I always felt odd building French workbenches using English (or worse) inches.
Anyone who has studied the history of measurement knows that there are as many systems of measurement out there as there are cultures and epochs. Surprisingly, many of them are similar because they are based on the human form. But they are all a little different.
Rather than whitewash these differences or convert them to metric, I try to incorporate them into my work in the same way you would never put a Roman ovolo on a Grecian piece.
At the vanguard of this curious approach is Brendan Gaffney, a woodworker and musical savant who has been taking a deep dive into alternative measurement systems. He recently made three rulers for sale based on Japanese, Roman and Egyptian systems. I purchased the Roman ruler and it is a work of great beauty. I plan to use it in constructing two upcoming Roman workbenches.
And now Brendan is exploring the 18th-century French measurement system.
After some back and forth, Brendan has constructed French “fathoms” that are based on A.J. Roubo’s plate 100 from “l’Art du menuisier.” Here’s Roubo’s description of the fathom:
“Woodworkers use fathoms as the fundamental unit for taking their measures. This is nothing other than a ruler of 6 feet in length divided into feet and one of these divisions into thumbs so as to be able to know how far each part they are measuring is in length. There are those who do not use fathoms but simply use a ruler of whatever length on which they mark their measurements.”
Brendan’s version, which goes on sale on Saturday, is faithful to that description. His fathom is made from flame maple, planed true, hand-marked and finished in Brendan’s workshop. If they are anything like his other rulers, they will be spectacular.
Do you need a fathom? No. You can make your own if you think you need one. But if you’d like to support a fellow explorer who is diving deep into waters that have been uncharted for more than 200 years, you can do that here.
I’m ordering one for layout work and to help interpret the drawings from our forthcoming book “Roubo on Furniture,” which contains lots of scaled drawings.
Plate 286. Different Sorts of Sections Appropriate for Infilling Panels
This is an excerpt from “Roubo on Marquetry” by André-Jacob Roubo. Translation by Donald C. Williams, Michele Pietryka-Pagán & Philippe Lafargue. The translators’ additions to the text are in brackets. Roubo’s asides are in parentheses.
Figure 4 represents a composition with dice or cubes, placed on a background of whatever color; these dice or cubes are hexagons, placed side by side, in a manner such that their points touch each other, as you can see in this figure.
Each of these hexagons, or figures with six sides, is composed of three lozenges of any colors assembled together to make the dice or cubes appear in relief. Lozenge C (which is the daylight side) is an example of the shape in question and is made in rosewood. Lozenge D, which is the top of the cube, is of grey or yellow wood. Lozenge E, which is the shade side, is of violet wood. The remaining space [unmarked but primarily horizontal] is of some other wood that one judges appropriate, provided that it differs in the color of wood that forms the cubes. The cubes should not only differ in color from that of the bottom, but also each lozenge comprising the cube should all be different from each other. One accomplishes this by choosing pieces darker in color from one side to the other, or even by passing them over hot sand, as I will teach later.
Figure 5 represents another section, which does not differ from that of which I just spoke, except that it does not have any remaining space or background like the last one. To the contrary, all the dice or cubes fit one inside the other without leaving any void space, which works quite well. However, it is good to observe when making this last type of section, to make a space or background between the cubes on top and on the bottom, as I have shown in this figure, which works much better than to see the ends of cubes cut up, as one does ordinarily, and which I have indicated by line F–G.
In general, whether the sections of which I am speaking are with a background as in Fig. 4, or without a background, as in Fig. 5, it is necessary to take great care when making the section that a whole number of cubes is found on the length, and that the uppermost end of these same cubes reach the banding or stringwork that surrounds them, as I have shown here. This is very easy to do since it is only necessary to adjust the proportions of the cubes according to the need, it not being absolutely necessary that the hexagon of the cubes be perfectly regular. Whatever way it can be done is the better way, and is so much easier to do when the three lozenges that compose the hexagon are of a similar shape, which does not ordinarily happen when the hexagon is of an irregular shape.
If one does not wish to make dice or projecting cubes, as in Fig. 5, one could make sections of cubes to fill the lozenges in a unified wood, which does not work badly when the joints are well made, as one can see in this figure. [This is in fact my favorite manner of preparing a composition such as this. I find the subtlety much more to my taste, especially when using a wood with a fine grain pattern with a noticeable difference from early wood to late wood, such as bald cypress on the radial plane.]
Figure 6 represents a section with mixed stars, which is a section that is very complex in appearance; however, it is only hexagons, as that of H, I, L, M, N, O, which approach and penetrate each other, so that the point of whichever star, becomes the center of another. It is necessary to observe in making these sorts of sections that one finds, as much as possible, a number of hexagons complete in height as is found in this figure, so that the bottom or void remaining at the points of the stars be similar at the bottom as at the top, which could not be if the section bordered by the line P–Q , of which the distance to the top-most stringwork of the section, contains only one-and-a-half hexagons in height. As for the length of this type of section, taken in the direction that is represented in Fig. 6, it is not important only that the number of hexagons be complete. It suffices that no points of the stars be cut along the same line, so that this section be as perfect as is possible to be.
These sorts of sections can be made with a projecting appearance, or be filled with segments of the same wood, which is equal for the form and disposition of the joinery, which is always given by the parallel lines, horizontal and perpendicular, and [rather than being comprised of lozenges] by equilateral triangles, of which the tops are opposite one another. Inspecting this illustration alone is by itself better than all the explanations that one can give.
Figure 7 represents another section, composed of octagons or figures with eight sides, placed in stars with eight sides, which all come to a point in the center. The stars that compose these sections touch each other on their perpendicular and horizontal faces at two points, which produces between them a squared space. This space is filled with the point of a diamond, as in the height of this figure, made from the background veneer. The other squared voids, which produce the return of the points of these same stars, being larger than those of which I just spoke above, are filled in by other stars with four points or some other element placed on the base, which distinguishes them from the rest of the work, as I have shown in the upper part of this figure, of which the stars as much as the points of the diamonds have an obvious [apparent] relief.
We reached two major milestones this week with both “Woodworking in Estonia” and “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Furniture.” Both are on schedule for a fall release.
On Thursday I handed over all the files for “Roubo on Furniture” to designer Wesley Tanner, who was responsible for both versions (deluxe and standard) of the first volume, “Roubo on Marquetry.”
We will print both standard and deluxe editions of “Roubo on Furniture.” The standard edition will be released first. I suspect it will be about 400 pages long (the marquetry book was 264 pages), with a retail price of about $60. I think there will be a digital version of the standard edition, though that decision is up to the authors.
After we get the standard edition to the printer, we will open subscriptions to the deluxe edition. It will be printed to the same heaven-scraping standards as the deluxe edition of “Roubo on Marquetry,” which was named on the “50 Books of the Year” by the AIGA.
We will take orders for the book for 45 days. Then we’ll print that many (plus a few for ourselves). So everyone who wants one will get one. More details on pricing will come later this summer as we dig into the production costs.
‘Woodworking in Estonia’ by Ants Viires On Friday I handed over the final page proofs to Megan Fitzpatrick for a final copy edit of “Woodworking in Estonia.” Suzanne Ellison is working on the index plus a fascinating chapter about the illegal English translation from the 1960s.
If all goes to plan, “Woodworking in Estonia” will go to press at the end of June and be out the first week in August. It’s going to be about 300 pages and have a retail price in the neighborhood of $47. I’m afraid we do not have the digital rights for this book so there will not be a pdf version.
So I get to take the rest of the year off….
Not really. I’m hard at work on revising my book “Handplane Essentials” for Popular Woodworking Magazine and writing “Roman Workbenches.” Maybe I’ll take that vacation next June.
I have always wanted to make one of these grease boxes for the underside of a workbench. Knowing me, however, I’d probably keep paraffin in it instead of tallow. I learned to handplane using paraffin (which has no smell) as a lubricant. There is something odd about using mutton tallow – I work up a sweat and smell lamb chops.
A.J. Roubo does not say much about the grease box or how it should be constructed: “Below the table of the bench you attach with a screw a piece of wood in the form of a box, in which you put some grease, useful for rubbing the tools to make them smoother.”
I decided to make the box 1-7/8” thick, 3” wide and 5-1/2” long and out of oak. But I started with a bigger chunk of oak to make it easier to bore out the cavity that holds grease and to hold the piece as I finished chiseling the cavity.
The walls of the grease box are about 5/16” thick – give or take. That makes the cavity roughly 2-1/4” wide, 3-1/2” long and 1-1/2” deep. I bored out most of the waste and cleaned up the interior with a chisel.
Then I used a compass to draw a nice arc around the back of the box, as shown in Plate 11 of “l’Art du menuisier.” After rounding that off with rasps and sandpaper, I drew the curved relief under the box. This relief allows you to use a shorter lag screw, and it looks nice. I simply sketched it freehand and then roughed it out.
I also rounded the square corners of the box, a la Plate 11.
The box will be attached to the bench with a 5/16” x 3” lag screw and washer. I created a flat area for the washer (thank you, Forstner bit) and then bored a clearance hole for the lag screw.
Then I oiled up the exterior of the box and am now soaking the hardware in citric acid to remove the buttocks-ugly zinc plating.
This is the last little bit on this bench. I have only to apply my signature plate and await the truck that will come to pick it up.
Most drawers attached to the benchtop of a workbench get in the way of clamping, the bench dogs or the holdfasts. And so when I build a workbench for a customer, I typically omit the drawer (with their permission, of course).
But this bench that I’m finishing up needs a drawer, and so I was determined to make it look just like the drawer in A.J. Roubo’s Plate 11 and not get in the way.
Roubo didn’t have much to say about the drawer: “One should place a drawer at the end of the bench so that the workers can close up their minor tools like gouges, compasses, etc.” That brevity gave me a lot of leeway as to how the drawer should be constructed and hung.
As to construction, the drawer is built like a typical 18th-century drawer. The rear corners are joined with through-dovetails. The front corners are joined with half-blinds. The bottom slides in through the back of the drawer via a groove in the sides and drawer front.
The sides, back and bottom are all 1/2”-thick pine. The remainder of the parts are made with 7/8”-thick oak. The drawer itself is 7” high, 10” wide and 15-1/2” deep. I came to this measurement by scaling Roubo’s drawing of the drawer compared to the rest of the bench.
But how to hang the drawer? If I were worried about theft, I would design the mechanism differently. But as this bench is destined for a private shop, I decided to make the runners and slides robust and repairable.
The two drawer runners are each constructed of two pieces of oak screwed to the underside of the benchtop to create an “L” shape. Then I glued two slides to the drawer sides that slide back and forth in the runners. It’s basically a side-hung drawer. You’ll note that the slides are about 17” long, which will allow for some over-travel if the drawer is pulled out too far.
I nailed a couple of drawer stops to the benchtop and oiled everything up to match the bench.
All this is left is to mortise in the strike for the lock.
This might not be the way that Roubo would have done it, but until I get my Ouija board dialed into 1767, this will have to do.