All is revealed: A century-old case of mistaken identity (Page 3)

The Deputy Curator of Textiles and Dress at London's Victoria and Albert Museum, Linda Parry is also the author of William Morris and William Morris Textiles. Burnham sent photos to Parry and outlined her suspicions. The response took several months, but when it arrived the verdict was emphatic: "the furnishing was not designed by William Morris or produced by his firm," Parry wrote bluntly.

The news generated shock waves. Said Gersovitz, "People have thought it was Morris basically forever -- that had been part of the mythology of the room." Suddenly, McGill's William Morris fabrics were no more. But what was there instead?

The elegantly refurbished billiard room. Snooker anyone? Top: Students were hired to help with the cleaning of woodwork and plaster. The work was painstaking -- much of it done with toothbrushes.

For that we must return to the same person who tore the Morrises off the walls -- metaphorically speaking. Linda Parry, a small, dynamic woman with 30 years of museum curating behind her, navigates daily through the public exhibits, backroom restorations and general 19th-century clutter of the Victoria and Albert Museum. She can read textiles like a dactylographer reads fingerprints. Her second look at photos of the panels brings the same response: "I knew they weren't Morris's as soon as I saw these. Morris would never have done a pattern that cuts across the fabric like that." Instead, she argues convincingly that the fabrics were "pure Islamic." She also gamely hazards an educated guess on their provenance: "I would say they were either woven in Turkey for the western market, or in Europe following the Turkish style. But," she adds, "they were definitely made with the western market in mind."

Vast wealth circulated exuberantly in the last quarter of the 19th century, and, notes Parry, "people who hadn't got very strong ideas themselves of what they wanted were literally buying taste." An enormous range of styles were popular. "Often one room will have a strongly 'arts and crafts' style, with fresh and light and colours, and then you'll get another with a kind of smoking-room style, which was Islamic and very masculine" -- much like Baumgarten's living room, in fact.

Liberty's, Morris & Co.'s one-time arch-rival is still in business on London's Regent Street. PHOTO: PATRICK McDONAGH

From the 1840s on, Parry says, there was a passion for art from the near east, and London teemed with vendors exploiting this market -- none more successfully than Lasenby Liberty (1843-1917). His shop, Liberty & Co., opened its doors in 1875, and has a history as rich as its rival Morris & Co. (Longer, too -- Liberty's still occupies its Regent St. digs, its second floor stacked with the rolls of exotic fabrics that made the "Liberty style" synonymous with "art nouveau." Morris & Co., on the other hand, went into voluntary liquidation in 1940, its old Oxford Street premises now housing Laura Ashley.) By the 1880s, Liberty's was a regular stop for artists and designers; Lasenby could count Oscar Wilde, James Whistler, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and even Morris himself among his friends and clientele.

Was Alfred Baumgarten also a Liberty's customer? Or did he obtain the fabrics through one of the numerous other designers and importers involved in the business? W. Scott & Sons, Montreal agents for Morris & Co., were likely involved in the house's interior design, as Baumgarten purchased woven drapes from Morris (the drapes are now in the McCord Museum) -- could they have also acquired the wall fabrics from Liberty's?

The answer may lie in the Baumgarten archives, which Eva Burnham is currently exploring. But thus far, the past is considerably dimmer than the fabrics.

In any case, the Faculty Club now has beautiful textiles -- and while Burnham wonders if they would have been restored had everyone known they were not Morris originals, she is emphatic that they should have been anyway. London and other major cities were swarming with fabric designers and importers -- although, as Parry notes, the only names that have survived over the century are Morris and Liberty. "At the time these fabrics would have been as glamorous as Morris, and as expensive," says Parry. And even more expensive today: "To have these made now, using the same methods, would cost £20,000," she guesses.

But the final word should go to club patrons. Ted Harman and Elliot Shatsky, cornered after a hard-fought game of billiards, are effusive. "Before the restoration this room was pitiful -- there is no other word but pitiful," Harman emphasizes, with Shatsky countering that "You could see its potential." But today, both are happy. "Look around at the grandeur," enthuses Harman now. "Look at the thought that went into the room. This is living stuff."

Even if William Morris didn't produce the fabrics, one suspects he would have approved of the sentiment.