The Brochure Series of Architectural Illustration, Vol. 01, No. 10, October 1895.: French Farmhouses

In Short

This document serves as both an architectural study and a professional newsletter. It highlights the Manoir d'Ango and the Ferme de Turpe as practical, aesthetic blueprints for designers seeking to move beyond the rigid imitation of grand Italian or French chateaux. By examining these humble yet historically rich structures, the text advocates for a thoughtful, selective approach to architectural history. It rounds out its scope with updates on the vibrant, often humorous social and professional lives of Gilded Age architectural clubs, bridging the gap between high design theory and the camaraderie of the drafting room.

The Story

The narrative begins with a practical challenge: American architects are looking for models, yet they often fall into the trap of transplanting grand foreign styles—Venetian palaces or Elizabethan manor houses—into a landscape where they do not naturally belong. The editors propose a shift in focus toward the French manoir, specifically the country farmhouse, as a more flexible and appropriate source of inspiration. They argue that while one cannot simply replicate a European structure, the "general massing" and "rambling arrangement" of French rural buildings provide an ideal precedent for the American country house.

The argument centers on two primary examples in Normandy. The first is the Manoir d'Ango, a residence once owned by a prominent privateersman. It is presented not as a grand chateau, but as a secondary-class manor that retains significant architectural refinement despite its transition into a working farmhouse. The editors detail its arcade, carved columns, and internal stone mantle, framing these as remnants of "dignity and grandeur" that still offer lessons in design. The second example, the Ferme de Turpe, is introduced as a simpler structure in poorer repair, yet it is praised for its "picturesque effect" and the straightforward, honest methods of its original builders.

From the quiet, weathered stones of Normandy, the text transitions into the bustling world of American architectural practice. The story moves from theory into the lived reality of the profession. We see the rise of architectural clubs in cities like Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Cleveland. These organizations are portrayed as centers of intellectual and social gravity, where architects compete in design projects, share sketches from their European travels, and engage in "Bohemian" socializing. The narrative arc here is one of professional maturation: moving from the solitary study of historical precedent to the communal, energetic exchange of ideas within a national network of clubs.

Finally, the text concludes by grounding these high-minded pursuits in the hard realities of the trade. It reviews technical literature, such as handbooks on brickwork, and offers advertisements for building materials and kitchen appliances. This brings the story to a full circle: the high-minded appreciation of ancient stone manors is intimately connected to the modern architect’s need for practical, effective, and well-designed components. The text ends by celebrating the "innocent and delicious sort of folly" of the clubs—the social bonds and creative play that prepare these professionals to tackle the "perplexing problems" of their modern era with renewed energy.

How It Unfolds

The call for domestic models The editors critique the habit of blindly importing grandiose foreign styles, suggesting instead that the "picturesqueness" of French manors offers a more adaptable solution for modern American residences.

The study of the manoir Detailed descriptions of the Manoir d'Ango and the Ferme de Turpe illustrate how even degraded, working farmhouses contain refinement and design wisdom that can be translated for contemporary use.

The life of the clubs The focus shifts to the professional and social activities of architectural clubs in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Cleveland, where peer competition, collaborative sketching, and shared meals foster professional growth.

The bridge to modern practice The text connects historical design principles with contemporary needs by reviewing technical handbooks and highlighting new, efficiently designed products, such as the "Culinet" range.

The necessity of camaraderie The final section portrays the playful, often humorous culture of these clubs as a vital mechanism for sustaining the intellectual life and morale of the working architect.

The People

The figures in this text are split between the anonymous, long-dead builders of Normandy and the named, highly active architects of the 1890s. The former are defined by their "straightforward methods" and the refinement they left in the stone carvings of the Manoir d'Ango, providing a historical anchor for the reader.

In contrast, the living architects—men like Walter Cope, Wilson Eyre, Jr., and Albert Kelsey—are driven by a desire to professionalize and elevate American design. They want to escape the dry constraints of school engineering to embrace the aesthetic and "Bohemian" possibilities of their craft. They are held back by the pressures of their complex, modern projects, but they find a solution in the community of the T Square and Baltimore clubs. These men are not merely designers; they are competitors, travelers who bring back sketches from Spain or England, and friends who share music and beer. By the end, they emerge not just as skilled draftsmen, but as members of an emerging national fraternity, transformed from isolated workers into a collective force that shapes the built environment of their country.

In Its Own Voice

"Architectural borrowing of this class is never satisfactory; but no architecture of which we have any knowledge is independent of precedent, and it only behooves us to adopt from the experience of others those features or ideas which are most suited to our needs."

The editors articulate the central philosophy of the volume, arguing for a careful, selective interpretation of European history rather than wholesale imitation.

"The charming picturesqueness of the two general views is sufficient excuse for presenting them, but they contain much more to the student of architecture who cares to look for it."

This remark accompanies the illustrations of the Ferme de Turpe, encouraging the reader to look past the surface-level beauty of a building toward its underlying structural logic.

What It's Really About

The text is fundamentally an argument for the intellectual independence of the American architect. It challenges the reader to move beyond the superficial imitation of foreign "chateaux" and instead seek a deeper, more functional understanding of architectural history. It asks: how does one create something modern without abandoning the wisdom of the past? The answer lies in the "rambling arrangement" and "picturesqueness" of humble buildings, which are presented as more honest and adaptable than the ornate palaces of kings. Beneath the architectural advice lies a deeper question about the value of communal practice—the belief that professional growth is best nurtured through the shared struggles, sketches, and "innocent folly" of clubs rather than in the isolation of the drafting office.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the Gilded Age or the history of design will find this a fascinating window into how turn-of-the-century architects viewed their place in the world. It captures the specific, slightly haughty, yet deeply earnest tone of a professional class trying to define an American aesthetic while remaining tethered to European roots. You will experience the peculiar blend of high-flown aesthetic theory and the down-to-earth, often humorous details of club life—from competitive sketching to the invention of a "practical bagpipe" made from penny whistles and rubber pouches.

The book is not without its difficulties; the prose is formal, dense with the architectural jargon of the 1890s, and reflects the era’s preoccupation with rigid class-based models of design. However, it remains a vivid, warm record of a time when the profession was finding its voice. What stays with you is the contrast between the quiet, crumbling stones of Normandy and the electric, beer-fueled enthusiasm of the young architects in Baltimore and Philadelphia. It is a portrait of a generation trying to build a modern nation, one brick—and one club meeting—at a time. For anyone who appreciates the history of how our towns and homes were imagined, this volume offers an intimate, authentic, and uniquely revealing glimpse into the architects' workshop.