Chapter XVIII: Theoretical Studies

The cold and the state of the times prevented the works from being continued. The winter might be a long one. Eugène and Paul prepared themselves, therefore, to employ this compulsory leisure to advantage. It was decided between them that they should not merely draw out the details necessary for finishing the works, but that Eugène should take advantage of these winter days to enlighten Paul on many points respecting which, as clerk-of-works, he was deficient.

Paul took an increasing interest in this employment. Hitherto the execution had immediately followed the labours of the study, and example and practice came to ratify theory; but he was quite aware that all his attention and desire to follow the lead of his chief were not sufficient, and that at each step he found himself confronted by a difficulty. The further the work advanced, the more utterly incapable did he feel himself. He set to work, therefore, with a hearty desire to learn; indeed, so much the more eagerly as all that surrounded him assumed a more and more gloomy and desolate aspect. Paul had never spent a winter in the country, although he used to come home to the Christmas festivities; the few days spent at his father’s _château_ had passed away so quickly, that he had not time to consider how things looked out of doors. Besides, the house was full of guests at that time; the presence of his elder sister gave it animation; everything had a holiday aspect. But the scene was quite changed at the beginning of December, 1870; the neighbouring villages were deserted, or occupied only for a few hours by troops ill-clad, dying of hunger, generally going to fight without enthusiasm, and leaving the exhausted and the sick in the cottages. Then would come long lines of carriages that looked like so many funeral processions.

The snow was beginning to cover the fields and to muffle distant sounds. Seldom did any of the peasants come to the _château_. The postman still paid his regular visits, but the letters and newspapers he brought tended only to depress the spirits of the inmates. Sometimes they gave shelter to members of the Garde Mobile, or to soldiers of the line; but all were dumb: the officers themselves would ask to be allowed to rest in their rooms under pretext of fatigue, rather than go down to the drawing-room. M. de Gandelau, up early in the morning, in spite of his gout, seemed to be omnipresent; he was to be found everywhere, among the farms and at the neighbouring town, facilitating the transport of munitions of war, organizing hospitals, supplying provisions and lightening the difficulties imposed by routine. “Set Paul to work, my friend,” he said to Eugène every evening; “that is all the demand I make on your friendship. I feel it is a considerable one, but grant it, I entreat you.”

In fact, the greater part of the day was passed in studying some question relating to building; then the architect and his clerk-of-works would go and take a walk before the evening, during which Eugène did not fail to start some interesting topic. The country and natural phenomena were the habitual subjects of these conversations; and thus Paul was learning to observe and reflect, and it became every day clearer to him how much knowledge must be acquired to accomplish a task of even limited scope. His cousin did not fail to reiterate the sentiment: “The more you know the more you will feel your want of knowledge; and the highest acquisition in science is the conviction that we know nothing.”

“What good is it to learn, then?” rejoined Paul, one day.

“That we may become modest; that we may occupy life with something better than those things to which vanity prompts us; that we may make ourselves of some little use to our fellows, without exacting gratitude from them.”

Eugène made Paul draw a good deal, and always from nature, or from drawings executed while he was present, for he had not brought with him any specimens of architectural design. Besides this, Paul made a fair copy of memoranda relating to the parts of the house already erected. Thus he gained a complete acquaintance with the structure of every part of the stone-work.

Paul was therefore acquiring the power of drawing architectural details neatly, and his cousin never failed to answer his questions. Paul had soon laid aside all timidity—or, if we choose to deem it so, _amour propre_—and no longer fearing to reveal his ignorance, asked a good many questions. Eugène generally waited for such inquiries before he gave a lesson on any subject. He wished the mind of his pupil to be already prepared by the craving for knowledge, before teaching him. It may be observed that these lessons treated of a great variety of subjects; but Eugène took care to connect them together by an exposition of those several principles which were continually suggested by them.

One day Paul wished to know what an “order” is, and what is understood by this word in architecture.

“That is a comprehensive question, Paul; and I scarcely know whether I shall be able to answer it so as to enlighten you on the subject. The word has two significations in architecture: ‘order’ may be understood to mean subordination, or correlation between the parts. But I think that is not what you are thinking of; you probably intend to ask me the meaning of what are commonly called ‘orders of architecture.’ The idea of an ‘order’ in your mind implies a row of columns or vertical supports bearing an entablature. That is it, is it not?”

“Yes, that is what I mean.”

“Well, then, in remote ages, architects conceived the idea—which was a very natural one—of erecting vertical supports, and placing cross-pieces of wood or stone connecting their summits; and on this open colonnade they raised a roof. This formed a shelter open below, but covered in—what we call a _halle_. But, as in many cases it was also necessary to close in these covered spaces, they built walls behind these vertical props, leaving between them and the isolated supports a space called a ‘portico.’ It was thus, for instance, that certain Greek temples were designed. By degrees the genius of architects, study, and the observation of the exterior effect, led them to give to these vertical props, and to that which they support—that is, the entablature—relative proportions, of delicate and harmonious type, whence laws were deduced; for I would have you remark that the example always precedes the rule, and that rules are only the results of experience. In this way the Greeks invented three orders: the Ionic, the Doric, and the Corinthian—each of which possesses its system of harmonious proportions and its special type of ornamentation. Among the Greeks these systems were not so rigorously distinct as to prevent their frequently trenching on each other’s precincts.

“But the Romans, who were devotees of _order_, and who undertook to impose it in everything and everywhere, in adopting these arrangements from the Greeks, insisted on reducing these three systems to an almost absolute formula. That simplified matters, and the Romans were fond of inclosing whatever appertained to art in an administrative frame. A step further in the wrong direction was taken as the result of the study of classical antiquity in the sixteenth century; authorities on the subject presumed finally to settle the relations between the different members of each of these orders; and with a view to leave some degree of latitude to architects, they even added two orders to the three original ones, viz., the _Tuscan_ and the _Composite_. These stereotyped orders have been applied on every occasion, and in every fashion, just as hangings are attached to a wall to decorate it. Architects have frequently bestowed more thought on placing an order on a façade, than on the disposition of the building erected behind this front. Certainly nothing of the kind more contrary to reason has been produced than the Colonnade of the Louvre, for its _ordonnance_ has no relation to what it contains; and this immense portico, situated on the first story, absolutely serves no other purpose than to obscure the openings for light placed along it, while you never see any one walking in it. But in those days it was obligatory to be magnificent, at whatever cost. We have not entirely renounced this solemn fooling; and even now you may see ‘orders’ placed, without its being possible to say why, in front of buildings that could very well dispense with this adventitious decoration, which is merely designed to prove to the public that there are such things as ‘orders,’ and architects capable of presenting them in those proportions which their formula requires.

“But you will study these branches of architecture a little later on. I think it a bad method of teaching art to allow flowers to be introduced into discourse before the power of expressing thought clearly has been acquired; and it is thus that writers and speakers are formed who take balderdash for eloquence; and architects, who before they think of doing justice to the exigencies of construction, and studying the requirements of the case, amuse themselves with reproducing forms into whose origin, justification, and real meaning they have never inquired. But just now, let us keep to our proper business. It is a house, not a temple or a basilica, that we are building. We have to consider all its parts; and this is work enough for us.

“We have leisure to consider the details of our building thoroughly, since the frost obliges us to suspend the works. Construction, my dear fellow, is an art requiring foresight. The good builder is he who leaves nothing to chance, who does not put off the solution of any problem, and who knows how to give each function its place and value with respect to the whole, and that at the right moment. We have drawn plans for the several stories; we have given the details necessary for constructing the lower parts of the house; now we must draw the working elevations. The first thing is to make an exact section of the front walls giving the height of the floors, the levels of the tie-bars, and the base of the roof.”

Eugène, who, as we may suppose, had previously realized to himself, if not drawn, all the parts of the building, had soon sketched out this section for Paul, who did not cease to wonder at the promptitude with which his master succeeded in drawing on paper any detail required. He could not help remarking it again.

“How do you manage to indicate the arrangement of all these parts of the building without hesitating a moment?” said he.

“Because I have thought about them, and have represented to myself all these parts while drawing or setting you to draw their combinations. If they are not on the paper they are in my head; and when I have to render them intelligible to those who are commissioned to execute them, I have only to write, so to speak, what I know by heart already. And thus it is always desirable to proceed. Look at this section, and these few details (Fig. 42); let us examine the drawing together; you will soon observe that you have already seen all that the sheet of paper contains, and that with a little attention you would be able to arrange these different parts in their due order. You see the thickness of the wall on the ground floor figured, and with its central line dotted; the height of the window sill, A, and its support; the arrangement of the window casing and its lintel; the height of the floor and its thickness. The string-course, B, had to be determined; it should have the thickness of this floor; it indicates it externally. Then, reducing the outside walls to 1 foot 8 inches on the first floor, we put a set-off course at C; window sills like those of the ground floor. The height of the first story from floor to floor has already been settled. The under member, D, of the cornice indicates the thickness of the second floor; lastly comes the cornice table of hard stone which receives the eaves-gutter. As regards the first floor windows, they are formed like those of the ground floor, excepting that the inside reveal is less deep by 4 inches, since the wall is 4 inches less in thickness. Their lintels are similar, as well as the casing which has to take the sheet-iron jalousies, and the tie-bars come underneath these lintels. As we have gables, the cornices cannot return, and must stop against a projection, E, which, rising above the roof, receives the coping, F, which will have a projecting fillet to cover the junction of the slating with the gable. At G, then, I draw the angle of the building with this projection, E, and the coping we have spoken of. As I foresee that the joists will have too long a bearing in some places, I suppose the intermediate beams, H, to carry them and the corbels, I, for the support of these joists.

“At K I have drawn the string-course of the first floor, with the projections figured from the centre of the wall, and the set-off course above; also at L, the cornice and its table-course. You will observe that this table-course slopes towards the outer edge, beneath the gutter, so that, in the event of an overflow, the water may run off outside, and not find its way into the wall. This table-course has a throat, _a_, as well as the string-course, to prevent the water from running down the wall. These mouldings will have to be drawn to their full size for the stone-mason. On the course, M, behind the gutter, will stand the dormer gables, which will admit light to the second floor in the roof. As to the roofing, of which I merely indicate here the base, I will show you what it is to be. Take these sketches, then, and make from them figured drawings to a scale of half an inch to a foot, so that they may be worked from.

“In the meantime, I am going to make a perspective sketch of the projecting bays or _loges_ of the billiard-room and dining-room, with the aid of which you may draw out these details. We shall see how you acquit yourself.

“The English in their country-houses are fond of employing this kind of projecting window. They call them _bay_ or _oriel_ windows, and often construct them on corbelling. Stay—here I have a sketch in my note-book of such a window in a house at Lincoln, dating from the sixteenth century (Fig. 43). This projecting oriel, supported by a bracket, is terminated by a small terrace forming a balcony on the first story. Observe, by the by, how well-devised this construction is. This part of England possesses stone, but that material is less common than brick. The builder has used the dearer material only for the oriel window, which he could scarcely erect in brick, and for the jambs and lintels of the windows. The rest of the structure is built of brick.

“But,” continued Eugène, “your bay windows project too far to allow of their resting on corbelling.”

“What do you mean by corbelling?”

“It is a projecting piece of construction, not rising from the bottom, but supported by corbels; whence the name corbelling. The weight of the masonry resting on the tail, _i.e._ the part of the corbels fixed in the walls, allows us to place on their projecting part a construction, which, being less heavy than that resting on their tail, is thus sustained without fear of overbalancing. We must also calculate the length of the arm of the lever—that is to say, the relation of the projection of the corbels to the weight that secures their tail and that which rests on their head. Of course, the further the corbels project the more does the weight placed on their outward extremity tell on that which keeps the balance. So that a very trifling weight placed at the extremity of a greatly projecting corbel might overbalance a heavy mass placed at the tail. Corbels have, therefore, been frequently replaced by _squinches_—that is to say, a system of masonry which brings the weight at the extremity to bear on the walls. The architect who designed the oriel window I have just shown you did not trouble himself to make such an arrangement. He constructed what is called a bracket—that is, an inverted pyramid, by means of three courses of corbelling; or, if you choose, projecting one beyond the other, so as to obtain a portion of a polygon. On this supporting surface he has erected his window framing, which is scarcely 9½ inches thick. The bracket being built into the wall, supports the window framing, without being over-balanced, on account of the weight of the wall. Closed balconies of this kind were frequently employed during the Middle Ages, because they gave space in the upper stories without encroaching on the street, and afforded side views. And though civic regulations no longer allow us to build these projections in our cities, nothing would hinder us from erecting them when we build in the country. Still, there ought to be a good reason for adopting them. And in our case these corbel constructions serve no purpose, and it will cost us less to raise our bay window direct from the ground.”

In about an hour Eugène handed to Paul the accompanying sketch (Fig. 44), giving the arrangement of the bay window of the billiard-room, that he might study its construction. It required a good deal of attention from our clerk-of-works, and he could not master it thoroughly without frequently applying to his cousin for information and explanation.