it was a welcome surprise to find a local auction house, Green Valley Auctions, selling an estate in “Little Washington” formally known as Washington, Virginia. The table was a showstopper, and before we even read the text, we knew it had to have been carved by none other than Luigi Frullini.
The table was a visual feast, supported by four gryphons with tails appearing to have no end as they curled and swirled behind the vigilant beasts. The centerpiece of the base featured a muscular faun (a horned creature, half-man, half-goat) playing one end of a Pan flute, a fat cherub was playing the other end. The faun had his arm around the cherub, his hand firmly gripping the cherub’s butt cheek. The cherub, for his part, sported a satisfied, knowing grin. It was outstanding! In order to open the single center drawer, you had to reach inside the mouth of a bat carved deep into the wood, and you could feel the scrape of its teeth against your fingers as you pulled the drawer open. The front and side edges of the table were festooned with vines and flowers, snails, butterflies, lizards, insects, and frogs. The rear edge sported a fantastical frieze of fighting sea serpents writhing and undulating in a frenzied battle. The top border of the table had a circular pattern lightly etched into the wood, each corner terminating in a single scallop shell. The center of the table had a low-relief panel of lighter wood carved with dancing putti. The whole effect was one of rich fantasy, mesmerizing and captivating. the carvings practically were alive. I was in love!
The two bookcases were a more serious affair, as bookcases are wont to be…at first glance, that is… Sure, they were decked out with the busts of famous authors, poets and musicians, and had layers upon layers of decorated moldings, the bold patterns repeating themselves, the basket weave giving a sense of strength and stoic permanence. The panels along the doors were decorated with the predictable urns, vines, birds, flutes, drums, scrolls, and other symbols of music, art and literature. They were both a matched set in their powerful symbols of learning and leisure, until you began to examine the upper frieze more closely. What at first appeared to be the standard traditional putti dancing and playing along the top, upon closer inspection became a source of amusement, and eventually, as the details became evident, hysterical parodies of actual putti. These were insolent and audacious little boys. Naughty putti who at first were found to be playing innocuously with hoops and jumpropes, but progressed to drunken debauchery, gambling, fighting, and even one little fellow picking his nose. They were pulling each other’s hair, throwing dice, carrying off drunken companions, and putting fists into each other’s eyes. They were behaving badly under everyone’s nose, and no-one appeared to notice their misadventures. There was even a lively game of bocci ball going on in the frieze. Also of interest, I later realized that one of the friezes was a duplication of the Dance of The Hours, for which Frullini won his first major international award.
The library chair was an impressive beast, with a matched pair of snarling gryphons forming each of the armrests, a second set of sea-serpent gryphons with lolling tongues perched atop the central crest, a giant scallop shell. Beneath them a set of nine grotesque faces, each one carved different from the next. The circular pattern from the table was repeated in the top of the armrests, and a large lion head protruded from each side of the base. The piece de resistance, however, was the one element not seen at eye level. Beneath the front of the chair, viewed best from the vantage point of the family cat, was a cross-eyed horned creature, a fearsome winged beast, with moth wings, feathers, and long tendrils of whiskers curling across his cheeks. He was fantastic!
Two side chairs were also part of the suite, and these were stiff and upright affairs, each with carved lion-like creatures at the knees, cloven hooves for feet, and each with a completely different horned beast at the top below a large scallop shell. The shell and sea-serpent theme flowing through each of the pieces began to make it clear that these were carved for a home near the ocean. Recalling Chateau Sur Mer, we wondered if this set had come from another Newport home.
At this point, we realized that this set was something that we at least had to try for. We negotiated with the auction house, which was very accommodating, and arranged for telephone service to be reinstated at the house for the day of the auction so that we would be able to bid on these by phone.
The date of the auction arrived, and we made our way to Pennsylvania for our family celebration and discussed the value of the pieces in preparation for bidding. There were scarce few auction records for Frullini’s work, and the prices of the pieces we were able to find was more than we could stretch our finances. In fact, a single chair, identical to the one gryphoned armchair we were bidding on, had sold in the last few years at a major New York auction house for a price we could not even begin to consider.
We were anticipating attending the auction by phone as observers, curious as to what the final selling price of the suite would be. The call would be made to the auction house at Noon, when the suite would be sold. We put Frullini out of our minds, and greeted family members at the venue, and settled in to enjoy the ceremony. Accordingly, at Noon, we slipped out to make our call and listen in on the results of the sale. Tom held the phone, the assistant to the auctioneer at the estate answered, and the auction for the library suite began. Each piece was to be sold separately; first up was the library table. Tom listened intently as the auctioneer was describing the lot to be sold, the terms of the sale. Beside him, I could barely make out the sing-song voice of the auctioneer as he began calling for bids. Slowly, a smile began to spread across Tom’s face and I was surprised and confused when he suddenly uttered a firm “YES” into the receiver. I was sure he was kidding, the bidding couldn’t possibly be low enough that we could even begin to bid on this table. His smile continued, and his “YES” responses were repeated. He covered the receiver and started chuckling at one point, responding in the affirmative yet again. Suddenly he was silent, an incredulous look on his face, and he raised his hand high, palm toward me…a high five?!!! I didn’t understand…it couldn’t be possible… Nervously I gently touched his hand with the palm of mine, not sure if he was putting me on or not. The next item up was bookcase number one, and the scene repeated itself. My returned high-five was more firm this time. The Armchair was next, and again the affirmatives were spoken in a confident voice, and again the incredulous smile. Another high five. At this point I was shaking. Either my husband had lost his mind and was buying something we couldn’t possibly afford (hearing only one side of the phone conversation was killing me at this point) or else these pieces were actually going for a price that was ridiculously below market value. The next lot, the pair of library chairs was the next to become ours. He passed on the second bookcase, however. It had been kept in the basement and had some condition issues, and we had apparently spent enough money for the day. When he hung up the phone, he doubled over and burst into laughter…we had gotten almost the entire library suite for less than what the single armchair had sold for at auction in New York!
We snuck back into the ceremony floating on a cloud, and I honestly can’t remember another thing that happened the rest of that entire day. I barely remember driving home, it felt like we were dreaming and that at any point we might wake up and find out it was all a fantasy.
We lost no time in renting a truck, and I had the pieces carefully loaded into the back, made sure they were properly strapped down, and trucked them down to Danville, driving on eggshells the entire trip. Until they were actually unloaded from the truck and in our house, I could not celebrate that they were ours. I still marvel at the exquisite carvings of these pieces today…but where did they come from?
We found out from the family that the owner of these pieces, William Carrigan, had purchased the library suite at auction in the 1950s. Since most auction announcements of this age are not digitized, I figured I had hit a dead end. Considering the sea shells and sea serpents, I again thought of Newport. Knowing that Luigi Frullini worked closely with Richard Morris Hunt, and that Hunt was involved in the construction or renovation of many of the Newport homes during this period, I decided to contact the Newport Historical Society. We also had a secondary clue, in that the second bookcase, which we did not purchase, had a date carved into the door — 1873.
The curator of the Newport Historical Society wasted no time in contacting us after receiving our letter with the enclosed photographs. He had some ideas he wanted to discuss with us, and invited us to Newport to talk. By now, Winter had set in, so the idea of Newport in freezing weather was not as enticing, until he threw in a private tour of Chateau Sur Mer. We were in! My Boston family was also in, and we all met at Chateau Sur Mer in the middle of February, where the mansion was all cozy and warmed up in anticipation of our visit, and we were free to roam around and take our time soaking in the amazing details of the Hunt/Frullini decorated mansion. We asked a myriad of questions and listened intently to the vast knowledge of the curator as he gave us a background of the history and details of the construction, renovations, and decorations of this incredible place. It was a visit that I will never forget and an incredible gift to be able to marvel at the tiny details of the place, revel in the overall effect, and take my time taking it all in. My brain was full by the time the private tour was done, and I felt an intimate connection with the home that the Summer Tourist tour never could have achieved.
We were not done yet, however; the curator had just one more treat to share with us. He ushered us into the billiard room and pulled out an ancient and worn folio, drew us in near and started turning the pages. Each plate held a photograph of one of Luigi Frullini’s works after another. This folio was published to advertise what “Professor” Frullini could do for potential clients. He paused a moment, then flipped another page, taking us by surprise…there it was, our table!
Well, sort of, the faun and putti were not in exactly the same positions, and the sea serpent frieze was a bit more simple, and the gryphons were more stiff and upright, but it was essentially the same idea. And this was a photograph, so knowing that there was another table out there like ours was an interesting concept. At that point the curator suggested his hypothesis…Linden Gate.
We had never heard of Linden Gate, and with good reason. It burned down in the 1970s. However, there is a rich history of documentation left behind. It was built by Henry G. Marquand (1810-1902), designed by Richard Morris Hunt, and had had many of its rooms outfitted by Luigi Frullini, including the library. At the time of the fire, it was empty of its original furniture. Interestingly, the last of Henry Marquand’s descendants died in the 1950s and all of the original furniture was auctioned off…………and Mr. Carrigan had bought the library suite at auction in the 1950s…coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidence!
Some photos of the interiors of Linden gate exist in the Library of Congress database:
I promptly got around to researching the genealogy of Henry G. Marquand. He was a wealthy railroad financier from New York, and built his Newport Cottage, Linden Gate, in 1873. That date also corresponds to the date on the second bookcase we did not purchase…another “coincidence?” Of note, the interiors were also decorated by John LaFarge and Samuel Coleman. Anyone who has read my blog before has heard of my adoration of Mr. LaFarge for his works in stained glass. Mr. Marquand was also a philanthropist and donated a large number of his artworks to help establish a little museum in New York called the Metropolitan Museum Of Art. As a result, he was voted as the second President of the Board of Trustees to that institution, and had a hand in its management and expansion from the beginning, until his death. He was a long-time friend of Richard Morris Hunt, who then designed The Museum’s Beaux-Arts Fifth Avenue facade and Great Hall. In fact, Henry Marquand’s portrait painted by John Singer Sargent hangs in that institution today.
Henry Marquand’s grandson, Rev. Roderick Terry, Jr. (1876-1951) died without an heir. I found the auction notice from the auction house, Gustave J.S. White, Inc. announcing the sale of the contents of Linden Gate in August of 1951 in Newport Rhode Island. The hard-copy of the detailed contents of that sale are possibly buried in a storage facility, owned by that auction house, which still conducts auctions even to this day. It is my eternal hope that one day they will be unearthed and details of the content list will help me to confirm the provenance of these pieces. Until then, I have only the recollections of the distant nieces and nephews of Rev. Roderick Terry, Jr. who were kind enough to talk to me, who recalled a fantastical carved library suite in their great-uncle’s house. They were all too young to recall the details of the furniture, however, so I have only great coincidence and sea shells to stand on at this point.
Of note, another photograph in the folio of Luigi Frullini’s works was this sideboard, quite possibly the same one currently installed at Chateau Sur Mer. I wonder sometimes if Frullini’s Newport clients all saw the same folio and picked out their design elements from the same book.
One plate caught our attention on numerous occasions, due to the enormous full-bodied lizards flanking this particular fireplace. What would possess a mind to create such enormous cold-blooded creatures for a fireplace. The fruit, nuts, cow skulls, dancing children and busts of little girls just seemed in odds with each other — such sweetness combined with such desolation and primordial creatures. We often argued about the scale, as it is so difficult to tell from a photograph, the actual size of such an installation.
The argument was actually settled one day, unexpectedly, when the following auction advertisement showed up in one of our antique periodicals:
It was only a fragment of the whole mantelpiece, but a fragment of Frullini is better than nothing. This thing was enormous, 6 feet long and carved from a single piece of walnut. In person it is even more beautiful, the skulls, nuts, fruits and garlands so lifelike and life-sized. Amazingly, when the black-and-white photograph of the folio is examined with a magnifying glass, you can see a flaw that extends through the center of the piece of wood from which the piece is carved. In fact that exact flaw can be seen in the piece in our possession, which also matches up photographically with the piece in the folio. It is without a doubt one and the same. The great mystery remains as to where the original was eventually installed, and why the entire mantelpiece was disassembled. Some clues remain, such as a blackening on the piece that makes it appear as though it could have been in a fire. Without further research and a lucky break, we will never know where its journey started and how it ended up without the rest of its parts. Until then, we have found a nice place for it atop an oak bookcase, where it reminds us of the master carver who wrought it.
I will end this chapter with some fun photographs of additional Frullini furniture and fragments (say that ten times fast…) and pieces we have collected over time. As he is without question my favorite woodcarver of all time (Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s medium was marble, so no affront to that master), and his irreverence, genius, humor, and incredible talent that hold me captive to his works. I admit to being unquestionably in love with this particular Italian. I hope that this post will allow others to see his genius and feel the same affection that I do, and bring more of his works to light in this modern age of the “naïve artist” and “modern art” which we affectionately have nicknamed “the emperor has no clothes….” a monologue for another blog.
And one that got away…
Carla Minosh
While I am new to Blogging, I have always enjoyed sharing the stories of my crazy life, so this is simply another medium to share, and hopefully entertain and enrich others. Perhaps you can feel thankful that your life is so steady and predictable after reading these, perhaps you can appreciate the insanity and wish you had more of it in your life. Either way, the crazy tales are all true (to the best of my spotty recollection) and simply tell the tale of a life full of exploration, enthusiasm, curiosity and hard work. I hope you all enjoy being a part of the journey.
Works of art indeed! I would have to install velvet rope around these pieces and freak out if anyone dared to enter their barrier!
Breathtaking!!!!!!!!!!!! You have the most informative old house blog I have ever read. Wow. Just astounding.
I just acquired a table by this artist…simply amazing. How do I send a picture?
You can email it to me at cminosh@gmail.com. I would love to see it!
This is such a great resource that you are providing and you it away for free. I love seeing blog that understand the value.
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