“The sincerity of Philibert de l’Orme was not profitable to him,” rejoined Eugène.
“Perhaps not; but he has left us a book which makes us esteem him as a man, independently of his merits as an architect, three hundred years after its publication, since it dates from 1576; this distinction was acquired at the cost of some annoyance during his life, for we do not feel gratitude to people for telling us the truth when they are no longer here to reap the reward of their sincerity from public opinion.”
“Hem! ... then we must not be surprised if few people dare to proclaim these truths, and if architects—since they are on the tapis—prefer to this posthumous glory that quiet and comfort which complaisance towards their clients during their life procures for them, though this may occasion regret to the latter when the evil cannot be remedied, or may involve them in useless expense.”
“Come, come,” said M. de Gandelau, “you are not one of the complying architects to whom you refer, and yet you have still a very fair practice. I do not know whether you will be talked of three centuries hence, but I know that you are esteemed now.”
“The sentiment you have just uttered is therefore not absolutely true.”
“No, certainly; discretion tells for much in this matter, and there is a way of uttering truths. You must, however, allow that you have lost more than one engagement through having been too outspoken at the commencement.”
“Doubtless; I have even good reason to suppose that if I had not been aided by certain favourable circumstances which brought me into connection with clients accustomed to deal with affairs of a high and liberal order—with men of minds too elevated and serious to occupy themselves with the details of our profession—I should not have found much to do. From a general point of view you are right; most persons about to build fear to apply to architects who are skilful in their profession, but who are of an independent character. What they look for (and in this, women often exercise an injurious influence) are complaisant mediocrities, who will lend themselves to all their fancies, of which they will have the satisfaction of repenting soon afterwards.”
“You attack us unjustly,” replied Madame de Gandelau; “women do not presume to be connoisseurs in architecture, and they ask for nothing but a good arrangement of the interior of a house; which is natural enough, since they have the direction of domestic affairs, and they, more than any others, suffer from the inconvenient or faulty arrangements of their dwellings.”
“I grant it; but while, on the one hand, the mistress asks for arrangements often of a complicated kind, and requiring a peculiar disposition of apartments to suit her convenience, and the master on the other hand wishes for an exterior presenting a peculiar style or aspect with which he is smitten, it is difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile these two requirements, which are often contradictory; so that the unfortunate architect, desiring to please everybody, and to grant mutually exclusive wishes, can achieve no good result, and when the work is finished each party blames him. How many times have I been called in to remedy blunders,—bad work resulting from the architect’s having been thus worried, and from his fatal complaisance. And these people would tell me that they were desolés not to have selected me to direct the undertaking. It was a little too late, yet the example did not benefit others.”
“What can be done?” rejoined Madame de Gandelau. “If things are as you say, you are offering Paul a profession whose duties involve impossibilities; and unless he obtains employment from the government....”