_THEORETICAL STUDIES—Continued._
The weather becoming more and more severe prevented the works from
being resumed. The parts that had been begun were hidden by a thick
layer of mould and stubble, which in its turn was covered by a mantle
of snow. The days were spent in working out details which were to be
given to Branchu and the carpenter when the weather allowed them to
resume their labours. During the long evenings, theoretical questions
relating to building were discussed, when the family were assembled and
the news of the day had been read. To Paul this was a means of gaining
instruction, and to the family generally a distraction from the gloomy
thoughts that weighed down the spirits of all amid the depressing
circumstances of the times. Paul had seen his cousin drawing several
mouldings during the day, to their full size; but as he had drawings of
his own to attend to, he had not interrupted his work to put questions
to his master. But in the evening Paul asked what were the methods to
be employed in drawing these mouldings.
“You still persist in asking for recipes, Paul,” replied Eugène. “But
there are no more any recipes for drawing mouldings than for any other
parts of the building. There are conditions imposed by the purpose,
the nature of the materials, the method of employing them, local
custom, and the effect to be obtained. To the consideration of these
conditions join common sense, observation, and study, and you will be
able to draw mouldings.
“We will, if you please, examine these conditions separately.
“The purpose:—A moulding is executed, you must suppose, for some
object; if you draw a cornice, it is to crown a wall, to carry a gutter
or the eaves of a roof, to divert the rain-water from the wall; that
cornice therefore must project sufficiently to fulfil that object.—The
nature of the materials:—It is evident that if you have, on the one
hand, hard and tenacious stones, supplied in large masses, or, on the
other hand, small and friable ones, you will not be able to give the
same profile to these different kinds of materials.—The method of
employing these stones must likewise influence the form to be given to
this profile. If we have to hoist stones by the aid of very simple and
primitive means, which do not allow us to raise considerable weights to
great elevations, we must avoid profiles requiring large blocks; but if
we have the means of doing so, we can adopt them.—Local custom:—It will
be necessary for you to take account of the customs of the district
in which you are building, because these customs are most frequently
the result of a judicious observation of the conditions imposed by
the climate, the requirements of the neighbourhood, the method of
working, and the nature of the material itself. I mean by custom, not
certain imported methods which are a mere affair of fashion, but those
which have been suggested, as I have just said, by long and judicious
observation.—A skilful architect can give a robust or a delicate
aspect to a building by the drawing of a moulding. He should always
subordinate the drawing to the scale of the construction and to that of
the materials. It is ridiculous to aim at large mouldings if we have
only thinly bedded stones, or those of yielding quality, in the same
way as it is absurd to give delicate profiles to coarse stones and
those difficult to cut.
“You see, then, that in this, as in all that concerns the art of
building, reasoning constitutes the first part of the recipe.
“The Athenians, who erected their public buildings of white marble,
could allow themselves refinements in the drawing of their profiles
which cannot be applied to the coarse limestone of our country. And
when the Greeks built edifices with stone of a porous or coarse-grained
texture, they took care to cover its dressed surfaces with a very fine
stucco, which enabled them to conceal the coarseness of the material.
But though they were able to adopt this plan in a mild climate where it
never freezes, it would be impracticable in a region like ours, where
for two months in the winter the thermometer shows a mean of 7° (Fahr.)
below freezing point, and occasionally, as just now, falls as low as 27
below freezing. This stucco would have to be renewed every spring.
“Our mediæval architects, who did not follow what is called the
classical tradition professed now at our _École des Beaux Arts_, and
who did not go to Rome or Athens to study the art of building suitable
to France, had tried to discover that style of profile which suits our
materials and climate—which seems reasonable enough; and they not only
discovered, but skilfully applied that style. I am going to give you
proof of this.
“First, then, as they did not lay stones in the rough, as I have told
you, but ready worked—so that they did not need retouching when once
in place—they were obliged to draw each profile within the height of
a single course. If these courses were deep, their profiles might be
large; if they were shallow, they must be small.
[Illustration: FIG. 45.]
“Let us take a string-course for example. A string-course is a course
of stone which indicates a floor—an intermediate resting-place in the
height of a wall. And it is not without reason that a projecting
course is placed at the level of a floor: first, because it is well
to give more strength to the wall at this level where timbers are
lodged; secondly, because it is necessary to level up the building at
the same height, to make it even in order to raise a fresh story. But
this course should not arrest the rain-water, and thus occasion the
wet to penetrate into the walls; on the contrary, the profile should
be so drawn as to throw off the wet, so that the timbers may not
decay. Observe, then (A, Fig. 45), how architects who thought more of
satisfying the requirements of construction than of borrowing forms
from edifices that were not affected by the conditions imposed by
our climate and style of building, usually designed the profile of a
string-course. They drew the line _a b_ at an angle of 60°. From the
point _c_ they let fall a perpendicular, _c b_, on this line _a b_.
The angle _a b c_ was therefore a right angle. Taking from _b_ to _d_
a greater or less length according to the hardness of the stone, they
hollowed out the moulding _e_, which we call a water-drip, or throat;
so that the rain-water falling on the inclined surface _a b_ did not
stay there, but following the direction _b d_ necessarily fell to the
ground at _d_, since it would not ascend into the hollow. The surface
of the wall, _c f_, was therefore protected. If a cornice was to be
made (as at B), they laid a first course _g_ to support the projection
of the table _h_; then they laid, as a second course, this table _h_,
taking care to provide a drip at _i_. If this table had to receive
a metal or stone gutter, they took care to cut a slope from _j_ to
_k_, leaving the bed horizontal where the joints occur, as shown in
perspective at C. The gutter rested then on the blocks left at _l_, and
if it allowed the rain-water to escape by the joints, these drippings
finding the slope _k j_, followed it, reached the throat _i_, and
fell to the ground without penetrating into the interior of the wall.
According as the stone employed was hard or soft, the mouldings were
more or less deep or shallow. I suppose here the profile to be cut in
a stone of moderate hardness, whereas, if the stone is very hard, you
can give the profile a sharper outline as at D. You will then obtain a
more striking effect, darker shades and more brilliant lights. But in
drawing exterior profiles, you must always consider the direction of
the solar rays.
“If, for example, you trace a profile such as this at E, it is evident
that as the sun’s rays follow the direction O P, all your mouldings
will remain in the shade, and will produce no effect. But as soon as
the sun gets lower and its rays have a more inclined direction, R S,
all the mouldings will receive lines of light of nearly equal strength,
and the profile will give a series of uniform lights and shadows
which will not indicate the projection. But if you draw this profile
according to figure F, the solar rays following the same direction _o’
p’_, will meet the projections _n m_, which will be luminous, and when
the direction is lowered you will always get differences of relation
between the lights and shadows. I give you only general views here; it
is for you to observe and profit by your own observations when you have
the opportunity of studying actual buildings.
“It is also very important to make the drawing of your profiles conform
to the nature of the materials employed. You cannot give to a material
that is moulded, cast or run,—like plaster or cements and mortars—the
profiles that are suitable to stone. Materials thus laid on are adapted
only to a fine and slightly projecting moulding. In the same way, if
you design profiles for works in wood, you must consider the ligneous
and tenacious quality of this material, and avoid surfaces of too great
extent: you must not leave out of sight the fact that wood allows of
delicate workmanship; that it is employed only in pieces that are
relatively thin; and that to be properly worked, it requires the use
of edged tools, such as chisels and planes, which follow the grain
and are with difficulty worked across the grain. In all this, economy
is in unison with common sense and the good effect produced; for if
you choose to introduce a profile that does not suit the material
used, you will give occasion to the employment of unusually difficult
and consequently expensive processes, and your work appears painful,
affected, and laborious. Some architects think to create astonishment
by thus adopting processes which do not harmonize with the materials
they use; who, if they are constructing with brick, strive to give to
their building the appearance of a construction in stone; who affect to
imitate marble in wood, or wood in plaster; who seem in fact to make
it their object to give to each of the materials employed forms that
are not appropriate to their nature. Observe these undesirable methods,
with a view of always avoiding them, if you would be an architect. The
perverted taste of most of those persons who employ builders is often
an obstacle to the use of sensible methods; but unfortunately, among
us, classical studies have led artists into this false course, and in
the end the public have become enamoured of the undesirable results to
which it conducts; so that it is often difficult to induce employers
to listen to reason, and to proceed according to the dictates of a
just appreciation of the proper use of materials. But be this as it
may, this is one of the questions in regard to which an architect who
respects his art ought never to yield.”
“It is, in fact,” said M. de Gandelau, “a strange mania possessing some
people who have building done for them, to presume to impose the most
ridiculous fancies on their architects; but it is not of modern date,
since Philibert de l’Orme used to complain of it even in his time.”
“Philibert de l’Orme,” remarked Paul, “was, I believe, the architect of
the Tuileries.”
“Yes, in part at least,” replied Eugène; “but you have his book, if I
mistake not, in your library.”
“Certainly; and I will go and find it for you.” M. de Gandelau soon
returned to the drawing-room carrying the venerable folio.
“Here,” said he to his son, “I give it to you, and you will do well
to study these pages. Look at the title of the Preface. ‘Noteworthy
considerations for those who lightly undertake to build without the
advice and counsel of learned architects; and concerning the faults
they commit and the inconveniences that arise from them!’ This will
make a commencement of your library as an architect if you are going to
choose that vocation; and you could not have before you a book better
adapted to inspire correct sentiments and respect for that profession.
I cannot give any opinion of its technical merits, which I cannot
appreciate; but through reading a few of these pages I have at least
spared myself the expensive ambition, by which some owners of property
are possessed, of being my own architect.”
“The sincerity of Philibert de l’Orme was not profitable to him,”
rejoined Eugène.
“Perhaps not; but he has left us a book which makes us esteem him as a
man, independently of his merits as an architect, three hundred years
after its publication, since it dates from 1576; this distinction was
acquired at the cost of some annoyance during his life, for we do not
feel gratitude to people for telling us the truth when they are no
longer here to reap the reward of their sincerity from public opinion.”
“Hem! ... then we must not be surprised if few people dare to proclaim
these truths, and if architects—since they are on the _tapis_—prefer to
this posthumous glory that quiet and comfort which complaisance towards
their clients during their life procures for them, though this may
occasion regret to the latter when the evil cannot be remedied, or may
involve them in useless expense.”
“Come, come,” said M. de Gandelau, “you are not one of the complying
architects to whom you refer, and yet you have still a very fair
practice. I do not know whether you will be talked of three centuries
hence, but I know that you are esteemed now.”
“The sentiment you have just uttered is therefore not absolutely true.”
“No, certainly; discretion tells for much in this matter, and there
is a way of uttering truths. You must, however, allow that you have
lost more than one engagement through having been too outspoken at the
commencement.”
“Doubtless; I have even good reason to suppose that if I had not
been aided by certain favourable circumstances which brought me into
connection with clients accustomed to deal with affairs of a high and
liberal order—with men of minds too elevated and serious to occupy
themselves with the details of our profession—I should not have found
much to do. From a general point of view you are right; most persons
about to build fear to apply to architects who are skilful in their
profession, but who are of an independent character. What they look
for (and in this, women often exercise an injurious influence) are
complaisant mediocrities, who will lend themselves to all their
fancies, of which they will have the satisfaction of repenting soon
afterwards.”
“You attack us unjustly,” replied Madame de Gandelau; “women do not
presume to be connoisseurs in architecture, and they ask for nothing
but a good arrangement of the interior of a house; which is natural
enough, since they have the direction of domestic affairs, and
they, more than any others, suffer from the inconvenient or faulty
arrangements of their dwellings.”
“I grant it; but while, on the one hand, the mistress asks for
arrangements often of a complicated kind, and requiring a peculiar
disposition of apartments to suit her convenience, and the master on
the other hand wishes for an exterior presenting a peculiar style or
aspect with which he is smitten, it is difficult, if not impossible,
to reconcile these two requirements, which are often contradictory; so
that the unfortunate architect, desiring to please everybody, and to
grant mutually exclusive wishes, can achieve no good result, and when
the work is finished each party blames him. How many times have I been
called in to remedy blunders,—bad work resulting from the architect’s
having been thus worried, and from his fatal complaisance. And these
people would tell me that they were _desolés_ not to have selected me
to direct the undertaking. It was a little too late, yet the example
did not benefit others.”
“What can be done?” rejoined Madame de Gandelau. “If things are
as you say, you are offering Paul a profession whose duties
involve impossibilities; and unless he obtains employment from the
government....”
“Oh! that is too uncertain a chance, and a career that depends on the
government scarcely deserves the name. A man ought to be able to get on
without reckoning on this very precarious support. Besides, the elect
are very few.”
“Well then?”
“Why then we must teach; we must endeavour to make knowledge, reason,
and the habit of reflection, penetrate everywhere, and especially into
the minds of the rising generation. When the influential classes,—those
who employ builders, and who, it may be inferred, are favoured by
fortune,—know a little more than they do now, they will perceive that
they have everything to learn in all branches of practical knowledge,
and that the best they can do is to have recourse to professional men
in the treatment of strictly professional matters, and to leave them
free scope. In the case of an operation, nobody has the presumption
to advise the surgeon how it should be performed. Why then should
everybody make bold to give his opinion to an architect respecting the
method in which his work is to be accomplished?”
“The cases are not exactly alike.”
“Nearly; but as the former is a matter of life and death, not a word
is breathed in the presence of the surgeon; while, since the latter
involves only the pocket,—sometimes the health indeed, but only
eventually,—each has a suggestion to make to the architect.”
“We have wandered rather far from mouldings,” said M. de Gandelau,
rising.