“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?