From Overalls and Shovels to Fedoras and Cuban Cigars: The Gilded Age Inspiration for Salisbury House

There were three distinct aristocracies in Washington. One of these, (nick-named the Antiques,) consisted of cultivated, high-bred old families who looked back with pride upon an ancestry that had been always great in the nation’s councils and its wars from the birth of the republic downward. Into this select circle it was difficult to gain admission. No. 2 was the aristocracy of the middle ground . . . No. 3 lay beyond; of it we will say a word here. We will call it the Aristocracy of the Parvenus—as, indeed, the general public did. Official position, no matter how obtained, entitled a man to a place in it, and carried his family with him, no matter whence they sprang. Great wealth gave a man a still higher and nobler place in it than did official position. If this wealth had been acquired by conspicuous ingenuity, with just a pleasant little spice of illegality about it, all the better. This aristocracy was “fast,” and not averse to ostentation.

The aristocracy of the Antiques ignored the aristocracy of the Parvenus; the Parvenus laughed at the Antiques, (and secretly envied them.)

-From Mark Twain’s The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today


Carl and Edith Weeks, c. 1930

Before Armand – before Salisbury House – few would have assumed Carl Weeks to be any more extraordinary than any other Midwestern businessman of his era. In fact, when roaming the halls of Salisbury House, one tends to forget his humble and, at times, impoverished origins. Born the fourth child of a hog farmer and his wife on a farm near Cedar Rapids, Iowa, in 1876, Carl’s prospects were quite modest. When his father’s swine herd was wiped out by cholera around 1880, the Weekses were forced into selling their farm. They set off for Kansas in search of a new start. His father, however, still had trouble finding work and was often away from home. Carl helped out by picking up bison chips for use as fuel in their little sod house and once recalled how his mother had had to trade one of their bedsteads for a bag of flour. Eventually, his mother’s brothers, Lowell and Davis Chamberlain, brought them back to Iowa and settled them in Des Moines. Carl left public schooling at the age of 13 and it was only with his uncles’ financial assistance that he was able to attend Highland Park College of Pharmacy to obtain his pharmacist certification in 1892.

Little of Carl’s early life foreshadows the great success he would eventually achieve when he established what would become an international cosmetics empire in 1915. But he was born into an unusual era. One where American society had one foot planted deep in the agrarian soils of its hard-working, ancestral pioneers just as it was stepping into a quickly industrializing, burgeoning urban culture obsessed with leisure, pleasure and wealth. It was an era as rampant with corruption and materialism as it was entrepreneurial optimism where every man had the potential to become the next Carnegie or Rockefeller. This time period, known as the Gilded Age and sometimes referred to as the American Renaissance, spanned the years following the Civil War to the early 1900s with some historians extending it as far as the stock market crash of 1929. The term was lifted from Mark Twain’s 1873 satirical novel, The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today, that depicts the greed and corruption endemic in American politics and society in the late 1860s and early 1870s. This era, however, also laid the foundations of our modern, secular culture and shaped the minds of many Americans, including Carl Weeks.


Cover of Mark Twain’s The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today, 1873.

After the Civil War, industrialization and mechanization increased at a rapid rate in the United States. It centralized the economy in urban centers and concentrated wealth in the hands of fewer and fewer men. Immigrants and formerly-rural Americans descended upon the cities in search of new opportunities. Mass-produced goods, department stores and mail order catalogues brought the modern idea of shopping to the masses. The extension of the railroads connected the East and West coasts of the United States and new refrigerated boxcars allowed for fresh produce out of season, exotic fruits, Midwestern-raised beef, and beer to be transported to retailers all across the nation. Telephones and transatlantic cables knitted the world closer together through faster methods of communication. Amusement parks, dance halls, theaters, libraries and opera houses flourished, providing entertainment, education, and, at times, opportunities for vice to the burgeoning urban population.

Entrepreneurs were the driving force behind this explosion of modernity. A lucky few, however, through hard work, shrewd business decisions, and more than a little back-room subterfuge, succeeded in building business empires that reached far beyond their own little corners of the world. Many of these men, such as Andrew Carnegie, Jay Gould, Cornelius Vanderbilt, and John D. Rockefeller, arose from humble means to become industrial tycoons with massive fortunes. They were household names and served as role models for the businessmen of Carl’s generation. Several biographies of these infamous American entrepreneurs grace the shelves of the Library at Salisbury House and probably had a great impact on Carl as he made his way in the business world.


The Rouge Room at the Armand Factory in Des Moines, Iowa, c. 1920.

Though these nouveau riche Americans of the Gilded Age had the world at their fingertips and, at times, groveling on its knees before them, there was one thing money could not buy: pedigree. For much of recorded human history, wealth was concentrated in land and passed down through strict and often complicated inheritance laws and customs formulated to keep everything within one family line. But the world had been turned upside down by the Industrial Revolution. With advances in manufacturing technology in the late 18th century, hand production methods of textiles and other goods fell by the wayside as factories sprung up in urban centers and produced goods more cheaply and efficiently than ever before. People, once tied to the land and rarely traveling more than 50 miles from their places of birth, descended upon the cities in search of work. The European aristocracy and the “old money” families of the United States, whose income traditionally depended upon the productivity of the people who lived on their lands, saw their economic power shrink as an ever greater share of the world’s wealth flowed into the hands of the savvy factory owners and businessmen of the middle class.

Two things the European aristocracy and American “old money” retained, however, was their social position and status as the arbiters of good taste. An air of self-consciousness pervaded the newly wealthy and powerful as they sought to emulate the nobility in a subconscious effort to prove both to themselves and their “social betters” that they were worthy of their newfound elite status. Instead of seeking new forms of architecture, they copied styles long used by the European aristocracy. At first, Classical styles were mimicked as wealthy Americans embraced the notion of the United States as heir to the cultural traditions of ancient Greece and Rome and the European Renaissance. Later, especially during the time of the Weekses’ rise in wealth, many embraced the picturesque nature of the rambling, built-through-the-centuries styling of the houses of the medieval and Tudor nobility of England. Salisbury House, however, is unique in that it incorporates both stylistic influences in its interior furnishings.


Classical and Renaissance style detailing: grille above Welte-Mignon Organ in the Common Room


Classical and Renaissance style detailing: chandelier detail in the Dining Room. Both the Common Room and Dining Room are overall Elizabethan or late Tudor style in the architectural details and most furnishings but also include Neoclassical touches such as these.


Tudor style detailing of 16th century fireplace surround in the Great Hall featuring a Tudor rose flanked by quatrefoils.


Tudor style, 16th century carved door detail in the hallway outside the master suites featuring linenfold, which was a common type of carving to decorate plain panels in Europe between the 14th and 16th centuries.

In a time where what you owned was an unspoken announcement of who you were as an individual, collecting art and antiques from around the world became an obsession for the nouveau riche who wanted nothing more than to appear sophisticated, worldly, educated and powerful. The Weekses were no different. Much like J.P. Morgan, who had spent a whopping $60 million on art and rare books in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and the Rockefeller family who splurged on artwork from around the world, Carl and Edith sought after all of the trappings of the leisured class. Carl was an avid bibliophile and Edith’s bachelor’s degree in Art History provided her with a discerning eye for both fine art and period-specific furnishings.


Late 18th century alabaster urns with Classical style detailing in the Great Hall.


Elizabethan style carving on Carl’s c. 1600 bed.

The economic devastation in Europe after World War I led to easy pickings for the Weekses and other wealthy Americans who snatched up whatever Europeans wanted to sell, including antiques, art, and architectural detailing. Though they did not spend anywhere close to what Morgan had, Carl and Edith did spend nearly $3 million to build and furnish their house. In today’s money, that would equal about $40 million.

Patronage of artists skyrocketed in the United States during the Gilded Age as well, continuing a centuries-old European tradition where artists relied on wealthy patrons for work and financial support. Artists were sought after as companions as well as for their ability to beautify the homes of the wealthy and public spaces. Rather than pushing the social envelope as many artists do today, the artists of this era reinforced the new status quo and soothed the egos of wealthy Americans through their attention and commissioned works. Architectural historian Richard Guy Wilson once said of Gilded Age artists that their social function was to “provide a setting of leisured elegance bearing the patina of class and taste for people who were frequently one generation removed from overalls and shovel.”

Like their Gilded Age predecessors, the Weekses too befriended artists and even commissioned Joseph Stella to create one work specifically for Salisbury House. This commissioned piece, Apotheosis of the Rose, still hangs in the Breakfast Room today.


Apotheosis of the Rose by Joseph Stella, 1926. Oil on canvas.


The Birth of Venus by Joseph Stella, 1925. Oil on canvas. Hangs in the Great Hall at Salisbury House.

Finally assembled at home in Iowa, the Weekses’ collections lent an air of aristocratic pedigree to their new home meant to look centuries old the day it was built. Like the entrepreneurs of the Gilded Age and the European nobility, Carl’s house and collections were a signal to the world that he had arrived and was a force to be reckoned with. A man born to a hog breeder and who had picked up bison chips on the Kansas prairie was now a social and business leader who was well-traveled, well-connected, and a man of noble bearing.


Salisbury House in early spring.

The Gilded Age gave birth to Salisbury House. The ideals of the era – wealth, consumption, pleasure and leisure – reside throughout its history, collections and architecture. Carl Weeks was born into this era and persevered until he could finally emulate those whose names were on the tongues of every American entrepreneur – Carnegie, Morgan, Rockefeller. The result was Salisbury House: a grand mansion distinctly English in flavor and filled with treasures that reveal how Carl and others of his ilk wished to be seen – worldly, aristocratic, powerful. It represents one final expression of a bygone era in which America itself came of age.


Evolution of a Fable: Finnegans Wake at Salisbury House

The Salisbury House library contains an amazing collection of works by James Joyce.  One of these works is his last book, Finnegans Wake.  What is even more amazing in the collection are the preliminary parts of the Wake that Joyce published as he continued to revise the work from around 1924 until the final release as a book in 1939.  This essay will discuss the evolution of a small part of the book through these preliminary versions.  Most of them are found at Salisbury House. Below is the signed half-title of one of these early fragments – Tales Told of Shem and Shaun (Black Sun Press, Paris, 1929).

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Salisbury House Library and Rare Documents Collection

Finnegans Wake is one of the most complicated works in literature; it consists of puns and portmanteau words in 27 languages, with the base being English.  An essay such as this can only discuss one tiny aspect of many recurring themes.  Mankind is represented in the book by a family consisting of a man, his wife, their daughter, and their twin sons, basically referred to as Shem and Shaun. The relationship and conflict between the two brothers is shown in many different guises throughout the book. One of the instances of this fraternal conflict is framed by the fable of the Ant and the Grasshopper – or, as Joyce wrote it, “the Ondt and the Gracehoper.”  In this title, he was playing on the Danish “ondt” meaning “evil” and note that the grasshopper is hoping for grace.  We will follow this fable from its first short version published in 1928 through to the final book.

Folklore is one of the frequently used frameworks in the book.  Joyce calls it “fokloire”, playing on the Gaelic “foclóir” meaning “vocabulary” – Joyce’s book was intended as a world of all languages.  The fable derives from Aesop’s “The Ant and the Grasshopper”, which pits the frugal, hoarding ant against the profligate but ultimately starving grasshopper.  Joyce evens the match by letting the grasshopper have the last word.  The first published part of the fable was in transition (note the lower-case “t”), a prominent literary magazine in Paris (#12, March, 1928.)  This snippet remained nearly unchanged from first to last.

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Norman Hills Collection

In Joyce’s scheme, the Gracehoper represents Shem, Time, the ear, and Joyce himself.  The Ondt represents Shaun, Space, the eye, and Wyndham Lewis. Lewis, who had attacked Joyce in his book Time and Western Man, had a long-standing feud with Joyce. Among the many interpretations of the overall intent of the fable, Eric McLuhan views it as a conflict between ages of technology.  Other critics emphasize the opposition and interaction between space and time, or the stages of the cyclic theory of history of the philosopher Giambattista Vico.

Joyce scatters various reference clusters throughout the fable, such as many names of insects and parts of insect anatomy.  There are many names of philosophers and words with repeated syllables recalling the stuttering of the brothers’ father.  It includes many references to the Egyptian Book of the Dead. There are other clusters, but we now turn our attention to our main concern: the revision history of the text as reflected in the Salisbury House library.

The original three hand-written drafts of the fable were written quickly – probably beginning in February 1928, and published the following month.  This transition version is quite short (less than one half of the length of the final text), so the obvious main method of revision was additive.  There were many levels of revision added to the transition proofs.  The editor, Eugene Jolas, had the same problem with endless revisions that had plagued Sylvia Beach when publishing Ulysses and later, Harry Crosby.  transition had been publishing parts of Work in Progress (as the draft Finnegans Wake was called) starting with the first issue in April 1927 and would continue with portions of it in almost all the remaining issues. A small amount of this text had been published earlier in other magazines, but most of it was new and transition provided the first extended publication.

The next published version of the fable was in the Black Sun Press Tales Told of Shem and Shaun in 1929.  The editor, Harry Crosby, started work on this edition by asking Joyce if he would agree to him publishing part of Work in Progress.  Joyce gave him heavily hand-modified sheets of the transition version (known, but not extant.)  Crosby produced a number of proofs, and each time Joyce added more text.  One of the last of these proofs (probably the next to the last) is in the Salisbury House library.  The following image shows a major addition to it in Joyce’s handwriting.


Salisbury House Library and Rare Documents Collection

The following image shows this hand-written addition as it appears in the final Tales Told of Shem and Shaun.


Salisbury House Library and Rare Documents Collection

The revision process was slow and frustrating for Crosby, as shown by this note accompanying the proof in Crosby’s hand urging Joyce to finish the changes. The final Tales Told of Shem and Shaun and this note are also in the Salisbury House library.

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Salisbury House Library and Rare Documents Collection

The final version of Tales Told of Shem and Shaun includes a commissioned “portrait” of Joyce by the Romanian sculptor Constantin Brancusi.  This abstract drawing is a very loose interpretation of a “portrait”, but it is widely reproduced in the Joyce literature.

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Salisbury House Library and Rare Documents Collection

The next published part of this fable, which the Salisbury House library also has, is a very brief excerpt from Tales Told of Shem and Shaun in the Imagist Anthology, (Chatto & Windus, London, 1930.)  This edition has no significant textual changes.

The next-to-final version was published as a small book entitled Two Tales of Shem and Shaun, (Faber and Faber, London, December 1932). This re-prints two of the three fragments from the earlier Tales Told of Shem and Shaun including “the Ondt and the Gracehoper.”  Although the text was re-set, I could find no textual differences between the two.  The cover of this book is shown below.

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Norman Hills Collection

The fable’s final version is in the book published as Finnegans Wake (Faber and Faber, London, May 4, 1939.)  It was followed very shortly also in May 1939 by the American first edition (Viking Press, New York.) The fable is on pages 414.19 to 419.20 (the number after the period of each is the line number.)  The text throughout the book has been greatly expanded from earlier versions with many additions of major blocks of text.  Some of these are within previously published fragments, but many are completely new. The following image shows the beginning of the song that ends the “the Ondt and the Gracehoper.”  This is from the first edition/first printing included in the Salisbury House library.

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Salisbury House Library and Rare Documents Collection

The subsequent publishing history of Finnegans Wake is quite brief.  Surprisingly, the book has remained in print for the last 76 years with no textual changes of any kind. This is partly because of the refusal of his heirs to allow any change as long as it was under copyright and because of the difficulty in determining what in the text constitutes an error.  One exception is a 16-page list of corrections compiled by Joyce before his death on January 13, 1941, though not published until 1945 (Faber and Faber, London, printed in the U.S.A.)  These corrections were incorporated into the text starting with the eighth edition in 1958.  None of these corrections affect the Ondt fable. The upper part of the pamphlet title page is shown below.

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Norman Hills Collection

In 2010, Danis Rose and John O’Hanlon edited The Restored Finnegans Wake, which included thousands of changes.  Most critics have not liked this version and their Penguin trade edition of it is no longer in print.  A hypertext version is supposedly in preparation, although it will likely meet the same fate.

James Joyce is widely considered to be the greatest prose writer of the 20th century.  Ulysses regularly appears as the head of lists of great 20th century novels.  The distinguished critic, Harold Bloom, has said that “if aesthetic merit were ever again to center the canon, the Wake,…, would be as close as our chaos could come to the heights of Shakespeare and Dante.”  Given the extraordinary literary value of Joyce, it is not surprising that Carl Weeks, as a collector living in the time of Joyce, would collect the major works, such as first editions of Ulysses and Finnegans Wake.  What is truly astonishing is the depth of the Joyce collection in the Salisbury House library, including early printed pamphlets, a corrected proof, and many secondary items that are found only in the best of Joyce research libraries.  Central Iowa is indeed fortunate.

Tonight We’re Going to Pickle Like It’s 1797

We like to keep things light in August. It’s hot. It’s humid. And we’d all prefer to be sitting with our feet up, enjoying an adult beverage and some tasty snacks. To that end, our blog post last August explored a book from our collection that extolled the virtues of drunkards. This year, we turn our attention to the culinary arts: in particular, our 1797 edition of The Accomplished Housekeeper and Universal Cook, written by T. Williams and “the principal cooks at the London and Crown and Anchor Taverns.”

title page


First, a word on cookbooks more generally. The earliest cooking volumes found in America were, unsurprisingly, imports from England. Historians generally agree that Amelia Simmons’ 1796 American Cookery, or The Art of Dressing Viands, Fish, Poultry and Vegetables, and the Best Modes of Making Pastes, Puffs, Pies, Tarts, Puddings, Custards and Preserves, and All Kinds of Cakes….Adapted to this Country and All Grades of Life was the first cookbook native to the United States. Salisbury House’s own Accomplished Housekeeper fits into the former category of 18th-century British cookbooks published in London.

Prior to Carl Weeks, who first owned this volume? The inside cover provides a bit of information. First, this cookbook belonged to a gentleman named Samuel Coleby who likely purchased it in 1804. The inscription below also, upon first glance, seems to indicate that Samuel live in Charleston, but closer inspection leaves your correspondent not entirely certain of his location. At any rate, it is clear that Carl Weeks purchased the book in September 1928, perhaps for $12.50 (around $135 in today’s dollars). It also appears that Samuel did not often use the cookbook, as it remains in relatively fine condition today.


inside front cover


The Accomplished Housekeeper makes for some entertaining reading. Its author rightly puts food safety first, advising the novice cook that, “Before we enter on the practical part of the Cook’s business, it may not be improper to make a few general observations, which are as necessary to be attended to as any part of the culinary profession. The first and most important of all these is cleanliness, not only in their own persons, but also in every article used in the kitchen.”

Well said, T. Williams. Well said.


general observations


With the fundamentals of good kitchen hygiene in place (who knew that copper vessels and utensils were 18th-century deathtraps?!), the author turned to practical matters of food preparation. We’ve selected a few recipes to highlight below that seem appropriate for late summer cookery. First up: cherry pie and orange or lemon tarts.


cherry pie


If your palate is more adventurous, perhaps you might give mince pie or partridge pie a whirl.


more pies


Another summer favorite – homemade ice cream! With apricots “beat fine in a marble mortar”!


ice cream


Who doesn’t love seafood in summertime? The Accomplished Housekeeper has got you covered. Here’s the best way to pitchcock eels, fricassee oysters, and dress herring.


eels oysters herring


August offers an abundance of fresh, in-season foods, a phenomena not lost on T. Williams et al. To preempt any seasonal confusion, however, the authors kindly included a list of which foods were generally available during each month of the year.


in season_2


The authors also encouraged readers to take advantage of these “articles in season,” and included several pages of recommendations for how best to preserve the fruits (and vegetables) of summer. “To pickle cucumbers” is still a common pursuit, though the late eighteenth-century methodology differs a bit from today’s general practices.


pickle cucumbers


If pickling cucumbers doesn’t blow your hair back, why not try nasturtium buds? Or mackarel caveach? We should note that caveach, or escabeche, is back on trend today. The more things change…


pickle nasturtium


Are you harboring a secret desire to craft small-batch wines? These recipes are for you.




Do your culinary plans include carving venison, hare, partridge, pig, or pheasant? If so, be sure to Pin this handy-dandy cheat sheet.



If you are adventurous in the kitchen, try out one of these recipes! Let us know if you try your hand at elder wine or pickled nasturtium buds, and we’ll update this post with your photos and comments. Happy cooking!

Centaur at Salisbury House

This post is authored by Norman Hills, one of Salisbury House’s tour guides, and is the first in a series of posts written by guest authors who have special interests within the Salisbury House collections.

Why should we be interested in a typeface?  First, a typeface can be beautiful on its own, although we rarely notice a font unless it seems unusual or inappropriate.  In the case of Centaur, it is the finest of the early Venetian revivals, a typeface style which first emerged in the 19th and early 20th-century, and were derived from an acclaimed  15th-century Venetian printer, Nicholas Jenson. Centaur is a font with a beauty of line, proportion, and elegance that has been acclaimed since its release in 1914.

Centaur Broadside

From The Design of Books, Adrian Wilson. Printed by Taylor & Taylor, 1948

Second, and more important, is the use of a font in creating beautiful books.  Centaur is renowned for its first two major uses in books often cited as among the most beautiful created in the 20th century.  The Salisbury House library is fortunate to have copies of both of these books: the T. E. Lawrence translation of The Odyssey printed by Emery Walker in 1932, and The Oxford Lectern Bible of 1935.

Both the typeface and the design of these two books are the work of the American designer Bruce BR photoRogers.  Albert Bruce Rogers was born on May 14, 1870 in Linwood, Indiana.  In 1886 Rogers enrolled at Purdue University, studying art but taking a degree in Science in 1890.  In the next few years, he worked as an illustrator, designer, and printer.  Rogers worked at Riverside Press for fifteen years, starting in 1900, and he married Anna Baker that same year. His only child, Elizabeth, was born in 1901. While at Riverside, Rogers designed his first typeface, the Montaigne, which was based on the Nicholas Jenson type of 1470 as used in the printing of Eusebius and his printing of Suetonius.  This Venetian Renaissance Old Style font was also used as the basis for Centaur.  During the years 1912-1935, Rogers worked for a number of presses, including Emery Walker’s Mall Press and Harvard University.  He designed over 170 books during the course of his career, and he died on May 18, 1957

Rogers wrote in his Printer’s Notes about the development of Centaur:

“I had had the good fortune to come into possession of a copy of Jenson’s Eusebius of 1470, supposedly the first of the folios printed in his Roman  letter, and the only one I have ever seen in which his type appears in all its delicate crispness of cutting and casting—a marvel of accuracy for those times. When portions of the clearest page in my copy were enlarged to about five times the original size I was at once struck by the pen-like characteristics of the lower-case letters; so with a flat pen cut to the width of the heavier lines, I wrote on the photographic print as rapidly as I could, thus preserving the proportions, at least, of Jenson’s own characters.”

  Joseph Blumenthal in The Printed Book in America (p. 67) writes of Centaur:

 “The undertaking was sponsored, with some proprietary rights, by Henry Watson Kent, then secretary of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New  York, where he had established an excellent press in the museum basement for announcements, posters, labels, etc. The types first book appearance was in Maurice de Guérin’s The Centaur which gave the type its name and which has become one of the most sought-after of the B.R. books. Hand-set by Mrs. Rogers, it was printed in an edition of 135 copies [in 1915] at Carl P. Rollins lively and idealistic Montague Press at the Dyke Mill in Massachusetts.

Guerin Centaur Beinecke

At this time, the Monotype System was widely used for typesetting in Europe.  This consists of two machines, one for keyboarding and the other for type casting.  To use a font for most general purposes, a full set of capitals, lower case, and italics is needed.  Rogers agreed to make Centaur available for Monotype and arranged for a compatible italic designed by Frederic Warde.  The italic was based on the work of a sixteenth-century printer named Ludovico degli Arrighi and was called Arrighi.  Thus the full font was available by 1929.

  A comparison of Centaur with another commonly used font, Baskerville, will show some of the distinguishing features of the font.

Font Compare

Centaur is generally lighter, both serifs (small lines attached to the end of a stroke) on the “T” point left, the tail of the “Q” is more restrained, and the junction in the middle of the W is very different.  There is relatively little difference between thick and thin lines, the legs of the “M” are splayed, and the tail of the “R” is more sweeping. The center bar of the “E” is longer and the cross-bar of the “e” is slanting.  There are other similar details that differentiate Centaur from other fonts, although in some cases the differences are very subtle. Daniel Berkeley Updike in his Printing Types (1922) writes: “…it appears to me one of the best roman fonts yet designed in America, and, of its kind , the best anywhere.”  That evaluation still stands.

Turning to the major uses of Centaur, we can see Rogers’ mastery of book design, for which he is more widely known.  In the late 20s, he was considering a finely printed edition of the Odyssey, but he was not satisfied with any existing translation.  He was one of many people who had been reading with great interest The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T. E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia.)  Rogers conceived the idea of commissioning Lawrence to do a new translation.  Lawrence had long admired Rogers and was an avid reader of the Odyssey in Greek, but was initially reluctant to try such a difficult task. After almost five years of work, the Odyssey was published by Sir Emery Walker, Wilfred Merton, and Bruce Rogers in 1932 in an edition of 530 copies.  Each book or chapter was headed by a 24K gold and black medallion designed by Rogers.  Seven separate impressions in the press were required for each medallion.


Salisbury House Library & Rare Books Collection

With special grey paper and a simple black morocco leather binding, the result is said to be “among the most beautiful books ever produced” (Joseph Blumenthal).

 The Salisbury House library also contains the very rare second edition of the Lawrence’s Odyssey.  This is the American limited edition issued to establish copyright in an edition of only 34 copies signed by Bruce Rogers.  The book is much smaller than the first edition, does not have the chapter roundels, and does not use the Centaur font.  The Salisbury copy is number seven and one of 11 beautifully bound in full morocco, brown in this case (others were blue.)

Odyssey signature

The second masterpiece using the Centaur type is the Oxford Lectern Bible from the Oxford University Press, printed in 1935.  This Bible was produced at the request of King George V to commemorate the Canadian soldiers who died in Ypres, Francee, during World War I.  The type is a special version of Centaur, 22 points, set on a 19 point body to save space.  This is a very large book with the large size Batchelor hand-made paper in two volumes and bound in white pigskin.  This version of the Oxford Bible was a limited edition of 200 copies; there is a place for the number within the edition, but the Salisbury copy is unnumbered.

Screenshot 2015-07-09 14.04.42

The Oxford Lectern Bible is often considered to be the masterpiece of Bruce Rogers.  While he was working on the Bible, he also designed another highly regarded book, the Fra Luca de Pacioli, in 1933.  This also used the Centaur type and the cover is a well-known example.


Rogers used the Centaur typeface rarely, reserving it for major books, usually with hand-made paper which could take a better impression than normal book pulp paper.  That trend has continued, although it is still used on occasion, as on the cover of this 1977 book of essays about James Joyce from the University of California Press.

Scan Ulysses Essays

These and the many other beautifully designed books of Rogers have established him as one of the finest, if not the finest, designers in America.  The April 3, 1939 issue of Time Magazine asserted that “Bruce Rogers is to U.S. book designing and printing what Frank Lloyd Wright is to architecture…”

A Virtual Tour, c. 1927

By 1927, Salisbury House neared completion. The Weeks family had moved in the previous year, although the house would not be fully finished until 1928. During this year’s interim, a photographer captured images of the new home’s interior. These photographs, particularly when paired with exterior construction images, make a fascinating early study of the property.

The Weeks family, as we do on our tours today, welcomed visitors to Salisbury House in the Great Hall.

Great Hall_3

The iconic painting,  The Brothers LaBouchere, still dominates the center of the hall, though much of the additional furnishings have been removed today to accommodate our various public events and rentals.

From the Great Hall, visitors typically made their way down the east hallway to the Common Room.

East hallway

Here in the east hallway hung a painting of special importance. The large-scale piece hanging on the right is Joseph Stella’s Tree of My Life, painted by the artist in 1919-1920. The Weeks family originally acquired three Stella works on a scale similar to Tree of My LifeThe Birth of Venus (1922) and The Apotheosis of the Rose (1926), which both can still be seen at Salisbury House today. Tree of My Life, however, was sold at auction at Christie’s in 1986 for $2.2 million.

Lush furnishings, including ornate drapery, also appeared in the Common Room in 1927. However, the custom-made Steinway grand piano, which was later a centerpiece of the room, had yet to arrive from New York.

Common room_3

Common room

Lucky guests were also able to visit the library, which remains an extraordinary experience today.


Note the empty shelves behind the hanging tapestry in the middle background above. By the time the Weeks family left Salisbury House in 1954, the library collection had expanded even beyond the library shelves. Eventually, locked cabinet doors were added to the bookshelves adjacent to the fireplace below.


Guests invited to stay for the evening would have likely spent time in the Dining Room as well…

Dining Room

…followed by their morning coffee in the Breakfast Room. A portion of Stella’s Apotheosis of the Rose is visible on the right, where it still hangs.

Breakfast Room

To view the second floor of Salisbury House, guests in 1927 would have used the main staircase located just off of the Great Hall.

Main staircase hall

Not long after this photograph was taken, the Weekses added an elaborate runner to the stairs that included their family crest. A sixteenth-century suit of armor eventually replaced the chair pictured here as well.

Upon arriving at the top of the staircase, Carl and Edith would have retired to their bedrooms in the east wing of the house. Edith’s sumptuous bedroom suite, including a dressing room with adjacent bath, reflected her preference for French decor.

Edith dressing room

Edith’s bedroom was equally lovely.

Edith bedroom_1

Edith bedroom_2

Carl’s bathroom and bedroom – adjacent to, though not connected, to Edith’s rooms – displayed a much more masculine aesthetic.

Carl bathroom


Carl bedroom

The balcony, down the hallway from Carl’s and Edith’s suites, offered a fantastic view of the Great Hall.

Balcony hall

Great Hall_4

A small guest bedroom was accessed from the balcony hall.

Porch Room

Continuing westward down the hallway, the Queen Anne bedroom appeared on the left.

Queen Ann_2

Queen Ann_1

The four bedrooms for the Weeks boys – Charles, William, Hud, and Lafe – were on the west end of the second floor. Hud’s room, for reasons that are lost to us now, included two beds.

Hud's bedroom_1

Lafe’s room was the smallest of the boys’ bedrooms.

Lafe's Bedroom

Before our tour of Salisbury House c. 1927 draws to a close: a stop in the Indian Room. This space, located in the basement level of the house, was decorated with Carl’s extensive Native American collection. It was also, or so we are given to believe, used by the boys for some seriously raging parties.

Indian Room_use

Despite the fact that we are separated from these photographs by nearly a century, we are extraordinarily fortunate that much of the fine artworks and furnishings collected by the Weeks family remains intact today. Be sure to stop by and enjoy a tour c. 2015!


Merry Christmas from the Limited Editions Club, 1934

Last year’s Christmas post explored our remarkable collection of holiday cards, from those sent by the Weeks family to a Christmas postcard mailed by a twentieth-century literary legend. This year, we focus on a single classic: Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. First published on December 19, 1843 – exactly 171 years ago today – Dickens’ aim in writing the book extended well beyond a simple celebration of the season.

Rather, the inspiration for the piece stemmed from his outrage over the squalid and exploitative working conditions faced by women and children in Industrial Revolution England. Dickens marshaled the considerable strength of his pen in the hopes that his efforts would yield “Something that would strike the heaviest blow in my power…something that would come down with sledgehammer force.” Scrooge, whose name was an amalgam of “screw” and “gouge,” represented the relentless pursuit of profit that Dickens perceived as a central problem in his industrializing country. Bob Cratchit and his family, including Tiny Tim, personified the costs exacted upon working-class families by men of Scrooge’s ilk. Today, though, Dickens’ original message remains largely muted. Scrooge, the Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present, and Future, and the Cratchit family, evoke more holiday nostalgia than social commentary. Indeed, A Christmas Carol‘s contributions to the nature of contemporary holiday culture has made Dickens, in the words of one writer, “The Man Who Invented Christmas.”

Perhaps Dickens’ social critique of business running roughshod over the working man and his family found more purchase in the winter of 1934. That December, the Limited Editions Club published A Christmas Carol for its members. The book was printed a week before Christmas and found a place on the shelves in Carl Weeks’ library at Salisbury House soon thereafter. The cover featured stylized Christmas trees, and Gordon Ross’s illustrations accompanied Dickens’ text.

Carol 1+

Carol 3

Carol 2

Carol 4

Carol 5

Carol 6

Carol 7

Carol 8

Carol 9

Carol 10

Whatever message you take from Dickens’ classic this holiday season, we at Salisbury House wish you the best! May you echo an awakened Scrooge:

“I don’t know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his stockings. “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to every-body! A happy New Year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!” 

“The Michelangelo of Caricature”: Honoré Daumier at Salisbury House

Honoré Daumier, the nineteenth-century French artist, became most widely known during his lifetime as a skilled caricaturist. Indeed, he continues to be roundly considered the “Michelangelo of Caricature.”  Daumier’s work for Le Charivari, a French daily newspaper, and for the journal La Caricature, both founded in the 1830s, remain at the apex of caricature as social satire. To draw a modern parallel, perhaps, Daumier might be considered the Jon Stewart of French satirical commentary.


Honoré Daumier

Still, there was more to the man than caricature. His other talents, particularly in terms of painting and sculpture, remained largely unrecognized until after his death in 1879 at the age of 71. A panegyric collection of essays celebrating Daumier and his work, published in 1922, suggests that “In his day [he] was celebrated as a caricaturist and only a few of the more discerning artists and critics realized that he was one of the giants of Arts, one of the salient individualities [sic]  of the nineteenth century.” A catalogue printed for a 1993 Daumier exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York describes the him as “an artist of exceptional genius and power.” Posthumous reevaluations of Daumier’s work laud, in addition to lithography, his paintings, sculpture, and drawings; he also worked in oil, watercolor, prints, and wood.

Today, Daumier remains widely collected. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Getty, and the Hammer Museum at UCLA are only a few among the many world-class institutions that exhibit and/or hold Daumier works.

Our collections here at Salisbury House include Daumier images as well. While we are still in the process of researching our Daumier holdings, they’re just too cool not to share.

As you will see below, we have found translations and descriptions of the headings and captions paired with the works. Still, even for those of us who are not conversant in French, Daumier’s work transcends language. His renderings of human expressions and situations speak for themselves.

This first set of  Daumier images below are both amusing and puzzling. We do not yet know who created these cutouts of his caricatures, or who added paper tabs to the reverse of the cutouts that allowed figures’ arms and other appendages to be moved back and forth. The cutouts seem to be Daumier’s images, anonymously translated into folk art. Put simply: they’re awesome.

Messieurs en dames

Translation:  Ladies and gentlemen! Silver mines, gold mines, diamond mines are only thin gruel and stale rolls in comparison with coal . . . But even so, (you’re going to say), you’re selling your shares for a million? . . . I’m not selling my shares, gentlemen, I’m giving them away for 200 miserable francs, I’m giving two for every one, I’m giving away a needle, an ear-pick, a bodkin, and what’s more, I give you my blessing into the bargain. Bring out the big drum!

Description: Here, Daumier is aiming at [French politician] Girardin who had been offering mining shares to the public. The entire project was a scam and all participants, with the exception of Girardin, were sent to prison.

The reverse: the paper tab at the bottom, when pulled up and down, maneuvered the main figure’s right arm.

Messieurs en dames_reverse

Les enfants charmants

Translation: Crrrrr !…… woman….!…to leave a man alone for four hours with three crrrrrrrying children……. !

Description: A man is in a state of frustration over three crying babies.

The reverse:

Les enfants back (1)

Robert Macaire Magnetiseur

Translation: Robert Macaire hypnotist. Here is an excellent subject……… for hypnosis……. Certainly ! there is no connection between us, I do not have the honor of knowing Mademoiselle de St. Bertrand and you will see gentlemen, the effect of sleepwalking… (in her sleep Mademoiselle de St. Bertrand gives diagnoses on everyone’s diseases, advocates hidden underground treasures and gives investment advice to Mozart paper company, in gold mines and a host of other very fine operations).

Description: Robert Macaire is hypnotizing a woman. Robert Macaire may seem to be a realistic figure, however one should remember that in reality he is an artificial personality, created in 1823 by Benjamin Antier for his play “L’Auberge des Adrets.”

The reverse:

Robert back

The figure of Robert Macaire became a proxy for Daumier and his publisher at Le CharivariCharles Philipon, for their criticism of French social and political life under Louis-Philippe (r. 1830-1848). Philipon often provided the captions for Daumier’s work, and they both had good cause to create a buffer between their work and their satirical commentary about the monarch. Daumier had been imprisoned for six months in 1832 for his caricature of the king as “Gargantua” while he was on staff at Philipon’s La Caricature. After Daumier’s release from prison, Philipon founded Le Charivari and continued to publish his work. Macaire remained particularly useful after 1835, when political satire was banned in France and Le Charivari ostensibly focused  on French daily life instead.

Our collections include a bound set of Daumier prints from Le Charvari. The collection is undated, but the originals would have been produced during Daumier’s tenure at the French daily from the 1830s to the 1860s.



TranslationHow silly!. . . . just look at how they run away! . . . . that is what you get when you are in the wrong place!!! . . . . My little love, when you prevent to pass, you will burn the pellets from Sérail. . . . .

Description:  A terrified couple is walking very fast because they are afraid of two men who are looking at them and commenting on their behavior. Daumier succeeds to show the bourgeoisie with humor but also with that certain touch of bitterness and at the same time endeavors to help us understand how much we are all fighting to climb up the social ladder, while often forgetting our roots and damaging our own self-esteem as well as that of our surrounding.


Translation: Robbed! . . . . Empty pocket street . . . . . .

Description: A man realizes that he has just been robbed. Reportedly, this street was the former “rue Vieille-Doucet”. Before the reconstruction of the Parisian roads was done by Haussmann, most street in Paris were narrow and dark, an ideal situation for pickpockets.


 Translation: Oh here you are, darn it, how handsome you are! Come and give your father a kiss.

Description: Daumier portrays generational (and class) differences between father and son.


Translation: This proves that when you patrol, you should never pass by your own house.

Description: A soldier is patrolling the streets and happens to look up at his window and see his wife with another man.

Another bound set of Daumier’s work in the Salisbury House collections is entitled “Les Cosaques Pour Rire,” or, “The Cossacks in Jest.” Daumier created these images during the Crimean War (1853-1856), and used his considerable skills to skewer Russian military command, soldiers, and the czar, though not all the images included in this set necessarily pertain to either the Crimean War or to the Cossacks.


Translation: The best-disciplined soldiers in the world.


Translation: IN BUCHAREST. – It’s here.. come in… we’ll pay you!…

Description: Some soldiers sitting in a tent in Bucharest are inviting an old man to join their forces.


Translation: Having to also consult his little table in order to be sure that he is definitely the winner.

Description: Nicolas I, Nicolas Pavlovitch (1796-1855), became Emperor of Russia in 1825. Daumier pokes fun at the czar.


Translation: Russian blind men’s bluff – New game, but more dangerous.

Description: A blindfolded soldier is playing blind man’s bluff.

Daumier’s prolific career reflected his uncanny ability to skewer both the machinations of kings and empires and the foibles of the everyday. Our collections include a selection from his Croquis de Chasse (Hunting Sketches) from the 1850s in which Daumier takes aim at the appearance of hunting mania among the French middle class, brought on by the loosening of laws which had traditionally maintained the hunt as the preserve of aristocrats.


Translation:  What a hideous Thing this wild Boar is… without this tree I would be lost… it has the air of considering… wouldn’t it be nice if it just went

Description: A hunter is frightened by a wild pig.


Translation: A misplaced shot.

Description: A hunter shooting at a hare has missed and accidentally shot another hunter in the buttocks.


Translation: – Blast, what bad luck… he passes just when I am unable to fire!….

Description: A hare hops past a hunter just as he has put his gun down [and is pulling his pants back up].


Translation: Two hunters were living in peace. A partridge passed and behold, the war began.  

We are still learning more about our Daumier collection here at Salisbury House, but the selection of images included here exemplify the artist’s remarkable skills and legacy.

We are indebted to the Brandeis Institutional Repository’s translations within their Honoré Daumier Digitized Lithographs collection.

Dirty Words

“There are no dirty words. There are only dirty minds and dirty tongues, and these have imported a foul odor to what originally were mere descriptive terms for quite common experiences.”

These memorable lines were written in response to the furor over the publication of D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928). Critics particularly took issue with Lawrence’s use of colloquial terms for coitus and the female anatomy, and generally denounced the book as filth. Lawrence, for his part, answered his critics. One essay, A Propos of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, is frequently included in later editions of the book.

At some point after the book’s publication, another response to Chatterly critics appeared. We don’t know who wrote this work, but it makes for a very interesting read. While Lawrence’s name appears on the cover, there seems to be a consensus that someone else wrote the essay. This six-page pamphlet, appropriately – and provocatively – titled “Dirty Words,” is tucked away on a shelf in the Salisbury House Library. It makes a nice addendum to our many other Lawrence works  (including a rare first edition of Lady Chatterley, signed by Lawrence), though it is not of Lawrence’s hand.





“Dirty Words” offers a fascinating glimpse into the ways in which the writer, first of all, perceived Lawrence’s own use of language in Lady Chatterly and, secondly, observations on those who labeled Lawrence’s use of language obscene and sought to have his work expurgated, censored, or repressed. One hundred and fifty copies of this pamphlet were printed “For A.H.”

Ultimately, the writer indicts Chatterley critics for raising an uproar over “mere combinations of letters and harmless enough, which have been buried so deep in men’s consciousness, and so over-laden with poisonous accretions, that to be hated they need but to be uttered.” The author continues, “If sex has become a foreign [impure] element in modern life, then modern life, not sex, is the thing to be cleansed.”

It makes for a fascinating read. The full text of “Dirty Words” appears below.












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