This is an interactive 360 virtual tour of the Hall of the Doges.
One of the most beloved historic rooms in the Davenport (and indeed Spokane), the Hall of the Doges, was built directly above the famous Davenport’s Restaurant a decade before the adjoining hotel opened in 1914. Architect Kirtland Cutter was asked by Louis Davenport to “spare no expense” in designing a ballroom and reception hall that would “eclipse in luxury and splendor anything of its kind west of the Mississippi.” Such was the prosperity of the great “Inland Empire” that flowed into its capital city, Spokane. A sense of its gorgeous and festive atmosphere can be derived from the costume ball photo from 1910.
Cutter’s original inspiration for this lavish chamber derived from the famous Palace of the Doges in Venice, most notably in the quatrefoilwindows and Gothic arches on the second stories of each structure. One is tempted to wonder if a Venetian theme was selected because Venice in its days of glory was the heart of a vast mercantile empire, analogous in a way to Spokane in 1904, which was at the flourishing crossroads of the vast Inland Empire.
By 2000 the former glory of the Hall of the Doges was drastically eroded. The arches had been closed and covered with red flocked wallpaper; the room felt small and claustrophobic. The arms of the chandeliers had been stripped, the ceiling covered with grime, the oval painting severely abraded, and there was a gaping hole in one corner.
The definitive history of the Davenport Hotel by Tony and Suzanne Bamonte, Spokane’s Legendary Davenport Hotel,[i] contains a long and fascinating list of notable guests that includes American presidents, movie stars, and adventurers. Among them one name stands out as unique. The name is Sarah Bernhardt.
It’s not only that her fame long predates that of other celebrity guests. Harry Truman, Clark Gable, and Charles Lindbergh are all 20th century figures. Born in 1844, this French dramatic actress who first went onstage in 1861 was from a different age altogether. But there’s more. There have been lots of actresses but who else has ever been called “the most famous actress the world has ever known”? None of the many movie “superstars” have been given that distinction. And it is hard to think of any personage with such superlative legendary status ever having set foot in Spokane.
There is more than one puzzle here. How and when did she come to the Davenport and what exactly did she do in Spokane? More meaningfully, what was so great about her in the first place and how did she attain such a reputation?
The latter questions are hard to evaluate now because sound recording and cinema were barely being developed when she took part in them very late in her career and the quality is poor. We only have written accounts of her on stage, black and white photos, and posters.
But the posters may begin to provide a clue. Some will recognize Sarah’s name from the dazzling depictions of her in the famous Art Nouveau posters of Alphonse Mucha. Nothing like his majestic, seven foot tall design for her role in Gismonda had been seen in Paris before. It was in fact this first poster for her that launched his unmistakable style that came to epitomize Art Nouveau, and, though her career was well established, she had finally found in him an artist capable of representing the presence she sought to evoke.
There was something unique about her stage presence, performing both female and male roles (e.g. Hamlet), she cast a spell with her timing, her clothing and movements, her elocution, her voice. One English man of letters summed it up this way.
“The secret of that astounding utterance baffles the imagination. The words boomed and crashed with a superhuman resonance which shook the spirit of the hearer like a leaf in the wind. The voix d’or has often been raved over; but in Sarah Bernhardt’s voice there was more than gold: there was thunder and lightening; there was Heaven and Hell.” — Lytton Strache
But it was not only her acting that created the mystique of her celebrity. Hers was a cunning and eccentric flamboyance that would beat Madonna and Lady Gaga hands down. Lavish tales about her own life, traveling with exotic pets (including a crocodile), sleeping in a coffin, making no secret of her endless string of lovers that included the future King Edward VII, all added up to a fantastical public image that would make the most imaginative publicity agent turn green. Yet at the same time she operated professionally in the elite theatrical realm of classical high seriousness, moving her audiences to tears and raptures.
It took a bit of sleuthing to learn when “the divine Sarah” came to Spokane. It turns out that she came twice, the first time in 1891, 23 years before the Davenport opened, to perform her famous role as La Tosca, the play from which Puccini’s opera was derived. She came to the Auditorium theater, then billed as “the world’s largest stage.”
A description of her appearance onstage was printed in the Spokane Review the day after the performance.
“In the first act La Tosca [played by Sarah] appeared in a clinging robe of pale sea foam green daintily brocaded, caught up over a petticoat of green and pink satin, with the short waist outlined with a belt of green satin, and sash ends of pink and green. An enormous hat of pink and green with nodding plumes of the same colors, with the white La Tosca cane, which she had once made famous, as she has the Bernhardt gloves.
“The sinuous Sara [sic] . . . has not lost the art of wreathing her clothes about her, until in the second act she stood swathed in regal embroideries of gold on gleaming satin.
“The predominance of green in all of her costumes contrasted beautifully with red gold of her hair.
“She came up the great stage with a girlish airiness that could not be mistaken. The audience knew it was she before it had been given the first faint token of her art, and was pleased at the break in the monotonous French dialogue that had been carried on the for the first ten minutes before the tragedienne could be presented to the Spokane public. Then followed what is really the most charming scene in all of this tangled web of passion, treachery, torture and death.”[ii]
The Spokane audience was not euphoric. As the record goes, There was “a feeling of disappointment that could not be hidden.” Whether it was an off-day for her, her stage manager and the theater staff didn’t communicate well enough, or that Spokanites simply were not culturally literate enough to get what the thing was all about is impossible to ascertain. She was on her private train the following day, next stop Butte, Montana. [iii]
Miss Bernhardt’s second visit to Spokane was in 1918, the last of her nine American tours. A recounting of her time here remains to be uncovered. She was 74 years old, still performing, even though she had lost a leg. That she really did stay at the Davenport Hotel, which opened four years prior, is recorded in the book, The Life of a Chef, written by the hotel’s most famous chef, Edward Mathieu.
“Dear Mr. Mathieu, I want, before leaving the hotel, to express to you all my thanks for your culinary arts so delicate. This is quite rare in this magnificent America. Once more, thanks. Sarah Bernhardt, 1918.”
Many books have been written by and about Sarah Bernhardt. Brief further reading can be found in this review of a recent biography, “The Divine Sarah” review by Graham Robb in the New York Review of Books
Gottlieb, Robert. Sarah: The Life of Sarah Bernhardt. Yale University Press; 2010.
[i] Bamonte, Tony ; Bamonte. Suzanne Schaeffer. Spokane’s legendary Davenport Hotel. Spokane : Tornado Creek Publications, 2001.
[ii] Spokane Review. “Bernhardt’s Performance,” September 26, 1891, I-5. Quoted in Page, Michael A. “Sarah Bernhardt’s Visit to Spokane.” “Pacific Northwest Forum”. Second Series, Vol. V No. 1, 1992. pp. 128-140.
The colorful portrait on the end wall of the Isabella Room is an original fixture of what was initially the Davenport Hotel’s Dining Room. In Pride of an Empire, the hotel’s guide book published in 1915, it is described as being by “Nattier,” which is to say the French artist Jean-Marc Nattier (1685-1766), though it bears little resemblance to his highly refined style and the attribution cannot be verified. A specialist at one of the leading auction houses suggested to the author that the painting was in the style of Largillière, which is also hard to support. The unsigned painting is certainly 18th-century French in style and has no connection with Queen Isabella ofSpain, after whom the room was named, who had died over 200 years earlier. A double portrait said to represent her and her husband Ferdinand is in keeping with the costume style of the Castilian queen’s time period.
During restoration, when the painting was out of the frame, it could be seen that it had been cut down to some degree (how much cannot be determined) because the painted image was partially wrapped around the stretcher frame. Cutting paintings down to fit picture frames was not an uncommon practice in the past.
Dating the painting is difficult. It has the age cracks one expects from old oil paintings. Auction house specialists and at least one conservator at the Getty Museum felt that, while 18th century in style, it is likely a 19th century production.
The author believes that may be open to debate because it is painted using 18th century techniques. One of these is the practice of applying a unifying colored glaze to a much brighter underpainting, a historically documented technique. In this case, for example, the woman’s dress was originally a shockingly bright pink but was subdued by a harmonizing transparent layer of gray, which had been applied essentially to the entire figure and drapery.
Evidence for this was determined during the cleaning process. The painting had become dark due to surface grime and brown, discolored varnish. The cleaning process revealed that there had been at least two “restorations,” a crude recent one and a somewhat more sophisticated old one. The former involved broadly slapping some thick oil paint over some damaged areas, while the earlier one evidences an old varnish removal and attempts to cover up over-cleaning that took off original paint. A detailed account of the restoration can be found by clicking on the picture at the left.
The fact that the picture had gone through an old restoration suggests an older than late 19th century date. The exact provenance of the picture is unknown but it seems likely that it was touched up before whatever dealer sold it to whoever bought it for the Davenport. It takes more than 50 years for natural resin varnish to darken to the degree that it needs removal. One may deduce that the portrait must be before 1850 at the latest and by that time this was already a long out-of-date style.
The final question is what the picture represents. The woman is unknown. It is suggested here that the aristocratic lady with the basket of flowers is an an 18th Century style allegorical portrait of an individual in the guise of the goddess Flora, holding an idealized, symbolic garden tool.
(For a detailed report on the restoration of the “Isabella” portrait, visit The Artist’s Gazing Ball.)