32 
House & Garden 
A SWISS CHALET in an ILLINOIS RAVINE 
A Make-Believe Estate Upon Which Two Happy People Live 
in a Cuckoo Clock of a House 
HENRY BLACKMAN SELL 
B REAK from the dusty road 
at the big black elm just 
north of the yellow cottage— 
you can’t miss it — and cut 
down the trailing foot path 
that kitty-corners through the 
tangly underbrush of dogwood 
and hawthorne, of rag weed, 
of mullen stock and wild rose. 
Overhead the monarch oaks, 
stung into autumnal magnifi¬ 
cence by sharp, prophetic 
frosts, bend their gnarled arms 
and stretch forth their glowing 
leaves as if to cool themselves 
in the refreshing fountains of 
maple gold. Gold and bronze, 
flame red, purple, brown and 
green, the giant tapestry is 
spread against the gray blue 
sky. Across the stone bridge 
over the deep, misty ravine. 
Again the road, dull ivory in 
the half sunlight. Down past 
the garden encircled house 
of the Lady-Who-Calls-Her- 
Flowers-Children, and turn to 
the right. Keep a-rambling. 
Follow the road. . . . 
Hello! What’s this? 
A little red roof low among 
the trees. A stone chimney 
boldly demanding attention at 
the farther peak. But where’s 
the house? Down the side of 
the ravine. Well, I never! 
Smoky gray, the lower half. 
Peacock green, the upper. A 
chalet, a real, old world chalet, 
with crossed logs at the roof. 
Built on the native rocks, built 
of the native rock, I do believe. 
It is like a toy house, so tiny, 
a cuckoo clock of a house. 
What a setting! Trees all 
around, wild underbrush, a 
tiny stream trickling down the 
ravine side, a rivulet in the 
gully. Come, let us descend the rustic stair¬ 
way and make a neighborly call. 
On the peacock green door, with the black 
striping, is a miniature stag’s head knocker. 
Tap—tap—tap! Madame at home in a rus¬ 
set gold smock opens to her guests. 
“May we peak?” 
“Indeed you may. Won’t you come in?” 
And as we enter, a snowy white Persian kitten 
flashes through the doorway to chase the scurry¬ 
ing leaves in the tiny meadow on the hill, 
her tinkly silver bell warning incautious 
songsters from her mischievous paws. 
“Won’t you sit down and chat awhile?” 
Madame offers the cozy bright blue—penciled 
gold and green—rockers and seats herself on 
the long, dark russet armure covered chaise 
longue. A hearty fire of birch logs crackles 
in the huge rough cut stone fireplace, for the 
afternoon is chill with the breath of fast 
approaching winter. 
The floor—dark tangerine—is painted, a 
harmony-in-contrast with the fawn mixed with 
A Swiss chalet on a level stretch would be a contradiction in terms—and 
this chalet is no contradiction; it is a real chalet, built on the tip of a ravine. 
Winding paths go down from the house through the bushes, and here is hid 
away an outdoor dining room for the pleasant days of summer 
JLOPE 
EAVINE 
West 
LLEVAIIOtf 
iXALE 
The architect, who was Carl Hoerman, has drawn up 
a side elevation to show how the chalet is held in 
place—a rough, field stone foundation. Above it is a 
balcony that runs around the ravine side of the house 
soft and dullest blue-gray linen 
rugs. The painted walls are 
match-box blue. The base¬ 
board and the lattice trim, dull 
ultramarine. Black, but bright 
figured, linen curtains are at 
the windows. Along the walls 
—just hand high—runs a book 
shelf painted flat black. The 
line of books give the sense of 
a frieze; a frieze through 
which one might browse for 
hours and find no end of fasci¬ 
nating books. Intriguing titles 
catch the eye. Unusual bind¬ 
ings. Strange and familiar 
names. Evidently Monsieur 
collects. 
“What a wonderful old 
screen. Is it Japanese?” 
“Yes, a friend brought it to 
us from the far East. It is 
four hundred years old. It 
would not stand alone, it was 
so worn, so we cut a piece 
from the wall and tacked it in. 
I rather like the scheme. The 
colors blend so beautifully 
with the room. In fact, the 
truth is that we repainted the 
room to match it. A treasure 
like that is worthy of some 
consideration.” 
Madame rises. 
“Pardon me a moment. I’ll 
make the tea. I have no maid. 
The work in this little toy 
house of ours is as simple as 
A, B, C. Would you like to 
see the kitchenette?” We 
would. 
The kitchenette is as com¬ 
pact and shiny as the work¬ 
shop of a chemist. Four feet 
wide, it is, and twelve feet 
long. The sink against, the 
wall stands exactly in the cen¬ 
ter. To the right, an ice 
chest. The top of the ice chest is used as a 
kitchen table. The cooling chamber opens at 
the side. To the left, a modern gas range. 
Two full-length shelves above. The lowest, 
just hand high, holds the dishes of every-day 
use, and a series of confectioners’ jars for 
spices, tea, coffee, sugar and the like. Handy. 
The higher one, reached by the aid of a two- 
step ladder, holds the brasses, electric toaster, 
grill and chafing dish and less used equipment. 
All the cooking utensils are aluminum and 
glass. The silver is held in compartment can¬ 
ton flannel cases tacked to the wall near at 
hand. A shelf along the opposite (partition) 
wall is used for glasses. Cups depend from 
small brass hooks. A rod fastened to a wood 
strip, half way up the wall, holds knives and 
cooking spoons. From a row of hooks just un¬ 
der the glassware shelf and just above the knife 
rack, hang scissors, sieves, rolling pin, bread 
board and meat chopper. The dinner dishes 
are Rookwood. The luncheon and tea set, 
orange-tan Japanese earthenware. 
