Pushing through the thick ground-covering mats of ivy and pachysandra, delicate white hanging flowers have been sprouting from the ground. Gardeners have long considered these harbingers of spring. Galanthus, commonly known as snowdrops in America, or “sneeuwklokjes” (Dutch for “snow clocks”) in The Netherlands, have sprouted around the grounds. Galanthus, from the greek ‘gala‘ (milk) combined with ‘anthos‘ (flower) are the most pronounced markers of the progression of time in a garden.

Galanthus are best enjoyed en masse rather than alone on solitary stems. They increase quite rapidly by producing bulb offsets underground and by seed, which is spread about by ants. Seedlings propagated by these tiny horticulturists are not the same as the true parent. By reason of their small stature, differences often go unnoticed and very few people realize that it is possible, by a judicious choice of species, to have snowdrops flowering in the garden from October to April.

But the Galanthus nivalis prominent in our landscapes typically bloom in early March and occasionally the last day or two of February. This year, they started springing up in early February. Plants, like Galanthus, provide valuable information about our climate and could provide an early warning of the effects of climate change.

Galanthus are easy to grow and are quite hardy, blooming in sunshine or in semi-shade, in fairly damp heavy soil. Snowdrop classification is determined by the position of the leaves as they emerge from the ground and by the flower characteristics. Galanthus nivalis adapts itself easily to garden cultivation, spreading rapidly and forming vast white carpets in springtime, a truly wonderful sight.

Soon I expect to venture into the garden with my magnifying glass and a book on the genus Galanthus to identify which ones are blooming on our grounds. While I am out there, I will also be mindful of my step so I do not trample these diminutive and elegant flowers. They only come once a year, but the wait is well worth it.

Text by Luis Marmol,  Assistant Curator of Gardens
Photographs by Marcel de Kok.

It gets harder to follow the mantra of look, don’t touch at historic homes such as the Bartow-Pell Mansion Museum. Each object on display was designed to be touched, held, sat on, eaten off of, played with, lit, and blown out. Arranged in each room of the house, the objects hold the memory of having just been touched and together give off an expectant air as if a person from long ago has just stepped out of the room for a moment. As visitors, this ambiance allows us to suspend time for a moment and immerse ourselves in the history of the place. The objects take on life, telling the story in place of those who lived here so long ago.

We feel the pull to allow ourselves to reach out and touch and complete the process of immersion, and yet we stop and pull our hand back. These objects also have a life as a numbered, labeled part of a collection. Sorted in our database by their accession number, each has its own associated set of data. In this capacity, the objects remind us that what they can tell us is equally as important as what they evoke.

BPMM intern Julia Rogers works with collection photos on Past Perfect software

As an intern, I am currently working on a project that will expand our objects’ ability to tell us about their history. Using Past Perfect software, Bartow-Pell has created a database with records on every acquisition. Recently, another intern began the project of photo-documenting each object. I am continuing the work by taking the completed photographs and pairing them with their catalog entries in Past Perfect.  More than just a glamour shot, each object has multiple views showing it photographed near a yardstick with additional close-up shots of important details.  By adding the pictures, we are letting the object serve as data in the system.

The furniture, lamps, statues, plates, paintings, and toys here at Bartow-Pell each live simultaneously as objects in a home and artifacts of history. Collectively, they help us to understand our past, whether through their ability to document the ways and means of everyday activity or through their ability to evoke a memory of a past that was gone before we were ever alive.

Julia Rogers, Museum Intern

The query “Is the house haunted?” suddenly occurs to many visitors taking our tours in October. School children often bring up the subject first, but I also see the chaperone’s ears perk up waiting for an answer. Normally, I will simply say no. But if I am in an entertaining mood and with the right audience, I will give them the deadpan (excuse the pun) answer of not yet or even better, “We are still waiting for that position to be filled.”

Is Bartow-Pell haunted? My immediate answer is no, certainly not in the scary movie way. We will never be on any ghost program, nor will we ever be one of America’s most haunted, of that I am sure. But I have to admit that I am curious and, well, there have been incidents that would make anyone pause. Shutters you know were closed are mysteriously found open, for example. I think that would be enough for some to say, “Well, maybe.”

That is why, when given the opportunity, I jumped at the chance to work with paranormal investigator Dan Sturges. I had met Dan at a previous investigation of the mansion, and I must say that it was one of the most entertaining evenings I have spent at the museum.

So this past September, on two separate occasions, I joined Dan and several other Bartow-Pell staff members on an investigation of the house. Using EMF sensors and EVP voice recorders, we set out on what one staff member referred to as a “ghost hunt.”

On the first night, we used both devices to record any changes in the rooms and any sounds that we would not be able to hear with our ears. With the recording devices in hand, we were asked to pose questions to the “ghosts.” “What do you ask a ghost?” seems rather silly. But the answer might surprise you. Dan, who has had some success in this field, said that you typically start by asking questions on subjects not normally brought up in polite conversation, like religion and politics. Why? Because Dan said that just like today, these hot-button topics interested people in earlier times, too. Controversy can spark conversation. On the second investigation, Dan brought a psychic with him. While I did not go around the house with Cathy, I was told that her intriguing information raised some eyebrows and might result in a little research. Among her revelations was that there may have been some distinct family interest in the Civil War.

What else did we discover? Well, like us, you will just have to wait and see on October 29 when Dan returns to Bartow- Pell to reveal his findings to the public. I am getting chills just thinking about it.

Amanda Kraemer, Education Assistant

Volunteers came from all over the world, literally! The majority were students visiting from Paris, France. Others were native to New York and even Florida. As a whole, we possessed very little knowledge of historic preservation. Fortunately, the professionals of Fifty Three Restorations were present to lead and guide us throughout the whole process.

The first step in restoring the shutters involved the removal of existing paint and the application of paint stripper, which was messy, yet fun to work with. Once the shutters were slathered in stripper, they were carried down to the carriage house basement and allowed to dry overnight. Meanwhile, during lunch, Gerald of Fifty Three Restorations gave a PowerPoint presentation showing his company’s abilities through pictures of previously completed projects.

The next day required removing the stripper and sanding the shutters, being careful not to damage the wood. After sanding, Gerald demonstrated the proper way to use wood glue in order to resolve minor damage to the shutters. It was necessary that the surface be as smooth as possible before applying new paint.

As soon as the shutters were sanded, they were ready to be primed and painted, and a paint analysis was performed in order to determine their original color. Unfortunately, we believe that earlier paint layers had been removed at some point and never documented, and the color found in our current analysis probably dates to a 1990s restoration. After some discussion, it was eventually decided that the shutters would be painted to match our recent sample.

Today, a month after the workshop, the shutters look beautiful and are being reinstalled in the double parlors. Without a doubt, this was a great learning experience and has led me to consider a career in historic preservation in the future.

Diana Dalmas
Museum Intern

The "Pell" House, Otto K. Bacher, Scribner's Magazine, April 1892

Excerpts from a letter by Bartow tutor Augustus Moore to his sister Lydia Moore, June 17, 1838

Mr. Bartow is a very wealthy gentleman, formerly a merchant of New York, now retired from business. He has a splendid situation on the sound 16 miles from New York City, formerly his country seat where he spent the summers when he lived in the city. He has a very large farm connected with it cared for by I don’t know how many men who live in farm houses all about the lot. Has splendid gardens with gooseberries, currants, etc. etc. etc. The gardener devotes his whole time to it —has a great plenty of fruit trees of various kinds…Mr. B says a horse and carriage are at my service whenever I wish to ride and I have taken a great many with him, with boys, and alone into the country and to the neighboring villages sometimes several miles… It’s a very agreeable family. They live in first style I assure you. Have servants and waiters in abundance. One waits upon the table and another upon something else. If I want a drink of water I merely call on a waiter…There is none of that stiffness or affected greatness that you find around the would-be gentry of N.E. [Northeast] Mr. & Mrs. B. are very free, social and kind and I am treated not only respectfully but kindly.

This precious glimpse of the past arrived at the mansion a few years ago from a Moore descendent, who thoughtfully shared a transcription with us. It is a rare and evocative account of what life was like on the Bartows’ country estate in 1838.

Augustus Moore arrived at New Rochelle on the way to assume his new duties as tutor in the Bartow household. He wrote:

I found Mr. B’s coachman waiting for me with a brougham, which took me to his residence…My business is to take charge of two boys— fit them for college. One his nephew is about 14 a fairly little fellow and a good scholar—the other his son about 10, a pleasant little boy but does not like to study very well. I have to spend from 8 to ½ past 12 in the forenoon and from ½ past 2 to ½ past 4 PM with them. The rest of the time I go where I please and do what I’ve a mind to.

George Lorillard Bartow (1828–1875) is the 10-year-old boy mentioned above. He apparently did not outgrow his poor study habits since he was the only son of the family who did not attend college (his three brothers graduated from Columbia).

The Bartow mansion (1836–1842) was probably under construction when this letter was written, and Mr. Moore mentions that he had “many pleasant walks about the place examining the improvements” with Mr. Bartow. We believe that the family must have lived in another house on the property (now destroyed) during this time. Theirs was not the only notable dwelling being built in the area. The Pelham (Bolton) Priory and the Peter Augustus Jay house in Rye date from that same year, 1838.

The grounds and gardens would have been lovely then, as now. Numerous fruit trees provided a variety of fresh offerings, and the local farms supplied dairy products and other essentials. The property, with sweeping views of the Long Island Sound, was cooled by fresh sea breezes during the summer months.

The letter is a wonderful testament to the kindness and thoughtfulness of Mr. and Mrs. Bartow, who clearly treated all with respect. They were also devout Christians: “The gentleman and lady are both Episcopalians and I of course attend the Episcopal church [sic].” In 1838, the Bartows were parishioners at St. Paul’s in Eastchester (now St. Paul’s Church National Historic Site in Mount Vernon). Their daughter Clarina (1838–1898) was baptized there by Rev. Robert Bolton on June 24, 1838, exactly one week after tutor Augustus Moore wrote his letter.

Descriptions of the Bartows’ sociability and their penchant for entertaining (without “stiffness or affected greatness”) help us to imagine the lively parties, dinners, receptions, and other entertainments that filled the splendid double parlors with their magnificent architectural details and lofty ceilings. Augustus Moore explains that the family had “a great deal of company from the city as it is only sixteen miles and there is a steamboat goes mornings & back in the P.M.” The “servants and waiters in abundance” would have further ensured that their guests were entertained in “first style.”

Margaret Highland, Museum Curator

“What is this riot of color?” you may ask. It is a flowering quince, a hardy shrub native to Japan , China , and Korea with slender, spiny branches and crenellated leaves that are oval or lanceolate (a fancy word for spear-shaped). It’s known in the botanical world as the genus Chaenomeles. The name comes from the Greek chaino (to gape or to open) and melon (apple). A member of the rose family, Chaenomeles does have a small fruit that resembles an apple, and apparently when the botanists were handing out Greek names they thought the fruit split open. In fact, it doesn’t do so very often, and given how hard and astringent it is, you probably wouldn’t want to eat it raw, though some people make jam out of it. Instead, it’s the lovely flowers that most people treasure.

When the wind picks up, you might see the white and yellow heads of narcissus (more commonly known as daffodils) bobbing from side to side in the grass. Compared to the blazing tulips you’ll see around the formal garden, narcissus come in a limited range of colors—white, yellow, orange, and sometimes a hint of pink. But I wouldn’t want to experience spring without them. They’re deer-resistant and much easier to establish than tulips. If you leave them alone to grow in your garden and allow nature to crossbreed them, you will be surprised at the new varieties that seem to pop up every year. And their scent isn’t to be missed. Though legend has it that the flower is named after Narcissus (who fell in love with himself and was turned into a flower), garden writer Anna Pavord says in her book Bulb that the flower was given its name by the Roman poet and doctor Pliny, who believed the daffodil’s powerful scent had narcotic properties.

Text by Luis Marmol
Photographs by Richard Warren.

“Do flowers talk?” Well, if Lewis Carroll’s Alice had paid more attention to the customs of the era, she would have known that the answer was unequivocally “yes.” For the Victorians, each flower represented a different emotion or meaning that—when combined—sent a message to the receiver.

An entire courtship could take place with the presentation of flowers. A small bouquet of rose, ivy, and myrtle would signify beauty, friendship, and hope. Bachelor’s buttons (hope) and roses (love) placed together would mean, “I hope to obtain your love.” A combination of jonquil and linden could signify a marriage proposal.

So this year on Mother’s Day, when you offer a bouquet of flowers or maybe even a tussie-mussie, why not try something new—or rather old-fashioned—and choose flowers that “talk?”

Amanda Kraemer, Education Assistant
Photography by Richard Warren

One of two needlework mourning pictures in our collection, this one was made by Abigail Walker in memory of three babies who died between 1796 and 1803. One woman, probably their mother, sadly bends her head like a figure on a Greek funerary stele, and lovingly rests her hand on the urn that memorializes the children. The other figure points toward heaven and carries an anchor, a Christian symbol of hope—the “anchor of the soul” (Hebrews 6:19). The original verre églomisé frame survives.

Pictures like this one were made by well-to-do girls at “female academies” and were a genre of memorial artwork associated with 19th-century mourning rituals. Perhaps Abigail Walker was the sister of the three children named on the plinth. More research may reveal the school where this beautiful memorial was stitched, but it might have been located in Massachusetts. The skillfully executed faces were probably done by a professional artist.

Thanks to experts at the Textile Conservation Workshop in South Salem, New York, the delicate silk fabric has been repaired and the picture has been stabilized to prevent further damage. Now, after winding our way to the top of the mansion staircase, we can all stop to enjoy this particularly fine picture once again.

Margaret Highland, Museum Curator

Spring has always been a time for renewal and clean up, the emergence of green shoots and fond floral essences, and the hopes and childhood memories associated with warmer weather. Narcissi, snowdrops, witch hazel, wet grass, and magnolia flowers are all signs of spring. I still recall smelling my first magnolia, in my neighbor’s yard, on a mild spring morning and remember being so intoxicated by the fragrance that I was almost late for school.

But this spring has been unusual. For one, it’s rather late; we had snow flurries on April Fools’ Day. Cold nights, misty mornings, and howling afternoon winds feel more like autumn than April, leaving all of us here at Bartow-Pell wondering whether spring simply forgot about us this year.

Nature, however, finally proved us wrong. As the weather warms up, the two graceful angel magnolias (Magnolia stellata) on the east end of Bartow-Pell’s formal garden have started to bloom. Magnolia stellata are a sure sign of spring promise, being the first magnolia variety to flower as the new season arrives. From the parlor room windows of the mansion, you can see their whitish outline emerging behind the century-old Taxus trees.

Magnolias are slow-growing, medium-sized deciduous shrubs that can become trees. The leaves are narrowly obovate (a botanist’s fancy word for egg-shaped). And the flowers start out white, but develop a pinkish patina as the days pass. M. stellata have an elegant, spare fragrance, so you must get very close to smell them. If you sit under the magnolias in windy weather, you may find yourself baptised by water droplets blown off the flowers. Later in the season, you may feel like you’re in a ticker-tape parade as the flower petals start to blow down like confetti.

If you’re feeling triumphant and adventurous after your baptism or parade, why not venture further for a stroll across the nine rolling acres of our grounds. There, you’ll discover the inconspicuous spring ephemerals–large masses of snowdrops and Spanish bluebells that are blooming across the lawns.

While walking in the woods, basking in the slow warm light entering our Orangerie, or sitting beneath the white canopy of magnolia flowers, we realize that spring doesn’t arrive suddenly, like a thunderstorm. Instead, the season of renewal is gradual, a slow procession of flowers, scents, and promises of fattened daffodils waiting to spread softly on our lawns.

As I gather my rakes and shovels in my wheelbarrow and head to the garden toolshed in the cellar of the mansion, a spectacular sunset lights up the sky. The gray clouds have cleared, letting the sun’s rays in to illuminate the magnolia in a blaze of white and pink. Framed by an optimistic silence from the surrounding forest, it all feels like an omen of yet another great gardening day tomorrow.

Luis Marmol
Photographs by Richard Warren