AZAY-LE-RIDEAU.—THE CELEBRATED COUP D’OEIL OF THE CHATEAU.
for a spree, which, to be sure, does him no credit, and he dabbles in Colonial, Elizabethan and other diversions. But his art is French Renaissance, not the graceful Renaissance of Pierre le Nepveu at Chambord ([see Plate LXXVI]), nor the romantic Renaissance so insinuating of Azay-le-Rideau ([see Plate LXXVII]), the designer of which no modern ascription names, but the colder, impersonal, mathematical Renaissance of the time of Viollet-le-Duc or the ultra, over-decorated Renaissance of the last exposition, and the present generation of French architects. The Ecole des Beaux Arts (Department of Architecture) is essentially a school of material art to which there is no spiritual side. It is the art which we measure by metres and centimetres, not an art we may measure by psychical balances and our affections. And the personal side of architecture—the side which ministers so largely to us when we come to that complex embodiment of our joys and sorrows complete in the one word “home”—well, sentiment has nothing to do with the case in the estimation of the Beaux Arts man.
Of all the historic châteaux in France, Chenonceau ([see Plate LXVII]) has received the most attention from American architects. Replicas of its fascinating tourelles—some faithful, some deformed—greet one very frequently in the modern residences of America. We have to recognize the Chenonceau dormers, too, though they be dwarfed and squatted according to the limited roof space at the disposal of the American designer. Such tremendous roofs as were supported with ease by the formidable walls of the old châteaux are prohibitory with us, that is, if we cipher with American expediency and commercial economy. But the right way to adapt a French cháteau is really to make believe restore one, pretending for the nonce, that one is M. Pierre Lescot, M. Claude Perrault or M. Gabriel, and that the king or some grand seigneur of the realm has commanded one’s services for the purpose. As in the elevation of the house for Mrs. H. at Morristown ([see Plate LXXVIII]) I made believe to myself that the mediæval tour was genuine, already there, but requiring immediate restoration. It was easy to set imaginary masons to work pointing the machicolations and curtain. I made believe that long disuse had
ELEVATION OF A COUNTRY HOUSE FOR MRS. H—AT MORRISTOWN.
vanquished the portcullis, leaving its yawning pockets to be disposed of. Commercialism said “wall them up,” not I. It would be a pity to lose a particle of the thirteenth century atmosphere that consents to linger. So I decided upon a bold innovation as the privilege of adaptation. I could anchor the chains for holding up the glass canopy over the carriage entry, in those pockets that once housed the arms of the portcullis; and thus, the spooky old tour could be saved intact. The main part of the American château is in this case supposedly modern, developed from motives supplied by the minor châteaux of France—the manoirs, the fermes, with a little American household planning within, necessary for comfort.