_PAUL FEELS THE NECESSITY OF IMPROVING HIMSELF IN THE ART OF DRAWING._
One thing astonished Paul,—the facility with which his cousin could
express with a few strokes of his pencil what he wished to explain.
His perspective sketches, above all, seemed to him marvellous; and
our young architect began, on his part, to try to indicate on paper
the forms he wished to master; but, to his great disappointment,
he succeeded only in producing a mere medley of lines which was
incomprehensible, even to himself, a quarter of an hour afterwards. Yet
in drawing out his memoranda, to which his cousin attached importance,
he could not but feel that the means employed by his chief would be
very useful to him if he could acquire them.
One day, therefore, after having spent several hours at the works in
endeavouring to get a clear idea, by sketching them, of the form of
some worked stones, but without succeeding in obtaining a result even
tolerably satisfactory, Paul went to his cousin’s study, and said to
him—
“What I have learned of linear drawing is evidently not enough to
enable me to render on paper the forms which you are able to explain so
readily by a sketch; I beg you therefore, cousin, to teach me how to
set about representing clearly what I have before me, or what I wish to
explain.”
“I like to see you so anxious to learn, Paul; indeed, this is half the
battle, though only the half, and in fact the easier one. I shall not
be able to teach you in eight days, nor even in six months, the art
of drawing with facility either the objects you see, or those which
you conceive in your brain; but I will give you the method you must
follow; and with labour,—much labour and time,—you will arrive, if not
at perfection, at least at clearness and precision. Drawing implies
not mere seeing, but considering an object. All who are not blind,
see; but how many are there who _know how to see_, or who in seeing
reflect? Very few, certainly; because we are not habituated to this
exercise from childhood. All the higher orders of animals see as we do,
since their eyes are very similar to ours; they have even the memory
associated with vision, as they recognize the objects or the beings
which they like or dread or of which they make their prey. But I do not
think that animals acquire a notion of bodies or surfaces otherwise
than by an instinctive faculty without the intervention of what we call
reasoning. Many of our fellow-men do not see in any other way; but it
is their fault, since they could reason. But that is not the question
now. The following is the method I propose to you:
[Illustration: FIG. 37.]
“You know what triangles and squares are; you have studied elementary
geometry, and you seem to me to be tolerably familiar with it, since
you could evidently understand the plans, the sections, and even the
projections of bodies on a vertical or horizontal plane; or else my
sketches would not have been intelligible to you. I should wish you
therefore to take some cards, and drawing to a scale on each of them
the various faces of a stone you see worked, you will cut out these
surfaces with scissors, and with the help of strips of paper and paste
you will join them, so as to represent one or two of these pieces of
stone. The little model will thus become familiar to you; you will
know how the surfaces are joined, and what are the angles they form.
In the evening, by lamp-light, you will place these little models
before you in every possible position, and copy them as they present
themselves to your eyes, taking care to indicate by a dotted line the
junction lines of the surfaces which you do not see. Stay,—here on my
table is a rhombohedron of wood, which, as you know and see, presents
six similar and equal faces whose sides are equal, each of these faces
consisting of two equilateral triangles united at their base. See (Fig.
37), I take this body between my fingers by its two vertices; if I
show it to you in such a position that one of its faces is parallel to
the plane of vision, the two others will present themselves obliquely
(as at A); you see three faces therefore, but there are three others
behind that are hidden from you. How would these present themselves
if this body were transparent? Just as indicated by the dotted lines.
If I make the rhombohedron revolve between my fingers, so that two
faces are perpendicular to the plane of vision, (as at B), two faces
only will continue visible, two others will be hidden from me, and two
follow the two lines _a b_, _c d_. Now, I present the rhombohedron so
that none of its faces are parallel or perpendicular to the plane
of vision,—thus (_vide_ C.) Well, I shall still see three faces, but
foreshortened—thrown out of shape by perspective; and the three others
will be indicated by the dotted lines. In the evenings, therefore, make
as many little models as you can, representing the stones you have seen
at the works, and copy these little models in every position. Throw
them at random on the table, several together, and copy what you see;
mark what is hidden from you by a dotted or finer line. When you have
practised this for a week, many difficulties will have been already
conquered. And then for further advance.”
[Illustration: FIG. 38.]
This method pleased Paul very much, and, without losing time, with the
help of some of his memoranda, he began to construct a little model
of one of the stones whose faces he had measured. It was the springer
of an arch with a return face. He succeeded in making a tolerably
good model in card-board, which he proudly displayed on the family
table after dinner, and which he copied first on its under-bed, then
as placed in various positions. He would have continued his work all
night, so much was he fascinated with it, and so many interesting
discoveries did it enable him to make, if at eleven o’clock Madame
de Gandelau had not warned him that it was time to go to bed. Paul
had some trouble in getting to sleep, and his dreams presented to him
nothing but card-board models of a very complicated description, which
he endeavoured unsuccessfully to put together. So he got up rather
late, and on entering his cousin’s room, did not fail to attribute his
tardy appearance to the bad night he had passed.
“Well,” said Eugène, “you have got the descriptive geometry fever;
so much the better; it cannot be learned well unless you have a
passion for it. We will work at it together when the frost suspends
our building operations and the bad weather shuts us up here. An
architect must be able to use descriptive geometry, as we spell
correctly,—without having to think about it. Perspective must be
absolutely familiar to him. Neither can be learned too soon; and it is
only in early youth that these things can be acquired so thoroughly as
to give us no trouble at any time to recall them, even if we should
live a hundred years. You are a good swimmer; and if you fall into the
water you have no need to remind yourself what movements you must make
to keep at the surface or direct your course: well, it is in this way
you ought to know geometry and perspective; only you must give a little
more time to practising this essential branch of our art than is
required for learning to swim like a frog.”
[Illustration: FIG. 39.—PLANS AND SECTION OF THE PRINCIPAL STAIRS.]