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I imagine that, as soon as you read the adjective “gifted” in the title of this description, you immediately thought of the usual salesman’s hyperbole — the kind used by mattress sellers — so overused that, after hearing or reading it too many times, one barely even notices it anymore.
Well, this time you’d be mistaken. Because it is truly very rare to come across a fireplace that is, all things considered, rather “modest” (as the Pompadour Plat certainly is), yet dressed in a beautiful, classic white Carrara marble, further “quilted” with a series of oval sculpted motifs.
(The meaning of this repeated oval shape cannot be explained here, as it is forbidden to those under 18 years of age. I will reveal the secret only to buyers — and only upon proof of adulthood.)
Indeed, our very likeable Pompadour Plat (for which I have a genuine fondness — I’d erect a monument to it, since its affordable cost has introduced the pleasure of owning an antique fireplace to people who are not necessarily wealthy) is generally considered “modest”.
Not stylistically — because its lines form the very foundation of 19th-century Baroque — but rather in terms of its decorative richness when compared to other antique fireplaces.
The example presented here, however, is graceful and charming thanks to its oval decorations on the frieze, the legs, and the sides. It can easily be chosen even by those who could afford more important fireplaces — by those, in other words, who do not judge solely by splendor or luxury, but who are also capable of appreciating stylistic modesty and charm as precious qualities.
Parisian design and Lunigiana sculpture (the finest artistic marriage in marble works), dating to the late 19th century, in an enviable state of preservation.
On my bedside table I keep a book that appears light at first glance — or at least that’s what I thought judging by its cover and title: “Mao perché sei morto” by Massimo Bucchi, whom I had long considered little more than a cartoonist.
Instead, the book proved to be fascinating — even striking. Since I cannot fully summarize it here, I will mention one vignette: a priest stands beside a dying man’s bed, asking whether he has anything to repent for. The man, with the generosity and resolve that often accompany important moments, replies:
“I leave my son a lit match.”
In other words: we have turned this world into a physical and moral garbage dump. We realized it, yet did nothing to fix it. That is my greatest sin — and it deepens my sorrow as I leave this landfill to my son, who will have to clean it up, though he bears no guilt.
And what does all this have to do with the description of a 19th-century fireplace?
Well, in my life I can at least say that, from the very beginning of my work, I have tried to keep this world a little cleaner. For every fireplace I recover, restore, and sell, there is a piece of mountain that is not quarried and stripped bare.
I know it may not be easy to take my word for it, but I was already thinking about these things nearly half a century ago, when I first entered the field of restoration — buoyed by the youthful illusion of inevitable success (as one rightly is at twenty!) and by the belief that an antique fireplace is more beautiful, more authentic, more fascinating, more artistic, and often even more economical than a new one — smelling of plastic, silicone waxes, and toxic adhesives, all stir-fried… somewhere far away.
I was right — at least a little. Even if only by 2, 3, or 4 percent of my youthful expectations.
