_THE HOUSE-WARMING._
Matters had been proceeding according to arrangement; the painters’
work, begun at the commencement of February, in fine weather, was
finished in April, and likewise all the accessories. M. de Gandelau,
who had returned to his estate at the end of January, had caused the
small park round the house to be planted, and had ordered the most
indispensable furniture, wishing to leave his daughter to make choice
herself of those articles which would express her own particular taste.
Madame Marie had announced April as the time of her return, and
subsequently May. In the correspondence between her mother and herself
nothing had been said about the house since the war. Madame Marie
had probably not regarded as serious what had been written to her
respecting it; and the disastrous events of the years 1870 and 1871
seemed to have made all parties forget the project.
Paul had set his heart on a surprise, and had entreated Madame de
Gandelau to say nothing about the house to her daughter. And we may be
sure that Madame de Gandelau had readily acquiesced in his wish.
They therefore wrote to Madame Marie that the family would not assemble
at the _château_ till Whitsuntide, and that as her father had some
journeys in prospect in the interior, she need not hurry herself about
returning to France before that date. Madame de Gandelau received,
on the 8th of May, a letter informing her that her daughter and her
husband would reach the station nearest to the _château_ on the morning
of the 19th, Whit Sunday.
Great was Paul’s joy when he received the news. He would be able to be
at home and enjoy his sister’s surprise, for he had been sadly afraid
she might come while he was at the Lyceum. That would have been a
dreadful disappointment to him. So he worked harder than ever during
the days between that and Whitsuntide! He had set his heart on giving
pleasure to all at home by carrying off one of the highest prizes.
The holidays impatiently waited for, at length arrived. M. de Gandelau,
on account of the distance, and Paul’s satisfactory progress, had
obtained permission for his son to return on Saturday morning. Paul
therefore reached the _château_ at noon, after more than seven months’
absence. We need not state that Eugène had been invited to this family
_fête_. Paul would hardly take time to eat his breakfast, he was so
impatient to see the house.
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” his mother said more than once. “The house
won’t run away.”
During breakfast, his father put one or two questions to him respecting
his studies; but Paul gave only short answers, and then returned to the
subject of the house, overwhelming his cousin with inquiries.
“And the woodwork, is that a success? And the painting? What colour is
the drawing-room? And the plumber—has he put the cresting on the roof
that he promised?”
“You are going to see all that directly, and before night you will have
plenty of time to examine everything in detail. A little patience!
Patience is the very first virtue of an architect.”
The aspect of the new house was much changed since Paul’s departure.
The ground had been cleared and neatly gravelled. The borders exhibited
their spring attire; and as some old trees had been left standing
in the neighbourhood of the house, it had quite the look of a place
already occupied. Paul could not help jumping for joy on seeing how
charming and picturesque the building was. On turning down into the
valley, he began to run, eager for a nearer view, and Eugène reached
the steps only a few minutes after him. Paul had seen neither the
shelter at the entrance, nor the conservatory opening into the
billiard-room. The lead-work was not quite finished when he left, and
the vanes and cresting were not put up. The dormer windows were not
surmounted by their finials. The casements were just put in, but not
glazed. These last additions are like the bordering round a drawing, or
the frame inclosing a picture; to unpractised eyes the last accessory
seems to put every part in its proper place, clears the whole, and
gives it the unity that seemed to be wanting.
Paul was satisfied with the exterior aspect.
The interior, though simple, according to M. de Gandelau’s express
instructions, was in good taste; there was nothing to be seen in the
way of plaster ornament or gilding. The entrance-hall was surrounded
by a low oak wainscot, forming part with the door-cases. The wood of
the latter and of the wainscot had preserved its natural colour, and
was simply dressed with linseed-oil and wax. Above the wainscot, the
walls, painted stone-colour, set off by a few red lines, gave a neat
and inviting aspect to the entrance. The drawing-room was surrounded
by a wainscot five feet high, painted white; the fireplace, wide and
lofty, could warm a numerous circle. The jambs of the fireplace were
cased with wood, and on the lofty mantelpiece, in an oaken frame, was
prettily painted a bird’s-eye view of M. de Gandelau’s estate. The
ceiling, with its two beams and joists, painted in light tones, set
off by black and white lines, seemed to enlarge the apartment, and gave
it a warm and habitable appearance, presenting on hot days lights and
shades of an amber tint. The wall between the ceiling and the wainscot
was hung with painted canvas. The chimney-piece stood out in bold
relief on this back-ground. The entrance end of the drawing-room would
have been rather sombre if the wide opening into the billiard-room had
not flooded it with light, softened by the verdure of the plants within
the little conservatory. But what gave the drawing-room a character
which fascinated Paul at once, was the bay-window, all brilliant with
light, and furnished with a chintz-covered divan. The billiard-room,
also, was surrounded by a wainscoting of unpainted oak, and the same
painted hangings. A _portière_ closing over the bay-window made it
serve the purpose of a little boudoir, whence there was a charming view
on three sides. The plants placed in the conservatory, transmitted
on the south side only a softened and tranquil light into the
billiard-room. The dining-room had been decorated almost in the same
style as the billiard-room, and two large oaken sideboards formed part
with the wainscoting in the two recesses reserved for them.
Paul was eager to run up stairs to see his sister’s rooms. Hung
entirely with Indian chintz, with a plain brown dado, this apartment
exhibited great simplicity. The ceiling, however, treated like those of
the ground-floor, gave it an original and pleasing aspect.
Paul wanted to see everything, and at the end of an hour, his cousin
having made an appointment with some workmen to give them orders about
details, left him to wander at will in the house.
The sun was already low when they thought of returning to the _château_.
“Well, my young cousin, are you satisfied with your work? Have things
been done during your absence as you intended they should be?”
“I wish it was really my work,” replied Paul; “and I regret that I
could not follow it to the end, for now I see all finished, it seems to
me as if there was scarcely anything done when I went away.”
“It is with buildings, my dear fellow, as with all other human
productions. You know the saying: ‘_Finis coronat opus_.’ Finishing
is everything. Finishing may not require the greatest labour and
knowledge, but it does, perhaps, require the highest degree of
persistency, method, and care, as I think I have already told you. You
have been really useful to me during the building—I may say so without
flattery, because you have thrown your energy and your whole mind into
the endeavour to understand the instructions I have given, and to see
that they were duly executed. But you would have had nothing to occupy
you seriously while the work was being finished, since most of the
recent additions came from the work-shops ready made; you have nothing
to regret, therefore; you would have lost your time here, whereas you
have, it seems, employed it well at the Lyceum.”
“I never saw any hangings like this painted canvas before; they look
very well; one might fancy they were tapestry.”
“Yes, I cannot imagine why these kind of hangings, which were
formerly much used, should have been abandoned; for it is clear that
everybody could not have Flemish or Gobelin tapestry, any more than
Cordova leather. Those things were very costly; whereas, painted
canvas hangings do not cost much more than wall papers and less than
upholstery hangings, chintz excepted. But it would scarcely do to
hang a drawing-room or a dining-room with chintz; it does not look
substantial enough, though it may be well enough for a bedroom. In the
principal apartments hangings should have a velvety, warm, substantial
effect.”
“And are these of painted canvas substantial?”
“In appearance, certainly, and in reality also; in proof of which you
may see at Rheims some dating from the fifteenth century, and which are
perfectly well preserved.”
“And how are these hangings made?”
“Canvas cloths are taken, either cross-woven or twilled, of coarse
texture, manufactured for the purpose, rather like the cloths of
which _sacks_ are made. These cloths are stretched on a floor with
tacks; then they size them, that is to say, give them a coating of
leather size, to which is added a little Spanish white. Then when this
coat is dry they proceed to paint them in distemper, as for theatre
decorations. On this ground anything we choose can be painted—diapers,
such as we have adopted here, and which do not cost much, as we stencil
them; or ornaments, landscapes, flowers, and even figures. The cost
of the material is trifling, and the value of the hangings depends on
the artist’s work. When dry, the cloths are rolled up, and can be sent
anywhere at small expense; then on the spot they are stretched again
on very thin frames, called tapestry stretchers. There is, therefore,
a space between the wall and the hanging, which is necessary in the
country where sized papers always spoil; and this is so much the more
convenient, as if the rooms are not warmed in winter, and if damp is
feared, the cloths can be taken down, rolled up, and put in a dry
place, to be replaced in the spring, as we do with tapestry.”
“I thought when I opened the drawing-room door that it was tapestry.”
“The coarse texture of the cloth does in fact resemble the tapestry
stitch, and the painting in distemper has the flat tone of wool. On
the whole, the hangings of our house scarcely cost more than the
high-priced papers that are made now-a-days, and they last longer,
to say nothing of our being sure not to see our own patterns on
everybody’s walls.”
“Very true; often on going into a drawing-room I have recognized a
paper which I had seen elsewhere. But tell me, cousin, you have had
lightning-conductors put up, have you not?”
“Certainly; it was prudent to do so. I have had two constructed: one
at the top of the staircase, and the other on the centre-point of the
main-ridge.”
“Would not one have been enough?”
“I think not; because lightning-conductors only protect the points
inclosed in a cone of which they are the summit: at least, this
is the recognized theory. For between ourselves, physicists are
not quite agreed respecting the effects of the electric fluid, the
relative efficiency of conductors, and the precautions to be used in
putting them up. I rely on my own experience, which has proved to
me that no building, however exposed, has been struck by lightning
when the lightning-rods were numerous, made of good conductors, put
in communication with each other, and with their lower extremity
dipping in water, or very damp earth. You know that water is a
conductor of electricity; if the lightning-rod terminates in dry earth
the electricity accumulates, and produces return shocks, which are
very dangerous. The same effect results if the conducting-wire is
interrupted; the lightning-rod then produces the effect of a Leyden
jar—it becomes charged, and is more dangerous than useful. Sockets with
glass insulators have also been recommended; but I have never observed
that lightning-conductors otherwise well arranged caused accidents for
want of insulators. I consider this precaution superfluous, because
the fluid seeks the most direct path. The rod properly arranged is
that path; so it should not make rapid angular turns, but as far as
possible be conducted by the shortest way, and that which is nearest
the vertical, into the damp soil.”
At dinner nothing was talked about but the new house and Madame Marie’s
arrival. There was a lively discussion about the way of making the
surprise complete. The ceremonial, to which M. de Gandelau had given
some thought, was soon arranged. The contractors and craftsmen of the
neighbourhood who had worked at the house were invited, and a dinner
was to be provided for them in the garden. The gentleman who had given
Paul lessons, the mayor, the _curé_ of the parish, and some neighbours
and friends, among others M. Durosay, who had again made his appearance
in the neighbourhood, were asked to be present at the house-warming.
The workmen had not been forgotten—they were all to receive some
gratuity. There was to be a ball in the new park for all the country
people, with the customary refreshments; and in the morning the poor of
the parish were to receive gratuities in kind.
Paul was very much afraid that his sister had some inkling of the
intended surprise. He said that if no mention was made of the house,
which had been talked so much of before the war, in the letters written
to Madame Marie, the very silence might appear to her suspicious.
“He is right,” said Madame de Gandelau. “If Marie asks us what has
become of the project and of the programme she sent, if she asks us
how we have been occupied during the past year, we shall be obliged to
prevaricate considerably. We shall contradict each other, and I really
am rather averse to anything of the sort. We shall not be able to keep
up a mystification for two or three hours together. Besides, Lucie is
sure to let out the secret.”
“Oh, no!” said Lucie; “I shall say nothing, you may be quite sure.”
“Your eyes will speak for you, my dear child. But I will manage
the matter. Leave me alone for a few moments with Marie. I will
tell her that Paul, for the sake of some occupation during his over
long holiday, has been building a small house, with his cousin’s
assistance. I shall allow her to suppose it to be a mere schoolboy’s
fancy. She will think it is only done for amusement—a little building
model, cleverly constructed. We can then talk to her about it without
embarrassment, in a jocular way. Then after dinner we will propose to
her to go and see Paul’s house.”
And so matters were arranged.
Paul slept but little during this night, though he had started very
early from Paris, and had been using—in fact, over-using—his legs all
day.
The 19th of May, 1872, at 9.40, Monsieur and Madame N—— were getting
out of the train at X—— Station, where Monsieur de Gandelau was
awaiting them with a new chaise. Twenty minutes after they were
entering the court of the _château_. We need not dwell upon the
embraces, the transport mingled with tears, that occupied the first
minutes of their return.
Madame de Gandelau had arranged their rooms with all possible care, as
if they were going to make a long stay at the _château_.
Of course the mother thought her daughter improved; Madame Marie
considered Paul grown—almost a man, in fact, and Mademoiselle Lucie
almost a young woman.
Thanks to Madame de Gandelau, Paul’s house was referred to during
breakfast only as a matter of no importance. The adventures of travel
and the war were talked of. After nearly two years’ absence subjects of
conversation could not be wanting. But Paul was agitated and absent.
His sister remarked it. Paul blushed up to his very eyes.
“I think Paul has some scheme in his head,” said M. N——.
Monsieur and Madame de Gandelau looked at each other, smiling.
“What is in the wind, then,” said Madame Marie; “a conspiracy?”
“Perhaps,” replied Madame de Gandelau; “but let us allow him the
pleasure of carrying it out.”
“Conspire, dearest mother! I will help you with all my heart,” said
Madame de N——, with a smile that expressed archness as well as
affection.
They could say nothing for the moment of the projected excursion, for
they were on the point of betraying themselves. Madame de Gandelau
wished her daughter to take some rest after her journey. M. N—— asked
leave to despatch some letters that required immediate attention, and
silence reigned again in the _château_. The day was hot, and nothing
was heard but the buzzing of insects on the lawns. Paul, however, could
not keep quiet.
“You are not a diplomatist yet,” his cousin said to him. “Do, my dear
fellow, remain still. There’s nobody but you stirring in the house. You
will let out the secret if you go on in this way. Go to your room, take
a book—a dull one; you will get to sleep, and the time will pass away.”
“But what about all the people who have been invited and are waiting
down at the house?”
“Ah!—yes—true. Well, mount your pony, go to the house and tell all the
guests to admire the wonders of the new domain and to have patience.
Say that Madame Marie is a little fatigued, and that she will not be
able to have the pleasure of meeting them till the afternoon. Then
return.”
Paul did not allow this to be repeated, so impossible did rest seem to
him. He would have given at this moment ten years of his life to make
his sister resolve to get into the carriage.
[Illustration: FIG. 62.]
It is impossible to say what the pony thought of the pace Paul made
him go, at a temperature of 77° Fahr. in the shade. He arrived in a
foam at the new house, so that most of the persons already assembled
suspected that some accident had happened. When Paul, quite out of
breath, told them that Madame Marie had put off her visit for an hour
or two because she wanted rest, they exclaimed,
“If it is only that, there’s no need of any great hurry; it is quite
natural she should need rest after so long a journey.”
Then everyone wanted to hear news of the travellers, and then they
asked Paul to see this and that. Paul was in a fever.
“You are not going to ride back again in this state,” said the mayor;
“you are in a bath of perspiration, and your pony is white with foam.
Rest a little, and drink a glass of wine.”
It would have been discourteous not to comply, for the mayor had
brought a basket of _petit vin de Saumur_. They drank the health of the
future occupants, and the prosperity of the house, so that Paul lost a
good hour. At last he was able to retrace his road to the _château_, at
the same rate as before. But on reaching the edge of the plateau he saw
the chaise at a distance, going towards the house. He made a detour, so
as to join the party from the rear, and reached them just as the new
domain was coming in sight.
“Look!” said his sister; “there’s a horseman in a great heat. Where
does he come from? Is it he who is directing the whole plot?”
“Certainly,” replied her mother. “Look!”
They were in fact just beginning to see the outlines of Paul’s house,
with its slated roof glistening in the rays of the sun. There was
silence, and, it must be confessed, a little emotion.
“I had my suspicions about it,” said Madame Marie, kissing her mother
and father. “And so during your painful experiences of last year you
were thinking of us so much as to have realized that project of a house
which I thought was only a fancy? And Paul!”
“Paul,” replied M. de Gandelau, “has had his share in the work, and has
contributed substantially to the success of the project. If he ever
becomes an architect you will have been the first cause of it.”
“And you, dear friend,” said Madame de Gandelau to her son-in-law, who
was kissing her hand tenderly, “you say nothing!”
“M. de Gandelau had written to me about it, and I was in the secret.
Marie can tell you whether I have kept it or not.”
“So we were betrayed, my poor Paul,” exclaimed his mother.
“M. de Gandelau wished to know whether settling in this neighbourhood
would not disconcert our plans for the future. I replied to him that,
on the contrary, it would further them; and that the only cause which
had hindered my building a house here after our marriage was the fear
of distressing you, and making you suppose that we did not attach to
your maternal hospitality the value it most justly claims. Marie wishes
to reside here a great part of the year; she is known and beloved in
this her native place; nothing could be more agreeable to her than to
follow your example—near to you, almost under your eyes—without giving
you the trouble which a permanent residence in your house would have
occasioned. I had no need to consult her, for I knew that you were
realizing a dream which she was secretly cherishing, without hoping for
its speedy realization.”
“All is then for the best,” resumed Madame de Gandelau, looking at her
husband, for she was thinking of what she had said to him one evening,
two years before.
The family were received with _vivats_ in front of the entrance steps.
Previous to entering the building, they went round it; and when they
came to the group of master-workmen and foremen, Paul introduced them
to his sister, saying that it was owing to their zeal, and their desire
to see her soon settled in the neighbourhood, that the completion of
the work in less than two years, was owing. Paul’s compliment (which
was neatly turned), but more particularly the courteous bearing of his
sister, who asked each what he had done, inquired about their families,
and expressed to them her wish to employ them often, gained her the
heart of these good people, who for the most part had known her as a
child.
Madame Marie wanted to see everything. At each step exclamations of
joy were uttered, and Paul was embraced twenty times by his “client.”
Monsieur N—— had taken possession of Eugène, who, we need scarcely say,
was warmly congratulated.
M. Durosay did not fail to express his admiration every moment, and was
incessantly repeating, “It is a charming feudal manor-house!”
“But, why, my dear sir,” said Madame Marie, at last quite weary of
the phrase, “Why do you call it a ‘manor-house,’ and ‘feudal’? I have
neither manor nor vassals, and I have no wish to possess any. Call it a
house, built for me by those who love me, and which will always be open
to our friends, and always accessible to those who may need our help.”
We may be sure that Paul’s resolution to become an architect was
strengthened by what he felt on this occasion.
Let us hope that his career may be as successful as that of the house
whose history is here recorded.
EXPLANATION
OF SOME OF THE TECHNICAL TERMS USED IN THIS BOOK.
BARREL-VAULT (_berceau de voûte_), means a vault forming simply a
portion of a cylinder.
BASEMENT (_soubassement_), part of a building which receives the ground
floor; that is to say, what is comprised between the floor within and
the ground without the building.
BAY-WINDOW (_bretêche_), a closed and covered balcony or _loge_, having
front and lateral views, forming a projection without and a recess
within. When supported on corbels it is termed an _oriel_.
BEARER (_lambourde_), piece of wood fixed horizontally against a wall,
and intended to receive the ends of the joists of a floor. The term is
also given to the strips of oak fastened on the plaster bed of a floor,
and on which are screwed the slabs of parquetry.
BED (_banc_), the word bed, as a geological term, signifies a
homogeneous layer comprised between two natural horizontal beds
or fissures, supposing that the mass has not been deformed by an
upheaving. Limestones and some sandstones are extracted in beds. Their
thickness is very variable.
BED-STONES (_libage_), stone suitable for foundations.
BED OF THE STONE (_lit de la pierre_), is the upper, or under
surface of the layer. _Bottom-bed_ is the term used to designate the
under-surface of a stone. Calcareous stones should be laid on their bed
just as they were in the quarry.
BLADE, OR PRINCIPAL-RAFTER (_arbalétrier_), piece of timber inclined,
according to the slope of a roof, which is joined at the upper end
into the king-post, at its lower end into the tie-beam, and which
supports the purlins (see next page).
BOND (_harpe_), projection formed by a dressed-stone for the purpose of
a tie into brick or stone-walling.
BROKEN-BACKED ROOF (_bresis_), a roof so called is one composed of
two planes of inclination, one of which is little and the other
considerably inclined. The dormer windows are generally opened in the
lower and more inclined plane.
CHIMNEY-STACK (_souche de cheminée_), is the part of the smoke-shaft
which surmounts the roofs, and is sometimes terminated with pots of
earthenware or of sheet metal.
CLIP (_moise_), comparatively thin piece of timber, serving to connect
the parts of a framing by means of notches which hold them, and of
bolts. Clips are usually placed in couples.
CONCRETE (_béton_), a compound of lime, sand, and gravel rammed in
horizontal layers, and thus forming a compact and homogeneous mass,
which hardens more or less rapidly, according to the nature of the
lime; and on which the heaviest superstructure may be raised without
fear of cracks or settlements. In the making of concrete great care and
attention is always necessary, and a thorough acquaintance with the
nature of the lime made use of.
CORBEL (_corbeau_), support of stone or wood projecting from the face
of a wall, having its front moulded or carved, its sides vertical and
carrying a beam, cornice, shaft, vault-springer, &c.
ELEVATION (_élévation_). By this word is designated in architecture
the geometrical view of a _façade_; properly speaking the vertical
projection.
EMBANKMENT (_cavalier_), heap of excavated earth, regularly placed and
raised above the surface of the ground.
FILLETING (_solin_), weathering formed above a roof-covering and
following its slope against the walls which surmount it, to hinder the
rain from penetrating between the covering and the wall.
FOOT-PIECE (_blochet_), piece of wood notched at right-angles on to
the wall-plates of a roof to receive the foot of the rafters, and the
foot-post, which hinders the rafter from sliding.
FRAME (_dormant_), fixed frame of wood, which receives the leaves of a
door or the opening casements of a window.
GABLE (_pignon_), terminal part of a wall, which masks the timbering of
a roof and follows its slopes.
HIP (_arêtier_), exterior angle formed by the meeting of two
roof-surfaces on different planes.
JAMB (_jambage_), vertical side of a window or doorway. The term is
only applied to sides of masonry.
JOINT (_joint_), vertical space left between two stones. It is called
_dry-joint_, when the stones are laid close-fitting, without mortar or
cement between them; and _mortar-joint_, when this interval is filled
with mortar.
JOINTING (_appareil_), combination of worked stones.
JOIST (_solive_), piece of wood laid horizontally to form flooring and
receive the plaster bed on which are laid the floor quarries or the
slabs of parquetry. Wood joists cannot, without bending, have a bearing
greater than 16 or 17 feet. Their strength and distance apart are
determined by their bearing and the weight they should sustain.
_Joist-spaces_ (_entrevous_), intervals left between the joists of a
floor.
_Keeping account_ (_attachement_). By this is meant memoranda of the
work done or materials used on a building by means of written notes or
figures.
KING-POST (_poinçon_), vertical piece of wood, which in a principal
receives the two blades, and suspends the middle of the tie-beam.
LINTEL (_linteau_), piece of timber or block of stone which, laid
across horizontally on the jambs of a door or window-opening, completes
the enclosure.
MADE-GROUND (_remblai_). This term signifies earth and _débris_ that
have been shifted by man to raise a piece of ground or fill up its
hollows.
MEETING-STILE (_battement_), vertical stile of a door or of a casement
on the fastening side.
MORTISE (_mortaise_), oblong hole made in a piece of framing to receive
a tenon. The lengthways of a mortise should always follow the grain of
the wood.
NEWEL (_noyau_), pillar or column around which wind the steps of the
stairs.
NOTCHING (_embrèvement_), sinking made in a piece of wood to receive a
mortise and tenon framing.
POLE (_échasse_), trunk of a tree, long and small, which, fixed up
perpendicularly, is employed for scaffolding buildings as they rise.
POST (_poteau_) vertical piece of wood, which on its head receives one
or more cross pieces. The term _frame-post_ is applied to the uprights
of a framed partition, and especially those which serve as door-frames.
PRINCIPAL (_ferme_), framing of carpentry intended to carry the
covering of a roof.
PROFILE (_profil_), section of the member of a moulding of an
architectural detail.
PUGGING (_plâtras_), filling-in of plaster work between the joists of a
floor or the uprights of a lath-and-plaster partition.
PURLIN (_panne_), roofing-timber placed horizontally on the blade of a
principal and which carries the rafters.
PUT-LOG (_boulin_), piece of wood which, resting in the wall at one
end, and upon the scaffold runners at the other, serves to carry the
platform upon which the men work in raising a building.
RAFTER (_chevron_), piece of timber of small scantling, on which is
nailed the boarding or laths which receives the slates or tiles. In
good roofing rafters are placed 20 inches apart, centre and centre, at
most. They rest at bottom upon wall-plates, or upon foot-pieces, in
their length on the side-pieces or purlins, at their upper extremity
against the ridge-piece.
REBATE (_feuillure_), longitudinal sinking made in frames, posts, and
lintels, to receive doors and window-casements, &c.
RIDGE-POLE (_faîtage_), horizontal piece of wood which, resting on the
top of the king-posts of the principals, forms the apex of the roof and
receives the rafters. The ridge-poles are supported in their bearing,
from one king-post to another, by struts.
RISER (_contre-marche_), the upright face of a step.
SCALE OF PROPORTION (_échelle de proportion_). The text sufficiently
explains the use of the scale in architectural drawing, rendering it
needless to enlarge on the usefulness of this practical method. By
_scale_ is also understood the relative proportions of an edifice.
Certain architectural members give the _scale_ of the whole. Thus, a
balustrade ought not to exceed elbow height, nor fall short of it; it
then gives the _scale_ of the building, that is to say, it indicates
the actual size of the whole, by taking for point of comparison the
human height.
SCREW-BOLTS (_boulon_), round iron pin, with a square head at one end,
and a screw thread at the other, on which turns an iron nut, serving to
hold pieces of timber together.
SECTION (_coupe_), view of a building, or an architectural detail cut
through.
SILL (_tableau_), part of the casing of a door or window which comes
outside the enclosure.
STAIRCASE (_cage d’escalier_), is the casing of masonry or timber-work
in which are enclosed the steps of the stairs.
STILE (_montant_), term in joinery applied to all upright pieces.
STRAP (_étrier_), band of iron forming a stirrup, and passing beneath
the tie-beam of a principal, suspends it to the king-posts by means of
bolts.
STRAIGHT-TREAD (_giron-droit_), signifies a step of equal width all its
length; _winding-tread_, a step narrow towards the outer string, and
enlarging towards the wall of the staircase. It is said, the steps of
the stairs have a narrow tread when the width is small, and have a wide
tread when their width is large.
STRING-BOARD (_crémaillère_), piece of wood on which rests the ends of
the steps of the stairs, and which is grooved to ramp with and receive
the ends of the steps.
STRUT (_lien_), slanting piece of wood connecting the blade to the
king-post of a principal, or a horizontal bearer to a post.
TENON (_tenon_), tongue left at the end of a piece of framing, and
which fits into the end of the mortise.
TIE-BEAM (_entrait_), horizontal piece of timber, which receives at its
extremities the foot of the blades of a principal or truss, and which
is suspended in the middle by the king-post.
TREAD (_giron_), is the width of a stair-step.
TREAD (_pas_), is the level surface of a step on which the foot is
placed.
TRIMMER (_chevêtre_), piece of wood which, framed into two
trimmer-joists, receives the ends of the joists, the space of the
hearth-stone from the fireplace, or across the openings of doors or
windows.
TRIMMER-JOIST (_solive d’enchevêtrure_), stronger joist to receive the
trimmers in front of a hearth-stone or across a chimney-breast.
VALLEY (_noue_), interior angle, formed by the meeting of two planes of
roof.
WALL (_mur_). A _gutter-wall_ is that which carries a gutter and
receives the eaves of a roof; a _gable-wall_ that which closes in the
timber-work of a roof; a _partition-wall_ that which within a building
divides the rooms—takes the bearing of the floors and the chimney-flues.
WALL-FACE (_parement_), outer or inner surfaces of a wall.
WALL-PLATE (_sablière_), horizontal piece of wood laid on the top of a
wall lengthwise, and on which rest the tie-beams of the principals and
the feet of the rafters.
WATER-BAR (_jet d’eau_), projecting moulding affixed to the bottom rail
of window-casements and to the wood-sills, and contrived to throw off
the rain from the rebate, and from the junction of the wood-sill with
the stone-sill.
THE END.
LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL.
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 10 Changed: When his cousin was come
to: When his cousin had come
pg 10 Changed: architectural tyro to unrol again the paper
to: architectural tyro to unroll again the paper
pg 39 Changed: facts seem to rove that he
to: facts seem to prove that he
pg 49 Changed: successful result in this pacrticular case
to: successful result in this particular case
pg 50 Changed: it is easy to distingush the good
to: it is easy to distinguish the good
pg 78 Changed: by means of a plumb-lime
to: by means of a plumb-line
pg 183 Changed: Well, if you well let me have it for an hour
to: Well, if you will let me have it for an hour