BARNABAS: In a way, you can compare the pyramids to this house. Both were built to support an ego and perpetuate a memory, but both merely survived as architectural feats. VICTORIA: Oh, but, but to me, this house has always been a reminder of the enterprise of the people who settled here. BARNABAS: Yes, in a way, you're right. The design and construction of this house represented a marriage of the elegance of Europe and the vigor and enterprise of the New World. The foundations were made from rocks left behind by glaciers thousands of years ago. The beams and supports were cut from ancient local forests. The plaster walls were made from crushed clam shells and horsehair. Bricks were imported from Holland. That dusty chandelier, brought over from France, gleamed with hypnotic brilliance. That . . . that faded wallpaper was especially designed by a Belgian artist. The parquet floors were installed by an Italian craftsman. Cornices and mouldings were the effort of a Spanish craftsman. It was a house to be envied by a prince. But in spite of all this, the total effort was an agony to man. Men were driven to their limits. What should have been an act and labor of love became a hateful thing. There were the crippled and the dead. Like the pyramids, one could ask, "Was it worth it?" VICTORIA: Well, you've made your point in comparing this house to the pyramids. But there is one difference between them. The pyramids were designed to be tombs. BARNABAS: You're right. This house was not designed to be a tomb.