LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

FIGPAGE
THE OLD CHÂTEAU[Frontispiece.]
THE OLD CELLAR[Vignette.]
1.PLAN OF THE GROUND FLOOR[22]
2.PLAN OF THE FIRST FLOOR[24]
3.ROOF PLAN[33]
4.PLAN OF THE SECOND FLOOR[36]
5.THE ENTRANCE FRONT[37]
6.EXAMPLE OF A BUILDING SITE[46]
7.DITTO[47]
8.DITTO[49]
9.SECTION OF CELLAR VAULT[53]
10.THE OLD CELLAR[54]
11.THE OLD CELLAR STAIRS[56]
12.THE BULGED WALLS[58]
13.CONSTRUCTION OF A ROOF PRINCIPAL[62]
14.CAMBERED TIMBER[67]
15.THE OLD ROOF[68]
16.COUPLED TIMBERS[69]
17.DITTO[69]
18.TIMBER CLIPS[70]
19.SETTING OUT THE BUILDING[73]
20.USE OF THE THEODOLITE[79]
21.THE CELLAR PLAN[89]
22.DEPOSIT OF EXCAVATED SOIL[92]
23.FOUNDATION STONES[94]
24.SECTION OF SEWER[95]
25.CENTERING OF CELLAR VAULT[97]
26.SECTION OF CELLAR AIR-HOLES[99]
27.RESPECTIVE VIEW OF DITTO[100]
28.SPRING OF THE CELLAR VAULTING[101]
29.THE GARDEN FRONT[103]
30.THE QUOIN STONES[107]
31.THE WINDOW CASING[108]
32.THE CEILINGS[110]
33.METHOD OF TRIMMING THE FLOORS[112]
34.PERSPECTIVE OF DITTO[112]
35.VIEW OF THE BUILDING OPERATIONS[120]
36.HOLLOW BEDDED STONES[123]
37.DRAWING MODELS[128]
38.DITTO[129]
39.PLANS AND SECTION OF THE PRINCIPAL STAIRS[132]
40.THE STAIRCASE STRING[135]
41.STEP OF WINDING STAIRS[136]
42.SECTION OF THE SIDE WALLS, WITH DETAILS[163]
43.AN ORIEL WINDOW[166]
44.BAY WINDOW OF BILLIARD-ROOM[170]
45.DETAIL OF CORNICE, STRING COURSE, ETC.[176]
46.TRANSVERSE SECTION OF THE HOUSE[191]
47.PLAN OF THE ROOF SUPPORTS[192]
48.SECTION OF THE ROOF[194]
49.THE STAIRCASE ROOF[196]
50.FLAWS IN TIMBER[198]
51.COUPLED BEAMS[199]
52.SECTION OF THE FLOOR JOISTS[201]
53.DITTO[201]
54.SECTION OF THE FLOOR BEAMS[201]
55.THE DORMER WINDOWS[203]
56.THE DOORS[216]
57.DETAILS OF DITTO[217]
58.THE CASEMENTS[218]
59.DETAILS OF DITTO[219]
60.THE METHOD OF SLATING[233]
61.DETAILS OF THE PLUMBER’S WORK[235]
62.THE NEW HOUSE[258]

HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE.

CHAPTER I.
PAUL GETS AN IDEA.

Who is happier than the young student from the Lyceum when he comes home for the summer vacation, bringing with him proofs of a well-spent year? Everything smiles upon him. The sky is serene, the country wears its loveliest dress, and the fruit is ripe.

Everyone congratulates him on his success, and predicts for him, after his six weeks’ repose, an energetic recommencement of congenial labour, crowned by a brilliant career in the future.

Yes, our student is a happy fellow; the air seems preternaturally light, the sun shines more brightly, and the meadows wear a richer green. Even the unwelcome rain is laden with perfume.

As soon as the morning breaks he hastens to revisit his favourite haunts in the park—the stream, the lake, and the farm—to see the horses, the boat, and the plantations.

He chats with the farmer’s wife, who smilingly presents him with a nice galette, hot from the oven. He walks with the gamekeeper, who tells him all the news of the neighbourhood while going his rounds. The sound of the sheep bells is musical—nay, even the monotonous song of the shepherd-boy, now grown a tall fellow, and aspiring to the full dignity of shepherd.

It is indeed a happy time. But in a few days the shade of the noble trees, the lovely scenery, the long walks, the gamekeeper’s stories, and even the boating, become wearisome, unless some congenial occupation presents itself to occupy the mind. It is the privilege of old age alone to delight in memories, and always to find fresh pleasure in the contemplation of woods and fields.

The stores of memory are soon exhausted by youth; and quiet meditation is not to its taste.

Monsieur Paul—a lively youth of sixteen—did not, perhaps, indulge in these reflections in the abstract; but as a matter of fact, after a week passed at the residence of his father, who cultivated his considerable estate in the province of Berry, he had almost exhausted the stock of impressions which the return to the paternal domain had excited. During the long scholastic year how many projects had he not formed for the next vacation! Six weeks seemed too short a time for their accomplishment. How many things had he to see again; how much to say and do. Yet in eight days all had been seen, said, and done.

Besides, his eldest sister, who had been lately married, had set out on a long journey with her husband; and as to Lucy, the youngest, she seemed too much occupied with her doll and its wardrobe to take an interest in the thinkings and doings of her respected brother.

It had rained all day; and the farm, visited by M. Paul for the fifth time, had presented a sombre and mournful aspect. The fowls crouching under the walls had a pensive look; and even the ducks were dabbling in the mud in melancholy silence. The gamekeeper had indeed taken M. Paul with him on a hare-hunting expedition, but they had returned without success, and pretty well soaked. To his disappointment, M. Paul had found the keeper’s stories rather long and diffuse—not the less so as they were being repeated for the third time with few variations. Moreover, the veterinary surgeon had announced that morning, to M. Paul’s vexation, that his pony had caught a cold and must not quit the stable for a week. The paper had been read after dinner, but M. Paul was little attracted by its politics, and the miscellaneous intelligence was deplorably uninteresting.

Monsieur de Gandelau (Paul’s father) was too much taken up with agricultural matters, and perhaps also with the treatment of his gout, to seek to relieve the ennui of which his son was the victim; and Madame de Gandelau, still suffering from the depression caused by her eldest daughter’s departure, was working with a kind of desperation at a piece of tapestry, whose destination was a mystery to all about her, and perhaps even to the person who was so laboriously adding stitch to stitch.

“You have had a letter from Marie?” said M. de Gandelau, putting down the newspaper.

“Yes, my dear, this evening. They are enjoying themselves excessively; the weather has been charming, and they have had the most delightful excursions in the Oberland. They are on the point of passing the Simplon for Italy. Marie will write to me from Baveno, Hôtel de——”

“Capital! and how are they?”

“Quite well.”

“And they still mean to go to Constantinople on that important business?”

“Yes, N—— has had a letter urging him to go; they will take Italy only en route. They hope to embark at Naples in a month, at latest. But Marie tells me they cannot return within a year. She does not appear to think much of so long an absence, but it gives me a pang which no arguments for its necessity can alleviate.”

“Ah! well, but do you expect our children to marry for our advantage? And was it not settled that it should be so? They say affection seldom stands the test of living constantly together on a journey. N—— is a good, noble fellow, hard-working, and a little ambitious, which is no bad thing. Marie loves him; she has intelligence and good health. They will pass the trial successfully, I have not a doubt, and will return to us well-tried companions for life, thoroughly acquainted with each other, and having learned how to further and to suffice for one another’s happiness; and with that spice of independence which is so necessary for preserving a good understanding with one’s neighbours.”

“I daresay you are right, my dear; but this long absence is not the less painful to me, and this year will seem a long one. I shall certainly be glad when I begin to prepare their rooms for them here, and have only a few days to reckon till I may hope to see them again.”

“Certainly, certainly; and I too shall be delighted to see them at home. Paul, too! But as it is certain they will be a year away, it would be a fine opportunity for resuming my plan.”

“What, my dear? Do you mean building the house you were thinking of, on that bit of land which is part of Marie’s dowry? I beg of you to do nothing of the kind. We have quite enough room for them here, and for their children, if they have any. And, after this long absence, it will be a new trial to me to have Marie settled at a distance from us—not to have her near me. Besides, her husband cannot stay three-quarters of a year in the country. His engagements do not allow of it. Marie would then be alone. What can she do in a house all to herself, with her husband absent?”

“She will do, my love, as you did yourself, when my business called me—as it did too often—away from home; yet we were young then. She will have her house to see after; she will get into the way of managing her property; she will have occupation and responsibilities; and so she will be satisfied with herself and with the result of her thought and work. Believe me, I have seen the warmest family affections weakened and destroyed by the habit of married children living with their parents. The wife likes to be mistress in her own house; and this is a sound and just feeling; we should not run counter to it. A woman who has been wisely educated, having a house to look after and the responsibility and independence which responsibility in every form brings with it, is more capable of maintaining her own dignity of character than one who has been kept all her life in a state of tutelage. Marie would be very comfortable here, very happy to be with us, and her husband would be not less satisfied in knowing that she was with us; but she would not have a home of her own. An unmarried daughter is only in her place when with her mother; but a wife is only in her place in her own house. A married woman in her mother’s house takes her place only as a guest. And even if we suppose no mutual irritation to arise from this life in common—and this can hardly fail to arise—it is certain that indifference to practical interests, nonchalance, and even ennui, and all the dangers thence ensuing, are sure to be caused by it.

“You have brought up your daughter too well for her not to be ardently desirous of fulfilling all her duties; you have always shown her an example of activity too conspicuous for her not to wish to follow it. Let us, then, afford her the means of doing so. Will you not be better pleased to see her managing her own house, and delighted to entertain us there, than to have her here incessantly at your elbow, with nothing to do; a judge, silent and respectful, if you like, but still a judge, of all your ways and doings? Do you think that her husband, when he can snatch a few moments from business, will enjoy as much pleasure in finding her constantly here, as he will experience at seeing her in her own house, delighted to show him all she has done during his absence; engaged in rendering their common abode more and more agreeable and convenient from day to day? If you reflect, you will observe that those who in our day have given, though in high social position, the most occasion for scandal, have been, for the most part, women whose early married life was passed thus, without a home of their own, leading that nondescript life which is neither that of the daughter nor the mistress of the house—the responsible housekeeper, to call things by their right names.”

Some tears had moistened Madame de Gandelau’s embroidery.

“You are right again, my dear,” said she, pressing her husband’s hand; “your plan is just and reasonable.”

Paul, though turning over the leaves of an illustrated periodical, had not lost a word of this conversation. The idea of seeing a house built for his eldest sister was very agreeable to him. Already, to his youthful imagination, this house in the future seemed, as compared with the old family mansion, a fairy palace, elegant and splendid, full of light and gaiety.

It must be confessed that M. de Gandelau’s habitation had nothing to charm the eyes. Enlarged by successive additions, two long wings of gloomy aspect were clumsily patched on to the main body,—formerly a castle, two towers of which, dismantled and crowned by low roofs, flanked the angles. Between the two wings and this main building, there extended a courtyard, always damp, enclosed by old iron railings, and the remains of a moat now converted into a kitchen garden. A third wing, the prolongation of the old castellated building, erected by M. de Gandelau soon after his marriage, contained the private apartments of the family—the most attractive part of the château. The drawing and dining rooms, the billiard-room, and M. de Gandelau’s study formed part of the old main building. As to the two parallel wings, they contained rooms opening into irregular passages, which, not being all on a level, were somewhat perilous to unwary feet.

Next morning, Paul, going to inquire how his pony was, met old Master Branchu coming into the yard with a little cart full of pieces of wood, bags of plaster, and tools.

“What are you going to do with that, Master Branchu?”

“I am going to mend the pigeon-house, Monsieur Paul.”

“How I should like to help you!”

“No, Monsieur Paul, you would dirty your clothes; you might hurt yourself; it is not your business. But you may see us work, if you like.”

“It must be a capital amusement to build!”

“As to amusement, it’s no amusement; yet it isn’t so disagreeable neither, when you have to work for a good gentleman like your father; when you have your pay regular, and a bottle of wine when it’s hot; and when the people you work for do not grudge you what’s reasonable—that’s comfortable. You do your work, and pick up your tools at the end of the day with a merry heart. But when you have to do with close-fisted people, it’s a miserable business, for you must pay for what you have to work with. This plaster in the cart, and the bricks, and so on, cost money of course. And if you can’t get paid yourself, you must find money somewhere, and get into no end of trouble. But I must be off; there’s my lad waiting for me.”

“Could you build a large house, Master Branchu?”

“I should think so, Master Paul. Why, I built the mayor’s, which is big enough in all conscience!”

Meantime, Paul no longer finds the hours hang heavily, as they did the day before; he has got an idea.

This house in prospect for his sister has seized on his imagination; he figures it to himself sometimes as a palace, sometimes as a turreted manor-house of the old style, sometimes as a Swiss cottage, covered with ivy and clematis, with innumerable carved balconies. He has a grown-up cousin who is an architect; he has often seen him at work at a drawing-board; under his hand buildings rose as by enchantment. It did not appear very difficult work. His cousin Eugène has the necessary instruments in the room he occupies when he comes to the château. Paul will try to put on paper one of those plans of which his imagination has given him a glimpse. But there is a difficulty at the outset. He must know what would suit his sister best; a baronial castle, with towers and battlements, a Swiss cottage, or an Italian villa. If it is to take her by surprise, the surprise must be at any rate an agreeable one. After a good hour’s meditation, M. Paul thinks, and with some reason, that he ought to go and consult his father.

“Oh, oh! you are in a great hurry,” said his father, after Paul’s first words. “But we are not quite so far advanced as that. You want to draw a plan for Marie’s house. Well, try then. But in the first place, we must know what your sister wants—how she would like her house arranged. After all, I am not sorry to hasten forward things a little. We will send her a telegram.”

Telegram.

“Baveno. Italy. From X—— Mad. N——, Hôtel de ——. Paul wants to build a house here for Marie. Send programme.”

Twenty hours afterwards the following telegram reached the château:—

“X——. From Baveno. To M. de Gandelau. Arrived this morning—all well. Paul has an excellent idea. Ground-floor—entrance-hall, drawing-room, dining-room, pantry, kitchen not underground, billiard-room, study. First-floor—two large bedrooms, two dressing-rooms; baths; small bedroom, dressing-room; linen-room, closets, attic-bedrooms; cupboards plenty; staircase not break-neck. Marie N——.”

Without doubting for a moment that his sister had taken in earnest the despatch addressed to her, and had replied accordingly, Paul set himself resolutely to work, and, installed in Eugène’s room, and making the best of his skill in drawing, endeavoured to realize on paper the programme given above. The difficulties of this undertaking were however serious enough to make it necessary to tell M. Paul twice that breakfast was on the table. The afternoon passed rapidly away, and on assembling for dinner, Paul presented a fine sheet of paper fairly covered with plans and elevations.

“A creditable piece of work,” said M. de Gandelau unrolling it; “but your cousin is coming to-morrow, and he will be able to criticize your plan better than I can.”

All the night Paul was in a state of excitement. He dreamed of a palace rising under his direction. But there was always some defect in his building. There were no windows; the staircase was only a shaky ladder, and his sister Marie would not venture to mount it. In one place the ceilings were so low that you could not stand upright; elsewhere they were of terrific height. Old Branchu was laughing and shaking the walls with his hand to show they were not firm. The chimney smoked horribly, and his little sister was impetuously demanding a room for her doll.

Paul had looked at his plan again as soon as he got up, and it appeared to him much less satisfactory than it had done the night before; in fact, he blushed at the thought of showing it to his cousin, who was coming to breakfast; he was hesitating, and thinking of destroying the painful labour of a whole day.

“Father, I think my cousin will laugh at me if I show him my drawing.”

“My dear boy,” replied M. de Gandelau, “when we have done what we can, i.e., the best we can, we must not shrink from criticism, which is the only means of ascertaining the insufficiency of our knowledge and supplying its defects. You would be very silly if you thought you could become an architect in a single morning; but if, after having made an effort to express an idea which you think good, either in drawing or otherwise, you should hesitate to submit your essay to some one more skilful than yourself, for fear of eliciting more criticism than applause—it would not be modesty, but a very reprehensible vanity, for it would deprive you of advice which cannot fail to be useful to you, at your age especially.”

When his cousin had come it was nevertheless necessary for M. de Gandelau to tell his son to bring his attempt, to induce our architectural tyro to unroll again the paper he had covered the day before with such painfully elaborate designs.

“Well, my young cousin,” said the visitor, “so you want to become an architect. Take care! all is not couleur de rose in that profession, as it would appear on your paper.”

In a few words Eugène was informed of what was intended.

“Very good! Here is the drawing-room and the entrance-hall. I don’t quite understand the staircase, but that is a matter of detail. And the elevations? But it’s a palace!—columns, balustrades! Well, we can set to work at once.”

“Could we, cousin? Suppose we tell Master Branchu; he is at work close by.”

“A little patience—this is only a sketch. How about the definitive plans; and the estimates; and the details of execution? We must go methodically to work. You must know, cousin, that the more rapidly we want a building erected, the more desirable it is that everything should be perfectly arranged beforehand. Remember the trouble your neighbour, Count —— has had, who has been beginning his château again and again every spring for six years, without being able to get it finished, because he could not indicate all that he wanted at first, and his architect had not the courage to insist upon adopting a well-planned design once for all; and because he has listened to all the whims, or rather to all the officious advice which friends of the family did not fail to offer, one respecting the size of the rooms, another about the placing of the staircases, a third on the style and decoration. We have only a year before us, we must therefore not begin till we are certain of not taking false steps; besides, your sister must approve the plan. Let us consider a little; and first let us come to an understanding about the means of construction you decide to adopt. As we are in a hurry we have hardly a choice; we cannot think of building the house with worked stone from top to bottom; that would take too long, and cost too much. We must adopt a method of construction that is simple, and can be rapidly executed. Does that meet your ideas? You introduce columns in your front; for what purpose? If they form a portico, they will make the rooms dark and gloomy; if they are attached to the walls, they are of no use here. And this balustrade on the upper cornices—what does that mean? Do you suppose your lady sister will walk among the gutters? That is for the service of the cats, I suppose. And please to explain this: on the plan I observe that from the entrance-hall you have to go through the dining-room to reach the drawing-room. But if visitors come while you are at table, you will have to ask them to wait at the door, or invite them to see you and your friends eat.

“And so the kitchen opens on the billiard-room. Come, we must go a little more deeply into the matter; shall we set to work to do so? Between us we shall perhaps get through the business a little faster, and you will give me ideas; for you know your elder sister’s tastes and habits better than I do. You will thus be able to supplement the scantiness of the programme given us. Think about it, and early to-morrow morning we will proceed to work out our plan.”

CHAPTER II.
WITH A LITTLE HELP, PAUL’S IDEA IS DEVELOPED.

In fact, early in the morning Paul might be seen going into his cousin’s room. Everything was ready: drawing-board, T-squares, compasses, and pencils.

“Take your seat here, cousin; you are going to render on paper the result of our meditations, since you know so well how to make use of our instruments. Let us proceed methodically. In the first place, you doubtless know the ground on which your father intends to have your sister’s country house built.”

“Yes, it is down there below the wood, about two miles off—that little valley at the bottom of which runs the brook which turns Michaud’s mill.”

“Just show me that on the plan of the estate. Oh, I see it.”

“You see, cousin, it is here. On the south side of the plateau are the arable lands, then the ground slopes a little to the north towards the brook. Here there is a fine spring of fresh water issuing from the wood, which is on the west. On the declivity of the plateau, and at the bottom of the valley, are meadows with a few trees.”

“On which side then is the pleasantest view?”

“Towards the bottom of the valley, on the south-east.”

“How do you get to the meadow from your father’s house?”

“By crossing the wood; then you go down to the bottom of the valley by this road; you cross a bridge here, then you ascend along the plateau obliquely by this path.”

“Very good; we must therefore build the house almost on the summit of the incline facing the north—sheltering it from the north-west winds under the neighbouring wood. The entrance will have to front the ascending road; but we must arrange for the principal apartments to command the most favourable aspect, which is south-east; moreover, we must take advantage of the open view on the same side, and not disregard the spring of fresh water that flows on the right towards the bottom of the valley; we shall therefore approach it and locate the house in that resting-place which nature has arranged so favourably to our views, some yards below the plateau. We shall thus be tolerably sheltered from the south-west winds, and shall not have the dull-looking plain, which extends as far as the eye can reach, in front of the house. This settled, let us look at the programme. No dimensions of rooms are mentioned; we shall therefore have to determine this. According to what your father has told me, he intends this house to be for constant residence, habitable in summer as well as in winter, and consequently to contain all that is suitable for a large landed proprietor. He means to spend about £8000 upon it; it is therefore a matter which demands serious study, especially as your sister and her husband make a great point of ‘comfort.’ I was at their house in Paris, and found it admirably fitted up, but nothing sacrificed to vanity or mere appearances. We may therefore start from these data. Let us begin by the plan of the ground-floor. The principal apartment is the drawing-room, where the family assemble. We cannot give it less than 16 or 17 feet in width, by 24 to 28 feet in length. First draw a parallelogram to these dimensions. Ah, stay! not mere guess-work. Take your scale.”

Paul looked at his teacher in some perplexity.

“I forgot; perhaps you don’t know what a scale means. Indeed your plan seems to have taken no account of anything of the kind. Listen to me, then: When you wish to build a house, or any edifice, you give the architect a programme, i.e., a complete list of all the rooms and accessories that are wanted. But this is not enough; you say such or such a room must have such or such a width by such or such a length, or have such or such an area so as to accommodate so many persons. If it is a dining-room, for instance, you will mention that it must accommodate 10, 15, 20, or 25 persons at table. If it is a bedroom, you will specify that besides the bed (which is a matter of course) it must accommodate such or such pieces of furniture or occupy an area of 300 feet, 400 feet, &c. Now you know that an area of 400 feet is equivalent to a square whose side is 20 feet, or a parallelogram of about 24 feet by 16 feet 8 inches, or of 30 feet by 13 feet 4 inches. But these last dimensions would not suit a room; they are rather the proportions of a gallery. Independently, therefore, of the area of a room, its breadth and length must bear certain relations according to its purpose. A drawing-room or a bedchamber may be square; but a dining-room, if it is to accommodate more than ten persons at table, must be longer than it is broad, because a table increases in length but not in width, according to the number of the guests. You must therefore add ‘leaves’ to the dining-room as you do to the table. Do you understand? Good. At this point then the architect, in preparing the plan, even if it is only a sketch, adopts a scale, i.e., he divides a line drawn upon his paper into equal parts, each representing a foot. And to save time, or to simplify the work, he takes for each of these divisions the 192th, or the 96th, or the 48th part of a foot. In the first case we call it a scale of 1/16th of an inch to a foot, or a scale of 16 feet to an inch; in the second, a scale of ⅛th of an inch to a foot, or a scale of 8 feet to an inch; in the third, a scale of ¼th of an inch to a foot, or a scale of 4 feet to an inch. Thus you prepare a plan one hundred and ninety-two, ninety-six, or forty-eight times smaller than its realization will be. I need not say that we may make scales in any proportion ad infinitum—one, two, or three hundredths of an inch to a foot, or to 10, 100, or 1,000 feet, as we do for drawing maps. In the same way we may give details on a scale of 6 inches to a foot, or half the actual size; 2 inches to a foot, or a sixth of the actual size, &c. Having chosen his scale, the architect is enabled to give to each part of the plan exact relative dimensions. If he has adopted the scale of one-eighth of an inch to a foot, and wishes to indicate a door 4 feet in width, he takes 4/8ths. Do you understand? I am not quite sure that you do; but a few hours’ practice will render you au fait at it. To show you distinctly the utility of a scale, I will take your plan. Your drawing-room is an oblong. I will suppose it 20 feet by 27 feet; that is pretty nearly the relative proportion of the sides. A ninth of the longer side measured by the compass is 3 feet. I measure your façade by this and find that your lower story is 30 feet high. Now fancy to yourself how (I will not say your drawing-room, but) your entrance-hall, whose sides are only 13 feet, would look with a height of 30 feet between the floor and the ceiling. It would be a well. Your elevation therefore is not on the same scale as your plan. Take for your sister’s drawing-room 18/16ths on this graduated rule, which will give 18 feet on a scale of 1/16th of an inch to a foot. Just so; that gives us the shorter side of the drawing-room. Now take 27/16ths on the same rule, which will give 27 feet; that will be the longer side. Now your oblong is drawn with dimensions perfectly exact. You will have to surround this room with walls, for we can scarcely give ordinary floors a greater width; you must therefore have walls to receive the joists. A rubble wall through which flues have to pass, can hardly be less than 1 foot 8 inches in thickness. Your drawing-room will therefore support itself. Next in importance to the drawing-room is the dining-room. Where are we to place it? We ought, especially in the country, to be able to enter it directly from the drawing-room. Is it to be on the right, or on the left? You have not the least idea; nor I either. But chance cannot settle the question. Let us think about it a little. It would seem natural to put the kitchen near to the dining-room. But the position of the kitchen is a matter presenting some difficulties. When you are not at table you don’t like to have the smell of the viands, or hear the noise of those engaged in kitchen work. On the one hand, the kitchen ought not to be far from the dining-room; on the other hand, it ought to be far enough from the chief rooms for its existence not to be suspected. Besides, the back-yard, the outbuildings, the poultry-yard, a small vegetable garden, wash-houses, &c., ought to be near the kitchen. It is a matter of importance too that the kitchen should not have a south aspect. And we must not forget that your sister, who knows how a house ought to be managed, has taken the precaution to say in her laconic programme: ‘Kitchen not underground.’ She is right: underground kitchens are unhealthy for those who live in them, present difficulties in the way of surveillance, and diffuse their odour through the ground floor. We shall put it therefore on a level with the dining-room, but without direct communication with the latter, to avoid odours and noises. Let us examine our ground, its position and aspects. The most undesirable aspect, and that which in the present case offers the least agreeable prospect, is the north-west. We shall therefore place the drawing-room with its exterior angle towards the south-east; on the right we shall put the dining-room; and next the kitchen, which will thus face the north. Do not be in a hurry to draw the plan of these subordinate apartments, for we must know first what position they are to occupy in relation to the drawing-room and the entrance-hall. We are required to provide a billiard-room. It will be well to place it on the south-east, as a pendant to the dining-room. The hall and your brother-in-law’s study must be near the entrance. If we place the dining-room and the billiard-room, whose dimensions are to be nearly equal to those of the drawing-room, in juxtaposition and continuation with the latter, the drawing-room will be lighted only on one of its shorter sides, for we must put the entrance-hall in front. The drawing-room would in that case be gloomy, and would command a view of the country only in one direction. Let us then put the dining-room and the billiard-room at right angles to the drawing-room, allowing the latter to jut out on the sides of the favourable aspect. Let us give each of these two apartments a length of 24 feet by a width of 18 feet. These are convenient dimensions. Then mark in front of the drawing-room an entrance-hall, whose area we shall determine presently.

“We will try next to give to the walls of those apartments the position required by the general construction. The entrance to the dining-room and the billiard-room—which is also a place of assembly—is to be from the drawing-room. The opening from the drawing-room into the billiard-room must therefore be wide enough for those who may be in either of those apartments to assemble without inconvenience. But we ought to be able to reach the entrance-hall from the billiard-room without going through the drawing-room; and so with the dining-room. We observe that lateral prospects were required for the drawing-room, whose length is 27 feet. If we take 8 feet for the side-lights, and 1 foot 6 inches for the thickness of the wall of the billiard-room or the dining-room, there will remain 17 feet 6 inches to the entrance partition of the drawing-room; our billiard-room and dining-room being 18 feet wide, these apartments will reach 8 inches beyond the entrance-partition of the drawing-room. That does not matter. Let us mark out the second wall, also 1 foot 6 inches thick. Thus we have the three chief apartments determined. In the central line of the billiard-room we will make an opening into the drawing-room of 8 feet 6 inches. On the side of the wall separating it from the dining-room we will open a door of 4 feet 6 inches into the dining-room, within 8 inches of the partition separating the drawing-room from the entrance-hall. Thus we shall enter this dining-room, not in the centre, but on one side, which is more convenient; for you know that in going to or leaving it the gentlemen offer their arms to the ladies. It is therefore desirable that in going out or coming in there should be no obstacle in their way. The door leading from the drawing-room to the dining-room will be also out of the central line of the opening from the drawing-room into the billiard-room; but that I do not mind. This door will balance with the window on this side looking outwards, and we will put the fireplace between them. We will open a central door from the entrance-hall into the drawing-room.

“In front, against the wall of the billiard-room, let us put your brother-in-law’s study, with a small anteroom, where people who have business with him can wait, so as not to be wandering about in the hall. On the dining-room side (of the hall) we will put the pantry. The study must be at least 12 feet 6 inches wide. We will make the entrance-hall jut out a little to form a projection.

“The staircase is a very important point in every house. It should be proportioned to the house,—neither too spacious nor too scanty. It must not occupy space uselessly; it must give easy access to the upper stories, and be sufficiently conspicuous. If we take a part of the staircase out of the entrance-hall, which is very large—18 feet by 16 feet—it will be very conspicuous, and we shall gain room. The width of a staircase in a house of this style and size should be at least 4 feet. But the hall ought to communicate directly with the dining-room, the pantry, and all the offices to the right of the plan. Let us reserve a passage of 4 feet and mark the first step. The height of the lower story between floor and floor should be, reckoning the size of the rooms, 15 feet; which will give them a clear height of 14 feet, reserving 1 foot for the thickness of the floor of the chamber story. The steps of an easy staircase should be about 6 inches high. To ascend 15 feet we require thirty steps. Each step should be 10 to 12 inches wide. The staircase should have an extension of 25 feet for steps of 10 inches in width, or 30 feet for steps of 12 inches, reckoning thirty steps. Let us take a mean—say 27 feet. We must find room for this extension of 27 feet at the least. We will therefore place a staircase projection at the angle of the entrance-hall prominent enough to bring us, in winding round a newel (which will be in the prolongation of the wall on the right of the drawing-room), to the first floor, passing out into the antechamber of this floor.... I mark out this staircase for you: we shall have to return to it. The first fifteen steps come into the length of the newel and the wall, and allow us to place below the last half flight of the stairs the water-closet for the family on the ground floor. Opening from the passage we will next put the pantry. Then the servants’ staircase in a tower; then the serving-room; then the kitchen in the wing; a bakehouse and scullery, a wash-house, and a way out from the kitchen to the kitchen garden. Forming a return, we will put a stable for three horses, a coach-house for two carriages, a harness-room, and a small flight of stairs to reach the rooms for the coachman and groom, and the hay-loft in the roof. Near the stable we will leave a way into the yard and the larder and servants’ conveniences.

“We will separate all these offices from the main building by a plinth wall and trellis-work at the right of the round tower servants’ staircase, which will give us a courtyard for the kitchen, stable, and coach-house. In front we will reserve a space for the poultry-yard, the fowl-house, and the manure pit....

“Now that we have traced out the general plan of our ground floor, let us try to improve it in detail.

“It would be very nice to have a bay window at the end of the drawing-room looking out on the garden. Nothing prevents us from planning another at the end of the billiard-room, with a divan where the gentlemen might smoke, and a third at the end of the dining-room, which would allow the dishes to be passed in through a turn from the serving-room, and afford room for the sideboard and carving tables.

“We shall find these projections useful on the first floor.

“But we ought to have a way out from the drawing-room or the billiard-room into the garden. I must confess that I am not very fond of those flights of steps, which are scorching under a hot sun and very disagreeable in wind and rain; if, then, in the angle formed by the billiard-room with the drawing-room, and along it, we were to place a conservatory inclosing a flight of steps, I think it would be a convenient arrangement. Thus we could pass from the drawing-room or the billiard-room into this conservatory, and could take coffee there in wet weather, and have a covered approach to the garden. Some flowers and shrubs placed along the glazed side would enliven the billiard-room without darkening it. But in front of the entrance-hall we will have a flight of steps in the usual style, which we shall take care to put under shelter, the position of the staircase allowing us to do so without difficulty.

“Let us draw out all this as nearly as we can; we shall have to revise it when we have studied the first floor, whose arrangements may oblige us to modify some of those on the ground floor (Fig. [1]).

“As the walls must rise from the bottom, you will put a piece of tracing paper over this ground-plan to avoid loss of time. You will thus have beneath your eyes and pencil the walls to which you must accommodate the superstructure, and we shall presently see whether there is reason to modify some parts of this ground-plan.

Fig. 1.—Plan of the Ground Floor.

A, entrance-hall; B, drawing-room; C, dining-room; D, billiard-room; E, study; F, conservatory inclosing flight of steps; G, butler’s pantry; H, kitchen; I, serving-room; K, L, bakehouse and wash-house; M, office-yard; N, S, poultry-yard; O, stable; P, coach-house; R, harness-room; a, servants’ staircase; b, cellar steps; c, groom’s staircase; V, W, water-closets.

“Just so. Let us first trace the termination of the staircase; the last of the thirty steps we shall require is in a line with the wall on the right of the entrance-hall; it is the landing which will open on the antechamber above the hall. Over the drawing-room we shall place Madame N.’s room; but as this area would be too large, we shall take advantage of the space to put a second partition, which will give double doors and a capital space for closets, which ladies never find superfluous. To give light in this space we shall glaze an upper portion of the partition next to the antechamber. These double doors will insure greater privacy in the bedroom, and prevent the passage of sounds. Besides, this second antechamber will enable us to provide a direct communication with Monsieur N.’s apartment, which we shall place in the favourable aspect, that is over the billiard-room.

“As this area also is too large, we shall take out of the space thus available a lady’s dressing-room, and a bathroom; and provide an entrance to Monsieur N.’s room direct from the antechamber through a private passage, which will also open into the lady’s dressing-room, that for your brother-in-law over the study, his bedchamber and the closets for these apartments. Thus when the two doors leading to the antechamber are shut, these rooms will be completely cut off. With a corridor answering to that of the ground floor on the right we shall establish a communication between the antechamber, the servants’ staircase, the linen-room (an important matter), which we shall place over the kitchen, with a large wardrobe for your sister on the right of her bedroom, and a nursery (for we must provide for every contingency), which, as well as the wardrobe, will be over the dining-room. The recess or bay window of the ground floor will afford us the means of giving a nice dressing-room for the children’s or guests’ room on the first floor; and that of the billiard-room will furnish a very agreeable addition to Monsieur N.’s room. As to the bay window in the drawing-room, we will cover with a flat, with a balustrade, which will give your sister’s room a handsome balcony, where an awning and flowers can be placed in the summer. (Fig. [2].)

“You see, Paul, our plan begins to assume a definite shape. Breakfast will soon be ready: go and take a walk, and in the afternoon we will resume our work, that is to say, we will proceed to the elevations.”

Fig. 2.—Plan of the First Floor.

A, antechamber; B, Madame N.’s bedroom; C, dressing-room and bathroom; D, wardrobe; E, Monsieur N.’s bedroom; F, dressing-room and bathroom; G, nursery; H, dressing-room; I, linen-room; P, lumber-room; W, water-closets.

On going down to the garden, Paul began to examine the family mansion with an attention he had never yet bestowed upon it. He had never thought before of observing how its apartments were arranged. He began to calculate the space lost in those interminable passages; he perceived here and there dark and useless corners. The staircase started badly. On the ground floor it could not be found without knowing the arrangement of the house. The kitchen was at a vast distance from the dining-room, and to get from the one to the other you must cross a carriage road, go down two steps and mount six. For the first time in his life this struck him as barbarous. Walking about waiting for the breakfast bell, Paul began to ask himself whether his father would not do well to pull down his old mansion and build one on a new plan devised by himself with his cousin’s advice. He began to reckon up the several faults in the arrangement of the house, not forgetting its too numerous break-neck passages. He considered the sombre drawing-room, flanked on two sides by the two old towers that masked the side views, his father’s little study lighted by a narrow window and entered by a pretty large room, generally unused, and which served as a fruit-room in the autumn; many other defects besides....

“Well,” said his father, as soon as they were seated at table, “you have been already at work this morning?”

Paul, full of the subject that had engaged him, gave an exact description of the plan which had been prepared; but could not finish without indulging in some critical remarks on the family mansion.

CHAPTER III.
THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE.

His mother looked at him with astonishment; his father became serious, and said: “Paul, this house satisfies your mother just as it is, and me too; you three—your two sisters and yourself—were all born here; my father left it to me, and I have added to it only what has been necessary. There is not a corner in this house but is associated with some happy or mournful reminiscence; it has been consecrated by the labours of three generations of honourable occupants. All the people of the neighbourhood, who please to give it the name of the Château, know that they may look for bread here when they want it, clothes for their little ones, advice in their differences, and relief if they are ill. They do not need to be shown the staircase that leads to your mother’s room or my study, for they know it as well as we do; they know as well as we do those ‘break-neck places’ on which you are so severe, and do not get lost in the long passages. If the kitchen is a little too far from the dining-room, it is large enough to hold the harvest-men when they come to supper, and the shepherds when they come to settle their accounts. I do not think I should be justified in altering all this, for this house belongs, I may say, to the neighbourhood; and you should not forget any more than I do that, in 1793, my grandfather remained here alone with his wife and my father without molestation, while all the neighbouring châteaux were abandoned and pillaged.

“When we are gone—your mother and I—you will do what you think fit with this house; but if there is one piece of advice I would impress upon you, it is—Keep it as it is, for it may outlast you and your children. Keep it, for you must have committed many faults before it can cease to be a shelter for our family.

“I know as well as you—perhaps better—all that it needs to adapt it to the taste of the day; and if I were to sell it to some wealthy proprietor, he would probably soon demolish it and build a house or a château more comfortable, and better suited to modern habits. What such a purchaser might do I cannot, I ought not to do.

“The good people with wooden shoes on their feet and woollen cloaks on their backs who come here to talk with me, and who would protect my old house, if need were (I have had proof of it), would cease to come into a new dwelling with which they were not familiar,—where everything would have a tendency to repel them, if not to arouse envious reflections in them. I should become unaccustomed to see them; and while it seems to me quite natural to see them at any time in this house—which only recalls the past, and where all is simple and somewhat rough, like themselves—it would probably appear to me strange to introduce them into apartments arranged and decorated in modern taste.

“It is undesirable to disturb visual associations; our simple-minded neighbours connect in thought the inhabitant with the house: change the latter, and they will no longer recognize the former.

“Your cousin knows still better than you or I what are the defects of our old mansion, and how it might be rendered much more attractive; yet he has never suggested modifications to me, because he perceives, as I do, that by making any change in such buildings acquired habits among those around us would be disturbed in a way that could only be injurious.

“And here are you—an architect of two or three hours’ standing, and before you know whether you could improve on the house as it is—thinking of pulling it down. Be a little more modest; when you have studied some time and seen more, you will know that a dwelling ought to be, to a man and his family, a well-suited dress, and that when a residence is perfectly adapted to the manners and habits of those it shelters, it is excellent. How many proprietors have I seen who, while destroying their ancestral mansion, to replace it by a habitation conformable as they thought to the requirements of the moment, have by the same act ruptured the tie which attached their family to the humble inhabitants of the neighbourhood!”

The only reply Paul offered to these arguments was to go and embrace his mother and father; and no better could have been thought of.

“I don’t exactly see,” said Paul to his cousin, when they were both in the park after breakfast, “why my father should wish to have a house built for my sister, since he thinks it so desirable to keep for himself and for us the old mansion in which we were born.”

“It is not a matter of very easy explanation; but you are old enough, Paul, to understand it. In the first place, your sister Marie now bears another name than yours; and a well-known respected name has a similar standing in the neighbourhood with the old house to which, so to speak, it is attached. If you had not been born, and your parents were no longer living, Madame N——, your sister, on coming to live on this estate, might safely pull down the old house and build a new one, for it would not be more difficult to introduce the new house than the name of a new proprietor. She would have to create new ties with all this little world that surrounds you, and consequently to establish between this world and her new family relations differing probably from those which now exist between your father and the people of your neighbourhood. Your father’s connection with the peasants of Berri, among whom he has always lived, is intertwined with traditions handed down through several generations without interruption. He can therefore obtain services from them, and inspire them with a confidence which would not be accorded to new-comers, or to any name but his; while these peasants on their part unsuspectingly accept favours which they know from long experience to be disinterested. The old manor-house, occupied by a stranger bearing a new name, would lose the prestige which your father so justly appreciated; there would in that case be no advantage in preserving its time-honoured aspect. M. de Gandelau, therefore, who does nothing without consideration, perceives that some day or other, by the pressure of circumstances, his house might be no longer suitable for his children, so that before its possible disappearance, he builds a new one for your sister; a house to which the neighbourhood will become gradually accustomed, and which will form a new family centre; for Madame Marie is beloved and esteemed throughout the neighbourhood. People will become accustomed to the more modern habits of the new manor-house, and no one will then think it strange that the old one should be demolished. Your father is preparing a gradual transition from a social condition, which, though on the decline even in the country districts, still exists, to that which is destined to replace it. You see, then, that though he values the past, and endeavours to preserve its advantages, he does not believe in its perpetuity, and foresees the time when it must vanish before the habits and requirements of the present. Natural as is your father’s mode of living, because it is the result of habits that have not been interrupted for many generations, it would be difficult for a new-comer to conform to these habits. Besides, this estate which M. de Gandelau has rendered so productive, and which he has increased in extent, will have to be divided at his decease amongst his three children. Already he has detached a portion of it to form your sister’s dowry. He intends, then, by the residence we are going to build, to have this part now brought into harmony with the habits of the new proprietors, who are young, and whose mode of life must be different from that which still suits your father. When you are older you will appreciate all these things better. Let us go and resume our work.”

Paul was endeavouring to gain a clear view of the grave subjects his cousin had been discussing. He recalled the conversation of the preceding days between his father and mother, and his mind was evidently full of ideas, new to him, which had been thus suggested. At any rate, the old house began to assume in his eyes a venerable appearance, and he was no longer inclined to censure its inconvenient arrangements and somewhat inelegant exterior.

CHAPTER IV.
PAUL’S IDEAS RESPECTING ART, AND HOW THEY WERE MODIFIED.

“Before resuming our pencil,” said Eugène, as soon as they were seated once more in his study, “you must know how you are going to proceed. We have sketched the ground plans. We know that they can be realized, that the construction will present no special difficulties; that the partition walls of the upper stories stand vertically on those of the lower ones; that the bearings of the floors are reasonable, and that the openings are conveniently placed. That is satisfactory so far.... But now, do you realize these plans in elevation? That is, can you fancy the house as standing, with its stories, its roofing, its windows, &c.?”

“Well, I can’t say I do.”

“You must then first picture the building to yourself as if it actually existed.... I know that this is hardly possible for you, since there are many architects who are as far off as you from being able to do so when they have drawn horizontal plans on paper, and who in drawing these plans do not see the building for which they are designed. Reflect a little; examine their outlines well, and endeavour to give them in elevation some definite form in your mind’s eye before making use of the pencil.... Take your time. I have a letter to write, and some accounts to attend to; so while I am engaged, try to give me the elevation of one of the fronts of the house,—the entrance-front, for example, on the north side,—and we will discuss your design. I only give you one piece of advice,—that is, to put nothing upon paper without having previously considered whether your design is appropriate and useful.

“Come, try your best; and don’t forget the scale of proportions.”

Paul was much embarrassed, and found the work by no means easy. The ideas which had suggested themselves in abundance at his first attempt were not forthcoming now. However, at the end of a good hour and a half he presented a sketch to his cousin.

“It might be worse,” said Eugène. “You have given the ground floor 15 feet from floor to floor,—that was about what we said; but why the same height for the first floor? The rooms are smaller, and more airy; there is therefore no need to give an equal height to this story, and 13 feet 6 inches would be quite enough. And why put round arched windows on the ground floor? Arched windows are difficult to fit with casements, and there is a difficulty with shutters, jalousies, or outside blinds. Again, the windows of your principal staircase do not ramp with the stairs, and would be cut in the middle by it; which would prevent their being opened, and expose them to danger from the feet in ascending or descending. In the next place, your stair turret does not rise above the cornice, and would not enable you to enter the attics. And so with the servants’ staircase. Your roofs are double pitched; that is, with two angles of inclination. That is not quite the thing for this district. The roofs should be simply triangular, and without hips, which are difficult to keep in repair. Gables are preferable. You have marked quoins of stone at the angles. I see no harm in that; but how would you form your window reveals thus enframed by a kind of pilaster? None of your chimney-stacks rise above your roof; yet you are aware that they usually show. Your attic windows are too low, and you would run your head against the top in looking out of them. The lintels of these dormer windows must be at least 6 feet 6 inches above the floor. And why make your dormer windows oval? It is a very inconvenient shape, and they are difficult to open and shut. You have drawn the entrance flight of steps in perspective, as the Chinese do ... but that is a trifle. What will you build your walls with? Masonry, rubble-work, masonry and rubble mingled, or stone and bricks?

Fig. 3.—Roof Plan.

“Let us study this together. When you draw a horizontal or ground plan, independently of the arrangements, you have to consider how your buildings shall be covered in. For the most important question in a building is that of the manner of roofing it, as every building intended for internal use is a shelter. That is unquestionable, is it not? Well, then, in your building, the plans of which you have now before you, what is observable in the general form of the main block? Two parallelograms intersecting—so (Fig. [3]). One parallelogram, a b c d, intersected by another, e f g h. We do not now take into account the bay windows and staircases. If then we raise gables upon the walls, a c, b d, with a length of slope equal to the line a c, we shall have two equilateral triangles whose bases will be a c and b d, and the angles of inclination 60°, which is the most suitable pitch for slating, inasmuch as it gives no hold to the snow or opportunity for mischief to the wind. If in like manner we erect upon the walls e f g h two gables having a similar inclination, these walls being less in length than those marked a b c d, the triangles will be smaller and their summits less elevated than the first. Consequently the roof raised upon the smaller parallelogram will penetrate that raised upon the larger, and will form by its penetration internal angles which we call valleys; I draw these valleys i k, k l, m n, m o. The inclination of the two roofs being equal, these valleys will, in plan, divide the right angle into two equal angles: you know enough of geometry to understand that.

“Here, then, we see the simplest way of roofing our building; and when roofing is in question, the simplest methods are always the best. Now, in order that our two stairs may give access to the third story, it is necessary that their walls should rise above the cornice of the building and form for them alone an additional story. We will then raise these stair-walls and will give them roofs of their own. One—that of the principal stairs—shall be pyramidal; and the other—that of the small stairs—conical.

“There is no reason why we should not erect upon the two walls g z, s t, of the bay windows, small gables, always with the same inclination of 60°, and cover these projections with two small roofs abutting against the great gables a c, b d. As to the building appropriated on the ground floor to the kitchen and on the first floor to the linen-room, we will follow the same method, and, erecting a gable on the wall u v, we shall have upon this wing a triangular roof, which will also abut against the great gable b d. We shall then have a meeting of two slopes at the bottom of the roof of the bay window s t, and of that of the linen-room wing. We shall form a lean-to (so as to do without inner gutters,) which will penetrate these two roofs and discharge the water at t. The horizontal projection, therefore, of this assemblage of roofs, will be as the drawing shows in Fig. [3]. The chimney-stacks will pass through these roofs, as I indicate to you; and in order to prevent the chimneys from smoking, these stacks should rise at least to the level of the ridge, that is, a little above the topmost crest of the highest roof. With regard to the roofs of the outbuildings, as they are lower—being only one story in height—we need not trouble ourselves about them just now.

“Observe that, as these gables rise perpendicularly, we are enabled to get in the roof a third story, affording some very convenient bedrooms for guests, besides the servants’ rooms (in the attics), which we must provide, and light by means of dormer windows; while we shall be able to provide for the bedrooms in the gables handsome windows with balconies, if we wish.

“That settled, in principle, it will be as well to arrange the divisions of this story in the roof. Lay a piece of tracing-paper upon the plan of the first floor. Good: now trace all the thick walls which must of necessity be carried up under the roof, since they contain fireplaces. Draw 3 feet 3 inches within the eave walls—i.e. those which do not carry gables—a line that indicates the space rendered useless by the slope of the roof; thus you will get the space of which you are able to make use. The principal stairs reach to this floor, as well as the servants’ stairs. To the left of the thick division wall, which, from the principal staircase, goes to join the angle of the main building towards the south-east—the desirable aspect—we are going to dispose the bedrooms for guests, which will thus form a separate quarter communicating with the chief apartments by the principal stairs. We can in this part get two good bedrooms, A and B, with their dressing-rooms a and b; and two smaller bedrooms C and D, all having fireplaces. We must not forget the water-closet for these rooms, at W. On the other side, in immediate communication with the servants’ stairs, we can easily get four servants’ bedrooms, E, F, G, H, a lumber-room I, and a water-closet L, for the servants. (Fig. [4].)

Fig. 4.—Plan of the Second Floor.

“In the upper part of the coach-house and stable building and over the wash-house, we shall also be able in the roofs to arrange three or four bedrooms for the coachman, groom, &c.

“And now for the elevations.

“We will raise the ground floor 4 feet above the exterior ground level, in order to give air to our cellars, and to preserve the ground floor from the moisture of the earth. We will give the lower rooms a height of 14 feet to the ceiling. Draw at this level a horizontal string course 12 inches deep, which will be the thickness of the floor. To the rooms of the first floor, which are smaller than those of the ground floor, we will give a height of 12 feet in the clear. Now, mark the thickness of the cornice, with its tabling, 1 foot 9 inches. Then will begin the roofs, whose height will be fixed by that of the gables. Taking the entrance front we project the angles of the building, the doors and the windows from the plan. Here, then, we have the outline of the façade arranged.”

Eugène then took the board and sketched the façade. (Fig. [5]).

Fig. 5.—The Entrance Front

A fair copy on a small scale of all this was soon made, to be sent to Madame Marie N——, that they might know what she thought of it, and might proceed to execute the plan as soon as her reply was received.

Paul was beginning to perceive some of the difficulties accompanying even the most modest architectural undertaking, and to ask himself how Master Branchu, who could but just manage to write and cipher, had been able to build the Mayor’s house, which was not such a bad one to look at.

His cousin, to whom he referred the question, replied as follows:—

“Branchu has a practical knowledge of his business; he is a good country mason, who began by carrying the hod: he is the son of a mason, and does what he has seen his father do before him. Besides this, he is intelligent, laborious, and honest. By practice alone he has succeeded in building as well as is usual in the country—perhaps a little better, because he sets himself to work to reason about what he is doing. He observes; he is no simpleton, nor is he vain; he avoids faults, and copies excellences wherever he sees them. You shall see him at work, and you will sometimes be surprised at the justness of his observations, the persistency with which he defends his opinions, and the practical methods of which he is master. If you give him instructions, and he does not quite understand them, he says nothing, but comes again next day to explain to you what he supposes was intended; thus obliging you to repeat one by one all the doubtful points, and to complete what seemed to him incomplete or vague in your statements. I like Branchu because of his persistent determination to understand the orders given him; and what makes him seem troublesome to some appears to me a virtue; for if you have to do with him, you must have foreseen everything, have an answer to every objection, and know exactly what you wish in every particular. He gave up working for Count ——, your neighbour, because he had to undo next day what he had been ordered to do the day before. Ask him about it—the story is worth hearing. This good man, who has had only the most elementary experience in his business, but is thoroughly master of it so far, who knows the materials of the district well, and how to make use of them, will tell you that the architect of that interminable château is an ignoramus, and will prove it to you, after his fashion. Yet it is evident that the architect in question is a much more learned man than Master Branchu.

“As a general rule, in giving an order, you should have thought seven times of the objections to which it is liable, otherwise some Master Branchu may start up who, with a single word will demonstrate your thoughtlessness. An architect may, indeed, if he chooses, stop the mouth of objectors when placed under his authority; but to impose silence on people is not to prove that they are wrong, especially if a few days afterwards the director of the works gives contrary orders. Every one has his share of amour-propre, which must not be disregarded. As a subordinate takes kindly and is flattered by the attention you give to his observations when they are well founded, so, on the other hand, he is disposed to doubt your capability if you reject them without examination; especially if, a short time afterwards, facts seem to prove that he might have been right. There is only one means of establishing discipline among a body of workmen; and that is proving to all that you know more about matters than they do, and that you have duly taken account of difficulties.”

CHAPTER V.
PAUL PURSUES A COURSE OF STUDY IN PRACTICAL ARCHITECTURE.

Meantime, letters and newspapers were daily bringing the most distressing intelligence. The enemy had crossed the French boundary a week ago. Building was a matter scarcely to be thought of. M. de Gandelau was visited almost incessantly by country people coming to impart to him their fears and to ask his advice. The able-bodied youths of the district were summoned to be incorporated in the mobile. The manufactories of the neighbourhood were being closed for want of hands. Groups of peasants—men and women—might be met on the roads, who, contrary to the quiet habits of this province, were speaking in excited tones; some of the women were crying. The labours of the fields were suspended; a painful shudder seemed to pass through the country; lights were seen in the cottages at a late hour of the night; voices were heard calling to each other. The cattle were brought in earlier than usual, and were driven afield later in the morning. When people met each other on the roads they would stay long talking. Sometimes, instead of returning to their own abodes, they would walk rapidly on together in the direction of the neighbouring town.

It was the 20th of August, 1870, when, going into his father’s room early in the morning, Paul found him still more depressed than on the previous days and it was not merely his aggravated gout that caused the depression. Eugène was there.—“Some are too old, others too young. If this boy was four or five years older,” said M. de Gandelau, embracing his son, “I would send him with all these young fellows who are summoned to the service; but he is too young, happily for his mother. It will be a long struggle, they say; God only knows what will become of our poor country engaged in an insensate war; but our duty is clear—to remain here among all these families, distressed as they are, and bereaved of their children; to wait, and try to calm down this distracted multitude. Do not let us surrender our self-possession, or give way to useless disquietude; let us work—that is the remedy for all evils; and misfortune will not find us more destitute of courage after days of labour than after a period of feverish inactivity. I see that Paul will not be able to return so soon to college. As to yourself, Eugène, nothing obliges you just now to stay in one place rather than another. Your business will be suspended in every quarter; remain here, where you can make yourself useful as long as the country does not require your services.

“Who knows what may happen! But even if this state of things continues, we will try to build Marie’s house; it will give employment to those who have been thrown out of work. You will be able to give Paul practical lessons in the elements of construction. We shall, perhaps, run short of the one thing needful for building—money. Ah, well! that will oblige us to discover the means of doing without it. We have the raw material; we have hands, and enough to keep them for some time to come. Let us, then, not give way to despondency and useless recriminations; let us work; we shall be only the better prepared if in one last effort we have to call upon all—old men and children with the rest—to defend our native soil.”

Madame de Gandelau uniting her entreaties with those of her husband, it was not difficult to persuade Eugène to take up his quarters at the château. In fact, three days subsequently, after having gone away to settle some affairs, he was on his way back with an ample store of paper and instruments required for the details of a building plan.

They could not set to work till the sketch sent to Paul’s sister should be returned, approved or amended. It was decided that during the interval Eugène should give Paul the first notions of the building of a house, that the morning should be the time for instruction, and that in the afternoon our architectural tyro should reproduce the lesson in writing, and have his work corrected at the family gatherings in the evening. Thus the days would be well occupied.