periods" façades were smooth, pierced at regular intervals and of good human proportions. The walls were as thin as they dare make them. Palaces? Very good for Grand Dukes of that time. But does any gentleman copy the Grand Dukes of to-day? Compiègne, Chantilly, Versailles are good to behold from a certain angle, but ... there is a great deal that might be said.
***
A house is a machine for living in. Baths, sun, hot-water, cold-water, warmth at will, conservation of food, hygiene, beauty in the sense of good proportion. An armchair is a machine for sitting in and so on.
Our modern life, when we are active and about (leaving out the moments when we fly to gruel and aspirin) has created its own objects: its costume, its fountain pen, its eversharp pencil, its typewriter, its telephone, its admirable office furniture, its plate-glass and its "Innovation" trunks, the safety razor and the briar pipe, the bowler hat and the limousine, the steamship and the airplane.
Our epoch is fixing its own style day by day. It is there under our eyes.
Eyes which do not see.
We must clear up a misunderstanding: we are in a diseased state because we mix up art with a respectful attitude towards mere decoration. This is to displace the natural feeling for art and to mingle with it a reprehensible light-mindedness in
