How to build a house: an architectural novelette E-Book

Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

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.

Leseprobe

HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE.

THE OLD CHÂTEAU.

HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE:AN ARCHITECTURAL NOVELETTE.BY E. VIOLLET-LE-DUC. TRANSLATED BY BENJAMIN BUCKNALL,ARCHITECT

© 2023 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782385743857

HOW TO BUILD A HOUSE.

CHAPTER I. PAUL GETS AN IDEA.

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

CHAPTER III. THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE.

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

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

Lesson the First.

Lesson the Second.

CHAPTER VI. HOW PAUL IS LED TO RECOGNIZE CERTAIN DISTINCTIONS BETWEEN ETHICS AND ARCHITECTURE.

Lesson the Third.

CHAPTER VII. SETTING OUT THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE HOUSE, AND OPERATIONS ON THE GROUND.

CHAPTER IX. PAUL, CLERK OF THE WORKS.

CHAPTER X. PAUL BEGINS TO UNDERSTAND.

CHAPTER XI. THE BUILDING IN ELEVATION.

CHAPTER XII. OBSERVATIONS ADDRESSED TO EUGÈNE BY PAUL, AND THE REPLIES MADE TO THEM.

CHAPTER XIII. THE VISIT TO THE BUILDING.

CHAPTER XIV. PAUL FEELS THE NECESSITY OF IMPROVING HIMSELF IN THE ART OF DRAWING.

CHAPTER XV. CONSIDERATION OF THE STAIRCASES.

CHAPTER XVII. PAUL INQUIRES WHAT ARCHITECTURE IS.

CHAPTER XVIII. THEORETICAL STUDIES.

CHAPTER XIX. THEORETICAL STUDIES—Continued.

CHAPTER XX. STUDIES INTERRUPTED.

CHAPTER XXI. BUILDING RECOMMENCED—THE TIMBER WORK.

CHAPTER XXIV. THE JOINER’S WORK.

CHAPTER XXV. WHAT PAUL LEARNT AT CHATEAUROUX.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE SLATING AND PLUMBING.

CHAPTER XXVII. ORDER IN FINISHING THE WORK.

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE HOUSE-WARMING.

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.

Among the voluminous and invaluable published works of M. Viollet-le-Duc, none perhaps will have greater interest for the amateur or for the practical architect than the “Histoire d’une Maison.” Of all the architectural problems of the day there is not one of greater importance or difficulty than that of building a house which shall fulfil the various needs and conditions of a modern dwelling; and the author has brought the results of a long course of study, observation, and experience, to bear upon this problem in a most practically instructive and fascinating shape. A lively narrative introduces the reader to the minute and thorough discussion of every stage of the processes involved, so that his attention is agreeably relieved; and each step is illustrated by plates and diagrams, which render the details intelligible even to the least informed student.

As the scene of this architectural novelette is laid in France, there is much both in the general remarks and in the arrangements of the building described which only applies to the social conditions and requirements of the French. But the value of the principles laid down and the practical instruction conveyed is not thereby materially lessened, since every page of the book exhibits important truths or excellent methods, which are of general application. By following out those principles it would be easy to obtain the same admirable adaptation of arrangement, soundness of construction, and charm of design for an English house, which the author has so ably laid down and fully illustrated in reference to its French counterpart.

It may be interesting to the reader to know that the “Histoire d’une Maison” was written and illustrated by M. Viollet-le-Duc during the evenings of two months—July and August—of last year (1873), which were spent by him in the Alps for the purpose of surveying and mapping for the French Government the whole of the French Alps—a task accomplished by him, alone and unassisted, with minute accuracy and beauty of delineation, and in a marvellously brief time.

Benjamin Bucknall,Architect.

Oystermouth, Swansea,April 1st, 1874.

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.