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‘Tables in General & the Different Types’

Posted on by fitz

The following is excerpted from “With All the Precision Possible: Roubo on Furniture,” by André-Jacob Roubo, translated by Donald C. Williams, Michele Pietryka-Pagán & Philippe Lafargue.

Representing a decade of work by an international team, this book is the first English translation of the 18th-century masterpiece: “l’art du Menuisier” by André-Jacob Roubo. This, our second volume, covers Roubo’s writing on woodworking tools, the workshop, joinery and building furniture.

In addition to the translated text and images from the original, “With All the Precision Possible: Roubo on Furniture” also includes five contemporary essays on Roubo’s writing by craftsmen Christopher Schwarz, Don Williams, Michael Mascelli, Philippe Lafargue and Jonathan Thornton.

“Roubo on Furniture” is filled with insights into working wood and building furniture that are difficult or impossible to find in both old and modern woodworking books. Unlike many woodworking writers of the 18th century Roubo was a traditionally trained and practicing joiner. He interviewed fellow craftsmen from other trades to gain a deep and nuanced view of their practices. He learned to draw, so almost all of the illustrations in this book came from his hand.

After Beds and Seats, Tables are the most ancient pieces of furniture, or at least the most useful. The number of Tables currently is considerable. There are Tables for the kitchen, Tables for eating, game Tables, Tables for writing, dressing Tables, night Tables, Bed stands, etc. which are composed of a top and of several legs, and which do not differ except in their size and the shape of their top or in their legs. That is why, before entering into any detail on the subject of these different Tables (which you can consider as being three different types, namely dining Tables, game Tables and writing Tables), I am going to address the different legs of these same Tables in general, so as not to repeat it when I come to their particular detail later.

The legs of Tables are of two types, namely those which are immobile, as in Figs. 1 & 2, and those that fold, like those in 3, 4 & 5. In the first case, the bases are composed of four uprights, of four cross-pieces [aprons] at the top and of four others [stretchers] lower down, as in Fig. 1, which is the most solid way to make legs for Tables. Sometimes you put there only two cross-pieces [stretchers] at the ends with a brace in the middle. Or even two stretchers at the ends and one on its rear side, such that there is one side free for providing access for the user’s legs, which is necessary for writing Tables and dressing Tables.

These sorts of legs are, as you can see, very solid. However, we often prefer those of the serpentine leg, represented in Fig. 2, which, although less solid than the first, have the advantage of being less heavily decorated and not to bother in any way those who are seated around it, whether for playing or writing; [this] is to be highly considered, especially when there is no need for much strength or they are not subject to changing place frequently. Because in the latter case, you would need legs like in Fig. 1, unless the Tables being very light, like little writing Tables, game Tables and others of this type.

The legs of folding Tables are of two sorts: namely those in x, whether in elevation, as in Fig. 3; whether in x in plan, like Fig. 4; and those of a folding frame, like Fig. 5.

In the first case, Fig. 3, these feet are composed of two frames assembled with a cap at the end, which would be about 2–and-a-half feet in length each, with a width equal to that of the table, less 2 to 3 thumbs, according to the greater or less width of the latter.

The width of the legs that I speak of should not be taken from outside of the uprights, but from the ends of the cross-pieces at the cap, at the end of one of which you make some dowels, a, b, which move in the hinges attached to the top of the table, which I will speak of next.

The frame that holds the dowels should be the narrowest so that in rounding off the latter, some shoulder remains in the mortise that receives the upright. One could not do this to the other frame, unless by moving it back a lot and consequently to reduce/narrow the frame on the interior as much as the exterior, and diminish at the same time the seating of the leg, of which it never has too much in the case being questioned here.

The two frames of the legs of the Tables that I just described are held together in the middle of their length by an iron pin which enters into each of the uprights at about the middle of their width, which requires that one not peg the wider frame after having placed the [iron] pins, which at 2 to 3 lines in diameter [will] suffice for giving all the firmness suitable.

I just said that you place the pins in the middle of the length of the frame. However, if you wish to give more spread to the leg, you could place them a little bit higher, which you do with no other change than to augment the length of the uprights a little. That is why when you make these sorts of legs, you [will] do very well to draw them in elevation in order to have the exact length of the uprights, the place of the hinges, Fig. 8, [& some racks] Fig. 9, which are attached under the table, as you can see in Fig. 7, which represents the leg folded under the table AB, which extends by about 5 to 6 thumbs at the end, at least normally.

The hinges, Fig. 8, (which Joiners improperly call pins), are made of beech, about a thumb’s thickness and from 5 to 6 thumbs in length; in the middle of which, and about 6 lines from the bottom, that is to say, from the straight edge, you drill a round hole a of about a thumb in diameter into which enters the pins of the crossbar of the leg. These hinges are attached under the table with some nails, which is the most normal way. However, it is much better to make them enter into a notch [that is] the thickness of their cheek in the underside of the table, [as] indicated by line b–c. This is not only more solid, but makes the top of the cross-piece of the frame support equally along the entire width of the table.

The racks represented in Fig. 9 are made of the same wood and of the same thickness as the hinges and are attached under the table with some nails, as with the latter. One is required to make some notches c–d, Fig. 3, into which enter the cheek of the rack. It would be good to make this enter into the notch in the tabletop of this same thickness, so that it attaches more firmly, and you are not obliged to make a notch in the crossbar of the leg frame, which conserves all its strength. However, as these notches serve to hold the leg in place, or at least to prevent it from varying, you can let the rack project by about 2 lines from the edge of the tabletop, [as] indicated by line d–e, which removes less of the strength of the crossbar and is sufficient to prevent the foot from varying. The racks normally have two notches, f & g, [NB: these elements are not present in the plate] to allow you to raise and lower the table as you judge appropriately, which you do by moving the cross-piece of the frame from one notch to the other, noting that the notch farther away is positioned such that the leg be at its normal height, which is for all dining Tables (where these legs are normally used) from 25 to 26 thumbs on the bottom of the table.

These sorts of legs are not used except for dining Tables of average size and are otherwise inconvenient and less solid, [with] their legs interfering with those who are placed around it. That is why one should prefer them in [an] X on the plan represented [as] in Fig. 4, which are the most solid, less awkward and less complicated, although constructed rather in the same manner, as you can see in this figure, of which inspection alone is sufficient.

The top of the uprights of this sort of leg should project past the crossbar by about 9 lines or 1 thumb, which is necessary to preserve the shoulder. This projection is necessary for entering into the notches that you put on the underside of the tabletop, so as to hold the leg in place. Sometimes you do not put a notch on the underside of the table, but you use some cleats into which enter the end of the uprights.

These sorts of table legs are very convenient for a dining table of a certain size because they do not interfere in any way with those who are seated around it and they take little space when folded, as you can see in Fig. 6, which represents this leg completely folded and viewed from above. This is preferred to all others for dining Tables of average size. What’s more, these feet are normally of a very simple construction and are consequently less costly, which is one more reason to prefer them.

Other folding legs are required, much more complicated than those that I just spoke of, but which are at the same time more solid. The leg represented in Fig. 5 is composed of six frame sections, or better said, of four – two on the side and two at the ends – which each break into two parts in the middle of their width. These frames are closed by pinned hinges on the inside on the frame and in the middle of the two outside. When you wish to fold them, you make them move toward the inside of each side, which make these fold thus, hardly 5 thumbs of thickness, as you can see in Fig. 10, which represents this folded foot held in place by a hook of iron ab, which you can remove when you wish to open it.

When this foot is open, you hold it in place with a flat iron hook, c–d, Fig. 5, which is placed behind the break in the middle. We also have the custom of placing there a movable brace, which is nothing other than a board of a length equal to that of the leg, and large enough so that it can hold the two uprights in the middle which enter into the notch in the ends of this spacer, which sometimes you make of assembled braces to make it lighter, like the campaign Tables represented in Fig. 6, Plate 251.

These sorts of legs are very solid and greatly in use for dining Tables of a medium size, of which the large projection over the leg [is] made such that it cannot harm those seated around the table.

There are serpentine legs, like Fig. 2, which fold in the same way as those that I just spoke about; that is to say, they fold in the middle of the cross-pieces of the ends, which instead of a tenon, have only a tongue-ending [like a wooden key], which enters into the serpentine leg on which they are tightened.

We also make a tongue at the fold in the middle of these crossbars and you note to make there a shoulder above and below so that they are more solid. These types of legs are frequently used, however they are less solid, no matter the care that you take when closing them. One should prefer the legs with a folding frame, Fig. 5, for large Tables or even that represented in Fig. 4 for small ones.

The size of the leg of Tables’ frames varies from 3 feet in length by 2–feet-3–thumbs in width up to 6 feet by 4–feet-6 thumbs by a height of 25 to 26 thumbs, which is general for all dining Tables. This cannot be otherwise since this height is determined by that of the person seated there, below the elbows of which the top of the Tables must be flush, at least for those of a normal size, which ordinarily is 26 to 27 thumbs in height from the top of the Tables. As to the size of the wood of these legs, 10 lines or 1 thumb thickness suffices, by one–thumb-and-a-half or 2 thumbs, and sometimes 2–thumbs-and-a-half for the width of the uprights, according to the size of the legs. Their crossbars should [proportionally] be a bit larger than the uprights, especially those that meet at the end of the latter so as to conserve the strength of the assemblage.

There you have in general the detail of all the different types of table legs in use for both dining Tables and Tables for games and writing, which, with some small changes, are always of the same form.

Roubo on How to Saw Veneer

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Plate 278. The Way to Split Veneer Wood, and Its Explanation

The following is excerpted from “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Marquetry,” translated by By Donald C. Williams, Michele Pietryka-Pagán & Philippe Lafargue. It is the first English-language translation of the most important woodworking book of the 18th century.

While the title of this work implies that it is about marquetry alone, that is not the case. “To Make as Perfectly as Possible” covers a wide range of topics of interest to woodworkers who are interested in hand-tool woodworking or history.

In addition to veneer and marquetry, this volume contains sections on grinding, sharpening, staining, finishing, wood selection, a German workbench, clock-case construction, engraving and casting brasses.

But most of all, “To Make as Perfectly as Possible” provides a window into the woodworking world of the 18th century, a world that is both strangely familiar and foreign.

Roubo laments the decline of the craft in the 18th century. He decries the secrecy many masters employed to protect craft knowledge. He bemoans the cheapening of both goods and the taste of customers.

And he speaks to the reader as a woodworker who is talking to a fellow woodworker. Unlike many chroniclers of his time, Roubo was a journeyman joiner (later a master) who interviewed his fellow tradesmen to produce this stunning work. He engraved many of the plates himself. And he produced this work after many years of study.

As the wood that one uses for cabinetmaking is for the most part very expensive, because it costs roughly 10 sols up to 30 sols, and sometimes even one crown per pound, according to the different types of wood, we have great interest in using these woods sparingly; that is why instead of making furniture or other pieces of cabinetry in solid wood, we have tried to execute splitting [sawing] wood into laminates, or very thin sheets, that one applies on the furniture cases made of ordinary wood.

It is not the carpenter-cabinetmakers who split [saw] their wood, but the workers [sawyers] who do only this work, and who saw not only for the cabinetmakers, but also for the musical instrument makers, and generally all those who use thin wood. These workers or sawyers are paid by the pound, that is to say, according to the weight of the piece of wood that they use, including the waste-wood and sawdust, rendering the wood close to two-thirds more expensive, which makes a piece made in this manner very important.

Veneer wood is split [sawn] at about a thickness of 1 line at most [1/12″ to 1/14″]; when one wants to spare it, one makes from 10 to 11 leaves from a thumb-thickness [inch], which is worthless because even before the veneer is polished, it has left only a half-blade of thickness [1/24″ to 1/32″], which is then reduced almost to nothing when the piece is finished; it is absolutely necessary to avoid making veneers this thin, although that is used a lot at the present. When one wants to cut up a piece of wood to make a veneer, one begins by choosing the side of the log that allows for the easiest sawing, the goal being to orient the wood for the best advantage, and to yield the largest sheets of the veneer; then one puts the piece of wood in the vise, and with a standing saw [a saw to be used while standing, and a vise designed to facilitate that action], one saws it to a thickness that one judges appropriate (which I am going to explain, after having provided the description of the bench or vise with a standing saw, and of the saw appropriate for this task).

The saw appropriate for cutting wood from India, which we name also the saw with vise, Figs. 1 and 2 [to increase or decrease the tension on the blade] is a little bit similar to the saw for cutting used by the woodworking builders [often known in the modern era as a frame saw]. It is composed of two verticals and of two crosswise or crossbeam elements, of which the ends project out and are round ed, so that the two sawyers can hold the saw easily. The middle of these crosspieces is convex on the outside, in order to give them more strength, and that they not bend while one increases the tension on the saw blade.

The inside [interior] of the vise saw is from 15 to 18 thumbs [inches] wide [or approximately 9 inches on either side of the blade], is about 3 feet long, as measured from within the crosspieces or support piece. The blade of the saw has a 4–thumbs [inches] depth, at least, and is held at each end by a frame of iron, through which passes the crosspieces of the saw, or, better said, of its chassis. These frames of iron, represented by Figs. 4, 5, 8 and 9, are made of iron plate, and the largest possible, so that the saw cannot turn easily, and one tightens a nut to that above, for putting there a screw a b, Figs. 4 and 5, which serves to control the tension of the saw blade.

On the outside of the cross-members one insets a steel contact plate attached with some screws, which prevents the pressure of the screw of the frame to not ruin anything nor to make any holes. See Fig. 3.

The blade of the saw, as I just said, is 4 thumbs [inches] size at least, tapering barely toward the back [away from the teeth]. We do not put a set on these sorts of saws, because that would eat up the wood excessively with an unnecessarily wide kerf, and one takes great care that the teeth be perfectly straight on the horizontal, and that their teeth be also perfectly equal in height, so that they grab all equally, and that they do not chatter, resulting in uneven thickness of the wood, which is also to be feared, which ruins so many sheets of veneer. The teeth of these saws should be spaced equally, about 5 to 6 lines from one tooth to the next one at least, and should be positioned in such a way that the bottom [what we now call the tip] of each tooth is level with one another, because being so arranged, they are less subject to become dull, which would happen unfailingly if they were made ordinarily, as is seen that almost all wood from India is hard, and consequently causes more resistance to the teeth of the saw. See Figs. 6 and 7, which represent one part of the saw blade viewed from the front and side, half-size.

The standing saw vise, represented in Fig. 11, is one type of small bench, about 3 to 3.5 feet long, by 2 feet high, at the base of which one puts the vise, which serves to hold in place the piece that one wishes to saw.

In order for this vise to be solid [a stout twin-screw face vise], it is good that the brace [the jaw] A, Fig. 11, have about 6 thumbs [inches] thickness, as well as the top of the bench, in which the screws enter,
which to be good, should have at least 2.5 to 3 thumbs [inches] in thickness, and the threads be long enough so that when there is a piece of wood8 to 10 thumbs [inches] thickness placed in the vise, there remains at least enough length of the screw in the bench, as observed in this figure. As this bench is very short, and is subject to vibration by the movement of the saw, one loads stones on the bottom shelf to make it more solid; but I believe it would be better to make the legs of the bench long enough to be anchored to the floor of the shop, then one makes a hole in front of the bench to set in the piece of wood to be sawn in order to not extend upwards more than 3 feet above the top of the vise, locating it thus both for the comfort of the sawyers and for maximizing the yield of the piece being sawn. Not all the standing saw vises are part of an overall bench, such as the one represented here, in Figs. 10 and 11; this is why ordinary vises attached to a little bench are less solid than making them as I propose here.

When one wishes to saw with the vise, one begins by placing the piece to saw in the vise, of which the screws tighten with an iron lever, that one removes after being worked, so that it is not in the way; then, with an ordinary saw, one begins to mark all the lines to be sawn on the end of the workpiece, just up to 2 to 3 lines deep [3/16″], then one uses the frame saw, Fig. 1, which is guided horizontally by two men, observing the advantageous slight incline on the side of the tooth rake, and of the lifting up of the blade while pulling back, so as to relieve it, and that it not bind in the wood, or at least that the sawdust does not obstruct it. See Figs. 10 and 11, which represents a vise press upright, viewed in perspective, with the sawyers located as they should be.

When one saws with a vise, one begins with the outside edge of the log, so that the first sheets sawn bend away from the log and facilitate the passage of the saw, which could not be the case if one sawed in the middle; as one does when one saws large pieces of wood being used by carpenters or by ordinary woodworkers, given that the frame saw blade is very thin, and that it has no set. Sawyers at a vise do not lay out or mark a line on the side of the piece that they wish to saw; but after having begun on the end with an ordinary saw, they continue the rest by eye, which they do very well, for the most part; they are very sure to saw their veneers not only very straight, but still perfectly of equal thickness, as well. See Fig. 11, which represents the cut of the bench or upright vise saw, and a piece of wood sawn into sheets just up to the middle.

To finish what this looks like at the cutting of wood appropriate to the cabinetmaker I have represented in Fig. 12, a saw named the carving saw, which serves to cut up not only hard wood, whether wood with the grain or cross-grain, or standing wood, but also coral, ivory and mother-of-pearl. The framework of these sorts of saws is all iron, of which the upper branch is widened on the outside, so that one can adapt the blade and set it as one judges appropriate, which is done in the following manner.

After having pierced a hole in the blade of the saw, b, corresponding with that of the lower arm of the frame of the saw, you put this one [arm], and the one that is opposite, in a vise or other thing capable of bending them [squeezing them together], in a manner that they tend to meet one against the other, and tightens them as much as is judged appropriate, to give the saw all the tension necessary; then the blade of the saw, being stopped at point b, one makes it enter in the upper arm of the frame, and one traces the place for the hole at point a, which one pierces to place there a peg; this being done, one again bends the arms of the frame, just until it gives liberty to pass the peg below, and which serves to hold the peg in place, as one can see in this figure.

The blades for these sorts of saws are very thin, and one does not give them a set, so they have a very narrow kerf and lose less material, and they pass easily; one thins them on the back [away from the teeth], which one does with a file that one passes down the length just until they are thinned enough as one judges appropriate; then one rubs them with sand to remove the unevenness that the filing could have made; this operation is called “demaigrir” [thinning], a worker’s term.

The Way to Draw the Work on the Plan

Posted on by fitz

The following is excerpted from “With All the Precision Possible: Roubo on Furniture,” by André-Jacob Roubo, translated by Don Williams, Michele Pietryka-Pagán and Philippe Lafargue. In addition to the translated text and images from the original 18th-centry masterpiece, “With All the Precision Possible: Roubo on Furniture” also includes five contemporary essays on Roubo’s writing by craftsmen Christopher Schwarz, Don Williams, Michael Mascelli, Philippe Lafargue and Jonathan Thornton.

After you have determined the measurements of the work that you wish to make, you draw it on a straight and uniform board. This is what woodworkers call marking the work on the plan. In general, they call the plan all the cuts of the work both in height and width, which represent the shapes [profiles] of all the parts that make it up, or to speak more intelligibly, represent the shape of the wood, its thickness and its width. [It is essentially a layout and cutting list.]

Before beginning to draw the work on the plan, one must determine the width of the sides, the thickness of the wood, the width and the form of the contours, which you do on paper so as to master all the changes or other additions that you judge appropriate. [The implication is clearly that at least some portion of the drawing is at full scale.] This is much better than designing the shapes [profiles] on the plan, because not only are they never as good as on the paper, but because it is lost time that you use to draw the shapes [profiles] at all the places where they are found on this same plan. When the work is of a certain prominence, it is good to make a design of it on paper before laying it out, because you can better make an account of the forms and of the harmony all the parts have with each other.

When the work is particularly considerable, both for its richness as for its size, you must not be content with one design. It is necessary to draw it life-size on the walls of the room in which it will be installed so that you can judge the effect of the entire composition, including both joinery and Carving.

When the nature of the work is out of the ordinary you should make small models of it so as to neglect nothing in making it perfect.

I will not deny that all these precautions are costly, but they accelerate the execution of the work by removing all the difficulties that could be encountered. What’s more, they [the added precautions] respond with success. Whatever experience you have, it often happens that during the execution some difficulties arise that you never thought of. That is why they say to never be too enamored with your theory by avoiding your drawings and models. What’s more, what I recommend here is nothing new, since the greatest Artists of all kinds never execute anything they have not drawn and modeled previously.

The work thus designed or modeled according to the occasion, you draw on the board, which is ordinarily of pine and dressed [trimmed and whitewashed evenly] so as to be able to draw the work neatly. That is why we prefer this wood to all others for this use because when it is of a good quality it is extremely soft and [of] an even hardness throughout.

We use black or red stone, which we call sanguine [reddish drawing chalk], for drawing the work. However, it is good to begin to draw it with chalk because it erases more easily than black or red stone, which you should not use except when you have it all drawn with chalk.

You should not draw the shapes [profiles], as I said above, you must [instead] only do a chamfer/bevel [that is] the width of the moulding, but you must make one edge of the mouldings square while the other is contoured. However, as joinery can be simple, either with moulding part of the frame or moulding exceeding the thickness of the frame, it is good to draw the bulk of the shape [profile] of each type in a different manner, so the worker who makes the work cannot be deceived.

Simple profiles are designed with a single chamfer, like that of side g, Fig. 4. Those where the moulding is part of the thickness of the frame have a small framework [next to] a chamfer similar to the first one, with the exception that it is notched/squared by about a line down from the face corner, like that of side h.

For those of a large framework where the moulding exceeds the thickness of the frame, you make a chamfer in the front, and at the rear you mark their projection on the edges, noting to mark the grooves. When the frameworks have a moulding at the rear, you make a little chamfer to indicate this. Look at profile, side i, which represents a shape [profile] of a moulding projecting on one side, and level with the frame on the other. Side l represents a tongue-and-groove framework where the side enters by tongue and groove into a door frame.

In general, you must take care to draw the work precisely so that whoever makes it can do it more easily and can even trace on [top of] the plan without making other divisions.(4) [In order to design a space’s accouterments such as paneling, windows and doors en toto, one has to divide the expanse of the room into sections to lay out correctly and harmoniously the paneling including the frame work. As the portions of design are assembled into a compiled whole, the risk of compounding any error is substantial. In this passage, Roubo is sternly warning against sloppy layout. When the assembled plan is correct you can then project the same layout onto the wall and cut all your pieces. If the craftsmen doubt the accuracy of the drawing or note an error, they must restart with each portion or restart the layout to fit the wall correctly.] That is why one must trace with a sharpened point all the widths of the frames and the mouldings, which is more accurate than tracing with white stone. One must also take care to mark precisely all the grooves and rabbets, as well as tongues and grooves, the middles as well as the angles, that one must number, so that you can see in a single glance all the parts which go with the others.

The door frames are also marked in bulk, noting only to mark exactly the place of the grooves and the depth of the rabbet. Look at Fig. 5, which represents some paneling marked both in width and height.

The profiles of casements are also marked in bulk. Their little wooden pieces are marked squarely according to their width and thickness. When they are little uprights, you mark them with a cross, which passes the four angles, which indicates their cut with a diamond point. You also draw the rabbet of the frame with glass, as well as the shape of the profile of the imposts [fan lights], those of the door handle/hardware, and of the hand rail, see Fig. 6.

It is good before drawing the work, especially when you have not drawn anything, to calculate all the width of the wood so as to see right away the size of the panels or pilasters that you want to mark, so as to decrease or increase their number.

This way is the surest and easiest, not only because you make mistakes less easily, but also because it shortens the time that you are often required to spend making divisions and erasing them.

Joiners also draw the elevation of their works, especially when it is curved or ornamented with carving. These elevations are made with a sharp point without any shadow, if you omit the ornaments. But the latter are not the work of joiners. These elevations are called plans, in workmen’s terms, and are marked on large panels of pine. As it happens that there are lines which are only for construction, that is to say, to design some joints or some assemblies, you make them of another color than those of the elevation, so as to distinguish them. That is to say, that if the elevation is marked in black, the construction lines are made in red. Sometimes these lines are marked only by a point, especially when it is absolutely necessary that they be perfectly straight.

(4) While I say here that you must draw the work exactly on the plan so that you can trace on top of it, it is good that the workers take the pain to verify if the sections are made correctly when they start to trace so as to avoid following mistakes which may be on the plan, supposing there are any. What’s more, the divisions are always subject to some errors. That is why it is good to re-draw them on the work itself, in spite of the exactness of the plan [replicating the layout on the workpiece].

Planing Stops for Sale on Monday

Posted on by Lost Art Press

The Crucible Planing Stops will go up for sale on Monday in our store. The stops will be $49 plus shipping (I’m afraid they are unlikely to arrive at your address before Christmas).

These planing stops represent two years of work and almost a $50,000 investment in patterns, matchplates and ductile iron. This is our biggest-ever tool run, and we are holding our breath a little bit about how they will fare in the marketplace.

The idea for these cast-iron stops came to me while writing “The Anarchist’s Workbench.” We have had great success with our ductile iron holdfasts, and it occurred to me: why not make  planing stops out of ductile?

These stops are less expensive than a blacksmith-made stop, and they are quite easy to install. I’ve made a short video that shows the process here:

The stop is based on the planing stops shown in A.J. Roubo’s masterwork, with some minor tweaks. The stop’s teeth sweep slightly upward, instead of being parallel to the benchtop. This makes it much less likely that a handplane will collide with the stop. 

Also, the teeth come sharp – but not too sharp. Beginners can get used to using the stop. Then, when they are comfortable, they can grind or file the teeth so they are needle-sharp, which is how I like mine.

Once we get our first volley of planing stops out the door, we will offer these to our retailers around the world. It is my dearest hope that somehow, someday, one of these stops makes it onto a Roubo-style workbench in Paris – completing a 240-year cycle.

— Christopher Schwarz

Mid 18th-century Composition of Wood Dyes

Posted on by fitz
Plate 300

The following is excerpted from “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Marquetry,” by André-Jacob Roubo, translated by Donald C. Williams, Michele Pietryka-Pagán and Philippe Lafargue.

The different Compositions of Dyes appropriate for dyeing Woods, and how to use them

The tinting [dyeing or staining] of woods is of great importance for cabinetmakers, because it is with its help that one can give to woods the different colors, which are necessary for representing all sorts of objects, such as fruits, flowers, animals, etc. However, cabinetmakers always make a great secret of the composition of their dyes in order to preserve exclusivity, and not to increase the number of workers in their trade. From that circumstance comes the fact that most of the compositions that the ancient cabinetmakers used have not been passed on to us, or are presently badly imitated. Those being used presently are defective, or even if they are good, cannot be perfected given that those who possess them hide the process. They keep this information secret not only from their colleagues but even from those for whom the theory could be useful in perfecting the composition of their dyes. This would be much more advantageous than the enjoyment of maintaining a secret, which is not a big thing, but which, even when it is perfectly well known to us, leaves us still to regret the loss of the method of Jean de Veronne, who tinted woods with boiling dyes and oils that penetrated them. This would be a very helpful thing to know, the research of which would be a worthy undertaking for some of our scholars. It is highly wished that one could find the means to use the chemicals having a good tint in the dyeing of woods, because their colors would be more durable. Sadly, the colored parts of most of these chemicals are too thick to penetrate the interior of woods, which is absolutely necessary, so that when working with tinted woods they are all found to be of uniform color throughout their entire thickness and the surface.

That is why in the description of the woods, without the means to which I would like to know the procedure to accomplish the perfect tint, I will explain only ordinary procedures to cabinetmakers, to which I will add some of my own experiences, which is still a long ways from attaining the perfection of which this part can be capable.

The five primitive colors are, as I said above, blue, yellow, red, taupe [brown] and black. Each of these colors is given by different chemicals, which, when mixed together, give the second or composite colors.

The blue appropriate for tinting woods is made with indigo, diluted in oil of vitriol [also known as sulfuric acid], and then put in a sufficient quantity of water.

Yellow is made with barberry, yellow earth and saffron mixed together, or even simply from gaude [this plant, Reseda luteola, is known as weld].

Red is made from the boiling of wool, or even a concoction of Brasilwood mixed with alum.

Taupe is made with walnut husk.

Black is made with the wood of the Indies, the gall nuts and iron sulfate.

Before entering into the detail of the composition of different stains, I am going to give a general idea of the chemicals of which they are composed, so that the cabinetmakers may be less subject to being fooled when they buy them.

Indigo is a type of ash of a deep blue, provided by the leaves of a plant that grows in the Americas and Indostan, and which they sell in little pieces. For it to be good, it must be medium-hard, so that it floats on water, so it is inflammable and of a beautiful blue or deep violet color. Its interior should be strewn with little silver-colored spangles, and appear reddish when rubbed with a fingernail. Indigo is preferred over all other chemicals for staining woods because it is a powder of extremely fine and granular pieces, which are easily introduced into the pores of the woods.

Oil of vitriol or sulfuric acid is the final spirit that one gets from vitriol. This acidic liquor should be very concentrated and be absolutely free of all aqueous parts to be of a beautiful blue color, as I will speak more of later.

Barberry is a little bush of which the fruits, and the bark of the roots are stained in yellow. That from Candie [island off the coast of Crete] has a very yellow wood, and passes for the best.

Woad [this cannot be woad that produces a blue dye] is a rather common plant in France. One boils it in water to extract a yellow liquid, which mixed with a bit of alum, tints very well. Dyers prefer that one, which is the most spare [meaning thinnest] and of a rosy color.

One also dyes in yellow with the yellow wood of which I spoke above page 777. Yellow earth is nothing other than yellow ochre, used by painters.

Saffron is a plant that grows in France, especially in Gatinois [western part of France]. It is the pistil of the saffron flower, which gives these little reddish filaments, or better said, orange, which they sell under the name of saffron, which gives a dye of a golden yellow. For saffron to be good, it should be fresh, of a pungent odor, of a brilliant color and when touched it should seem oily and should stick to the hands.

Alum is a fossil salt and mineral, which is used much in dyeing, whether to set up the materials to be stained or whether for fixing the colors [as a mordant], which it retains all the particles by its astrin-gent quality. The best is that of Rome, which is white in color, and is transparent, a bit like crystal.

Liquor decanted from boiled wool is sold by the wool merchants. In boiling this wool, one gets a decoction of the color rose, which is more or less deep, according to how much water is used to scour the wool, proportional with its quantity.

I spoke up above of Brasilwood, page 771. I will content myself to say here that the decoction of this wood gives off a clear red color, tending toward the orange, and that one deepens its color by adding a bit of alum. Brasilwood from Fernambouc is the best, and they sell it all chopped up at the spice merchants, who sell it by the pound.

The husk of walnuts is nothing more than the first wrapping of these nuts, which one takes off before they are perfectly mature, and which one boils in water to extract a brownish or taupey tint.

Indian Wood, of which I spoke on page 777, gives off a concoction of a deep red, which one stains in black, and when one mixes with alum it stains in violet.

Nut gall is a type of excretion that is found on the tender shoots of a type of oak named “Rouvre.” The most highly esteemed nut gall comes from the Levant [the name given to the countries on the eastern coast of the Mediterranean]. The best ones are those that are the heaviest, and where the surface is thorny. There are both green and black ones, both of which work equally to stain in black.

Ferrous sulfate is a type of vitriol that is found in copper mines. It is the most powerful of the acids, it corrodes iron and copper, and it etches the soft parts with an infinite number of small holes, into which the dye is introduced. Ferrous sulfate is also named Roman vitriol or English vitriol, according to whether it comes from one or the other countries. We make some in France that is, they say, as good as the others. The color of ferrous sulfate [known also as green vitriol] is of a light green: it should be neat and shiny.

Verdigris also works well as a wood dye. It is the green rust scraped from copper sheets. For it to be good, it should be dry, pure, of a deep green and filled with white spots.

There you have a bit of a description of the ingredients commonly used for staining/dyeing woods.
All that remains is to give the manner of making use of them.

The Way of Staining Wood Blue

The preparation of blue with indigo and oil of vitriol [sulfuric acid] is done in two ways, namely, hot and cold. Blue for wood is prepared cold in the following manner:

you take 4 ounces of oil of vitriol of the best quality, that is to say, that it is deprived of all aqueous parts, which you pour into a pint-size bottle, with 1 ounce of indigo reduced to a very fine powder. Then you fill the bottle with water, at least nearly so, and you bottle it very carefully, and you seal the cork with wax. you let it infuse for five to six weeks, at the end of which you can use this stain that will be more or less strong, by putting in as much water as you judge appropriate, always ob-serving to add a bit of oil of vitriol, so the dye will be fixed better. When the dye is to the degree of strength that you need, you put it in a stoneware or glazed earthenware vessel, and you soak the wood in it until it is totally penetrated, which sometimes requires 15 days and even one month of time, according to the hardness and thickness of the wood. The wood can hardly have a thickness of more than one line [1/12″].

Cabinetmakers ordinarily use a stoneware butter pot for putting the wood into the dye, which is very convenient because the shape of this vase enables one to put in rather large pieces, without the need of having a very great quantity of dye.

It is very easy to know when the interior of the wood is penetrated, given that you only have to cut a small piece of the wood about 2 to 3 lines from its end. When the pieces that you want to dye cannot be cut like this, you put with them another piece of the same quality, with which you test the degree of penetration of the other pieces.

The Way of Dyeing in Yellow

Cabinetmakers tint in yellow with barberry, with yellow earth and with saffron, which they boil together. This being done, they soak the wood pieces until they are totally stained. The proportion of these chemicals is 2 liters [in this case the French word refers to “litron,” which is about 79 percent of a modern liter, so 2 modern liters is a much larger quantity] of barberry, 6 “sols” [a French penny] of yellow earth, and 4 “sols” of saffron.

A concoction of woad gives a very beautiful yellow of a good tint, and you soak the wood as normal. When this concoction is added to a bit of verdigris, you have a sulfurous yellow color. Saffron infused in grain alcohol gives a very beautiful golden yellow.


The Way to Dye in Red

Red is normally made with brasilwood, which one boils with 6 sols of alum for each pound of wood. This red is a false tint because it is more orange than red. you can substitute the boiling-liqueur from wool, which gives a very beautiful red, leaning toward rose, which one makes deeper by passing the pieces that you have stained into the liqueur of the mixture of Brasilwood mixed with alum. This makes a very beautiful red, more or less deep, depending on whether you leave the pieces of wood more or less a long time in the dye bath of Brasilwood.

Dyeing with decanting liqueur is done very easily. One only needs to boil some wool dyed to this effect, just until it makes a beautiful red concoction. Avoid boiling too much, because the wool will take back the color that it discharged at first.

The proportion of the liquor of wool to be decanted is 1 pound to 4 pints of water for the first decanting, to which one can add a second, even a third, until the wool renders no more color. The concoction of Brasilwood without alum gives a yellowish red, which is sometimes attractive, and is named “Capucine.”

The concoction of Indian Wood is very red, but it makes a blackish stain, which makes a very beautiful violet when mixed with alum from Rome, as I will speak of it later.

How to Dye Taupe [Brown], Black and Grey

Taupe dye is made with a concoction of walnut husk, which can be more or less strong, as you judge appropriate, always adding to it a bit of alum.

An attractive black is made by staining the wood first in a concoction of wood of India (or Campeachy, which is the same thing). When this first application is dry, you dip the wood in a concoction of gall nut in which you have put some ferrous sulfate, or vitriol of Rome. Sometimes one only makes a single dye of these various ingredients, of which the proportion should be 1 part nut gall, 1 part vitriol and 6 parts of Campeachy, all boiled together, into which you dip the wood until it is penetrated.

A grey tint is made with a concoction of nut gall, into which you dissolve some green vitriol [ferrous sulfate] in smaller quantity than for the black stain. The more ferrous sulfate-cuprous there is, the deeper grey it will be. The normal proportion is one part of ferrous sulfate for two parts of nut gall.

The Way to Tint Composite Colors

The ordinary green stain of cabinetmakers is made with the same ingredients as for the blue, to which is added the barberry in more or less quantity, according to whether the green should be more or less deep.

One can make a very beautiful apple green in staining first the wood in ordinary blue, and then dipping it in a concoction of woad, and that with more or less time according to whether one wants to have a green more or less strong.

Violet is made with a concoction of Campeachy, to which one has mixed some alum from Rome. One can have violet more or less deep by staining first the woods in rose and then in the blue, which will give a clear violet.

If, on the contrary, one wishes to have a brown-red leaning toward violet, one stains the wood first in the concoction of Brasilwood, then in that of the Campeachy.

One can obtain composite dye of all nuances imaginable by tinting the wood in a primary color then in another one more or less dark, so that the stain that results from these two colors reflects more or less of each other. This is very possible to do because one is the master to strengthen or weaken the primary colors as one judges appropriate, whether by reason of what the form of the object re-quires, or even by reason of the different quality of wood, which takes the dye more or less well, or strengthens or weakens the color. This has to be highly considered, and it requires much attention and experience on the part of cabinetmakers.

In general, all the dyes of which I just spoke are applied in cold baths. It is not that many of them cannot be used hot, but it is that because it takes a considerable amount of time for the same dye to penetrate into the interior of wood, it is not possible to use them hot. What’s more, cold dyed wood has much more vibrancy than when used with a hot bath.

There it is, a bit of the details of staining [dyeing] wood, at least those that most cabinetmakers use, or which I myself have employed in the attempts that I have made. These have succeeded rather well, but they have not been followed by a long enough time to be assured of the success of my at-tempts. It would be highly wished that those who are currently making use of these dyes, or who will be using them later, apply themselves to perfect them which, I believe, is not absolutely impossible. Having done this, they would be rather good citizens to not make a mystery of their discoveries, but only succeed by rendering them public.

Cabinetmakers dye not only their woods for veneer to use them in the place of the natural color of the woods. They also use these same dyes to accentuate various parts of their works while they are being worked. As such, these dyes, like the red of Brasilwood, the violet of the Campeachy, the black, etc., are used hot, which is very easy to do because it is sufficient for only the exterior of the woods being dyed. Other than these dyes, woodworkers in furniture sometimes use a type of yellow color for bedsteads, which is composed of yellow ochre and common varnish, or of this same ochre and the very clear English glue, sometimes they even put it in only water, which is of little use.

Before finishing the dyeing of wood, I believe I ought to give a least-costly method of dyeing white wood red, which is done in the following manner:

you take some horse dung, which you put in a bucket of which the bottom is pierced with many holes, and you place it above another bucket, into which falls the water from the dung, as it gradually rots. When it does not rot fast enough, you water it from time to time with some horse urine, which helps a lot and at the same time gives a red water, which not only stains the surface of the wood, but penetrates the interior 3 to 4 lines deep. In staining the wood with this dye, one must take care that all the pieces be of the same species, and about equal in density if one wishes that they be of equal color throughout. This observation is general for all water-based stains, which have no palpable thickness nor even appearance [they leave no residue or any evident change in appearance], which requires the cabinetmaker to make a choice of wood of equal color and a density as I mentioned before. This demands a lot of experience and attention on the part of the cabinetmakers. And with the exception of the way to compose and use dyes, it is hardly possible to give theoretical rules on this part, for which success is not often due to anything but experience, which is not acquired except with a lot of time, attention and work.