{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_17774/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_17774","id":"gutenberg_17774","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17774","summary":null,"tags":["Architecture","Category: Architecture","Category: Art","Category: Philosophy & Ethics"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Suzanne Lybarger, and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE COMPLETE WORKS OF JOHN RUSKIN\n\nVOLUME I\n\n\nPOETRY OF ARCHITECTURE\n\nSEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE\n\n\n\n[Illustration: J. Ruskin]\n\n\n\n\nLibrary Edition\n\n\nTHE COMPLETE WORKS OF JOHN RUSKIN\n\n\nPOETRY OF ARCHITECTURE\nSEVEN LAMPS\nMODERN PAINTERS\n\nVOLUME I\n\n\nNATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION\nNEW YORK, CHICAGO\n\n\n\n\nTHE POETRY OF ARCHITECTURE;\n\nOR,\n\nTHE ARCHITECTURE OF THE NATIONS OF EUROPE\nCONSIDERED IN ITS ASSOCIATION WITH NATURAL SCENERY\nAND NATIONAL CHARACTER.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                    PAGE\nINTRODUCTION                                           1\n\n\n_PART I._--THE COTTAGE.\n\n  I. THE LOWLAND COTTAGE--ENGLAND AND FRANCE           7\n\n II. THE LOWLAND COTTAGE--ITALY                       15\n\nIII. THE MOUNTAIN COTTAGE--SWITZERLAND                25\n\n IV. THE MOUNTAIN COTTAGE--WESTMORELAND               35\n\n  V. A CHAPTER ON CHIMNEYS                            45\n\n VI. THE COTTAGE--CONCLUDING REMARKS                  57\n\n\n_PART II._--THE VILLA.\n\n  I. THE MOUNTAIN VILLA--LAGO DI COMO                 67\n\n II. THE MOUNTAIN VILLA--LAGO DI COMO (CONTINUED)     80\n\nIII. THE ITALIAN VILLA (CONCLUDED)                    94\n\n IV. THE LOWLAND VILLA--ENGLAND                      104\n\n  V. THE ENGLISH VILLA--PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION    113\n\n VI. THE BRITISH VILLA.--PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION.\n     (THE CULTIVATED, OR BLUE COUNTRY, AND THE\n     WOODED, OR GREEN COUNTRY)                       126\n\nVII. THE BRITISH VILLA.--PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION.\n     (THE HILL, OR BROWN COUNTRY)                    145\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF PLATES.\n\n\n                                                        Facing Page\nFig. 1. Old Windows; from an early sketch by the Author          13\n\n \"   2. Italian Cottage Gallery, 1846                            20\n\n        Cottage near la Cite, Val d'Aosta, 1838                  21\n\n \"   3. Swiss Cottage, 1837. (Reproduced from the\n        Architectural Magazine)                                  28\n\n \"   4. Cottage near Altorf, 1835                                29\n\n \"   5. Swiss Chalet Balcony, 1842                               32\n\n \"   6. The Highest House in England, at Malham                  42\n\n \"   7. Chimneys. (Eighteen sketches redrawn from the\n        Architectural Magazine)                                  48\n\n \"   8. Coniston Hall, from the Lake near Brantwood, 1837.\n        (Reproduced from the Architectural Magazine)             50\n\n \"   9. Chimney at Neuchatel; Dent du Midi and Mont Blanc in\n        the distance                                             20\n\n \"  10. Petrarch's Villa, Arqua, 1837. (Redrawn from the\n        Architectural Magazine)                                  98\n\n \"  11. Broken Curves. (Three diagrams, redrawn from the\n        Architectural Magazine)                                 101\n\n \"  12. Old English Mansion, 1837. (Reproduced from the\n        Architectural Magazine)                                 116\n\n \"  13. Windows. (Three designs, reproduced from the\n        Architectural Magazine)                                 122\n\n \"  14. Leading Lines of Villa-Composition. (Diagram redrawn\n        from the Architectural Magazine)                        164\n\n\n\n\nPREFATORY NOTES.\n\n\nOf this work Mr. RUSKIN says in his Autobiography:--\"The idea had come\ninto my head in the summer of '37, and, I imagine, rose immediately out\nof my sense of the contrast between the cottages of Westmoreland and\nthose of Italy. Anyhow, the November number of Loudon's _Architectural\nMagazine_ for 1837 opens with 'Introduction to the Poetry of\nArchitecture; or the Architecture of the Nations of Europe considered in\nits Association with Natural Scenery and National Character,' by Kata\nPhusin. I could not have put in fewer, or more inclusive words, the\ndefinition of what half my future life was to be spent in discoursing\nof; while the _nom-de-plume_ I chose, 'ACCORDING TO NATURE,' was equally\nexpressive of the temper in which I was to discourse alike on that, and\nevery other subject. The adoption of a _nom-de-plume_ at all implied (as\nalso the concealment of name on the first publication of 'Modern\nPainters') a sense of a power of judgment in myself, which it would not\nhave been becoming in a youth of eighteen to claim....\"\n\n\"As it is, these youthful essays, though deformed by assumption, and\nshallow in contents, are curiously right up to the points they reach;\nand already distinguished above most of the literature of the time, for\nthe skill of language, which the public at once felt for a pleasant gift\nin me.\" (_Praeterita_, vol. I. chap. 12.)\n\nIn a paper on \"My First Editor,\" written in 1878, Mr. Ruskin says of\nthese essays that they \"contain sentences nearly as well put together as\nany I have done since.\"\n\nThe Conductor of the _Architectural Magazine_ in reviewing the year's\nwork said (December, 1838):--\"One series of papers, commenced in the\nlast volume and concluded in the present one, we consider to be of\nparticular value to the young architect. We allude to the 'Essays on the\nPoetry of Architecture,' by Kata Phusin. These essays will afford little\npleasure to the mere builder, or to the architect who has no principle\nof guidance but precedent; but for such readers they were never\nintended. They are addressed to the young and unprejudiced artist; and\ntheir great object is to induce him to think and to exercise his\nreason.... There are some, we trust, of the rising generation, who are\nable to free themselves from the trammels and architectural bigotry of\nVitruvius and his followers; and it is to such alone that we look\nforward for any real improvement in architecture as an art of design and\ntaste.\"\n\nThe essays are in two parts: the first describing the cottages of\nEngland, France, Switzerland, and Italy, and giving hints and directions\nfor picturesque cottage-building. The second part treats of the villas\nof Italy and England--with special reference to Como and Windermere; and\nconcludes with a discussion of the laws of artistic composition, and\npractical suggestions of interest to the builders of country-houses.\n\nIt was the Author's original intention to have proceeded from the\ncottage and the villa to the higher forms of Architecture; but the\nMagazine to which he contributed was brought to a close shortly after\nthe completion of his chapters on the villa, and his promise of farther\nstudies was not redeemed until ten years later, by the publication of\n_The Seven Lamps of Architecture_, and still more completely in _The\nStones of Venice_.\n\nOther papers contributed by Mr. Ruskin to the same Magazine, on\nPerspective, and on the proposed monument to Sir Walter Scott at\nEdinburgh, are not included in this volume, as they do not form any part\nof the series on the Poetry of Architecture.\n\nThe text is carefully reprinted from the _Architectural Magazine_. A few\nadditional notes are distinguished by square brackets.\n\nA few of the old cuts, necessary to the text, are reproduced, and some\nare replaced by engravings from sketches by the Author. Possessors of\nthe _Architectural Magazine_, vol. V., will be interested in comparing\nthe wood-cut of the cottage in Val d'Aosta (p. 104 of that volume) with\nthe photogravure from the original pencil drawing, which faces p. 21 of\nthis work. It is much to be regretted that the original of the Coniston\nHall (fig. 8; p. 50 of this work) has disappeared, and that the Author's\nyouthful record of a scene so familiar to him in later years should be\nrepresented only by the harsh lines of Mr. Loudon's engraver.\n\nTHE EDITOR.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\n1. The Science of Architecture, followed out to its full extent, is one\nof the noblest of those which have reference only to the creations of\nhuman minds. It is not merely a science of the rule and compass, it does\nnot consist only in the observation of just rule, or of fair proportion:\nit is, or ought to be, a science of feeling more than of rule, a\nministry to the mind, more than to the eye. If we consider how much less\nthe beauty and majesty of a building depend upon its pleasing certain\nprejudices of the eye, than upon its rousing certain trains of\nmeditation in the mind, it will show in a moment how many intricate\nquestions of feeling are involved in the raising of an edifice; it will\nconvince us of the truth of a proposition, which might at first have\nappeared startling, that no man can be an architect, who is not a\nmetaphysician.\n\n2. To the illustration of the department of this noble science which may\nbe designated the Poetry of Architecture, this and some future articles\nwill be dedicated. It is this peculiarity of the art which constitutes\nits nationality; and it will be found as interesting as it is useful, to\ntrace in the distinctive characters of the architecture of nations, not\nonly its adaptation to the situation and climate in which it has arisen,\nbut its strong similarity to, and connection with, the prevailing turn\nof mind by which the nation who first employed it is distinguished.\n\n3. I consider the task I have imposed upon myself the more necessary,\nbecause this department of the science, perhaps regarded by some who\nhave no ideas beyond stone and mortar as chimerical, and by others who\nthink nothing necessary but truth and proportion as useless, is at a\nmiserably low ebb in England. And what is the consequence? We have\nCorinthian columns placed beside pilasters of no order at all,\nsurmounted by monstrosified pepper-boxes, Gothic in form and Grecian in\ndetail, in a building nominally and peculiarly \"National\"; we have Swiss\ncottages, falsely and calumniously so entitled, dropped in the\nbrick-fields round the metropolis; and we have staring square-windowed,\nflat-roofed gentlemen's seats, of the lath and plaster,\nmock-magnificent, Regent's Park description, rising on the woody\npromontories of Derwentwater.\n\n4. How deeply is it to be regretted, how much is it to be wondered at,\nthat, in a country whose school of painting, though degraded by its\nsystem of meretricious coloring, and disgraced by hosts of would-be\nimitators of inimitable individuals, is yet raised by the distinguished\ntalent of those individuals to a place of well-deserved honor; and the\nstudios of whose sculptors are filled with designs of the most pure\nsimplicity, and most perfect animation; the school of architecture\nshould be so miserably debased!\n\n5. There are, however, many reasons for a fact so lamentable. In the\nfirst place, the patrons of architecture (I am speaking of all classes\nof buildings, from the lowest to the highest), are a more numerous and\nless capable class than those of painting. The general public, and I say\nit with sorrow, because I know it from observation, have little to do\nwith the encouragement of the school of painting, beyond the power which\nthey unquestionably possess, and unmercifully use, of compelling our\nartists to substitute glare for beauty. Observe the direction of public\ntaste at any of our exhibitions. We see visitors at that of the Society\nof Painters in Water Colors, passing Tayler with anathemas and Lewis\nwith indifference, to remain in reverence and admiration before certain\namiable white lambs and water-lilies, whose artists shall be nameless.\nWe see them, in the Royal Academy, passing by Wilkie, Turner and\nCallcott, with shrugs of doubt or of scorn, to fix in gazing and\nenthusiastic crowds upon kettles-full of witches, and His Majesty's\nships so and so lying to in a gale, etc., etc. But these pictures attain\nno celebrity because the public admire them, for it is not to the public\nthat the judgment is intrusted. It is by the chosen few, by our nobility\nand men of taste and talent, that the decision is made, the fame\nbestowed, and the artist encouraged.\n\n6. Not so in architecture. There, the power is generally diffused. Every\ncitizen may box himself up in as barbarous a tenement as suits his taste\nor inclination; the architect is his vassal, and must permit him not\nonly to criticise, but to perpetrate. The palace or the nobleman's seat\nmay be raised in good taste, and become the admiration of a nation; but\nthe influence of their owner is terminated by the boundary of his\nestate: he has no command over the adjacent scenery, and the possessor\nof every thirty acres around him has him at his mercy. The streets of\nour cities are examples of the effects of this clashing of different\ntastes; and they are either remarkable for the utter absence of all\nattempt at embellishment, or disgraced by every variety of abomination.\n\n7. Again, in a climate like ours, those few who have knowledge and\nfeeling to distinguish what is beautiful, are frequently prevented by\nvarious circumstances from erecting it. John Bull's comfort perpetually\ninterferes with his good taste, and I should be the first to lament his\nlosing so much of his nationality, as to permit the latter to prevail.\nHe cannot put his windows into a recess, without darkening his rooms; he\ncannot raise a narrow gable above his walls, without knocking his head\nagainst the rafters; and, worst of all, he cannot do either, without\nbeing stigmatized by the awful, inevitable epithet, of \"a very odd man.\"\nBut, though much of the degradation of our present school of\narchitecture is owing to the want or the unfitness of patrons, surely it\nis yet more attributable to a lamentable deficiency of taste and talent\namong our architects themselves. It is true, that in a country affording\nso little encouragement, and presenting so many causes for its absence,\nit cannot be expected that we should have any Michael Angelo\nBuonarottis. The energy of our architects is expended in raising \"neat\"\npoor-houses, and \"pretty\" charity schools; and, if they ever enter upon\na work of higher rank, economy is the order of the day: plaster and\nstucco are substituted for granite and marble; rods of splashed iron for\ncolumns of verd-antique; and in the wild struggle after novelty, the\nfantastic is mistaken for the graceful, the complicated for the\nimposing, superfluity of ornament for beauty, and its total absence for\nsimplicity.\n\n8. But all these disadvantages might in some degree be counteracted, all\nthese abuses in some degree prevented, were it not for the slight\nattention paid by our architects to that branch of the art which I have\nabove designated as the Poetry of Architecture. All unity of feeling\n(which is the first principle of good taste) is neglected; we see\nnothing but incongruous combination: we have pinnacles without height,\nwindows without light, columns with nothing to sustain, and buttresses\nwith nothing to support. We have parish paupers smoking their pipes and\ndrinking their beer under Gothic arches and sculptured niches; and quiet\nold English gentlemen reclining on crocodile stools, and peeping out of\nthe windows of Swiss chalets.\n\n9. I shall attempt, therefore, to endeavor to illustrate the principle\nfrom the neglect of which these abuses have arisen; that of unity of\nfeeling, the basis of all grace, the essence of all beauty. We shall\nconsider the architecture of nations as it is influenced by their\nfeelings and manners, as it is connected with the scenery in which it is\nfound, and with the skies under which it was erected; we shall be led as\nmuch to the street and the cottage as to the temple and the tower; and\nshall be more interested in buildings raised by feeling, than in those\ncorrected by rule. We shall commence with the lower class of edifices,\nproceeding from the roadside to the village, and from the village to the\ncity; and, if we succeed in directing the attention of a single\nindividual more directly to this most interesting department of the\nscience of architecture, we shall not have written in vain.\n\n\n\n\n_PART I._\n\nThe Cottage.\n\nTHE LOWLAND COTTAGE:--ENGLAND, FRANCE, ITALY:\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN COTTAGE:--SWITZERLAND AND WESTMORELAND:\n\nA CHAPTER ON CHIMNEYS:\n\nAND CONCLUDING REMARKS ON COTTAGE-BUILDING.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POETRY OF ARCHITECTURE.\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE LOWLAND COTTAGE--ENGLAND AND FRANCE.\n\n\n10. Of all embellishments by which the efforts of man can enhance the\nbeauty of natural scenery, those are the most effective which can give\nanimation to the scene, while the spirit which they bestow is in unison\nwith its general character. It is generally desirable to indicate the\npresence of animated existence in a scene of natural beauty; but only of\nsuch existence as shall be imbued with the spirit, and shall partake of\nthe essence, of the beauty, which, without it, would be dead. If our\nobject, therefore, is to embellish a scene the character of which is\npeaceful and unpretending, we must not erect a building fit for the\nabode of wealth or pride. However beautiful or imposing in itself, such\nan object immediately indicates the presence of a kind of existence\nunsuited to the scenery which it inhabits; and of a mind which, when it\nsought retirement, was unacquainted with its own ruling feelings, and\nwhich consequently excites no sympathy in ours: but, if we erect a\ndwelling which may appear adapted to the wants, and sufficient for the\ncomfort, of a gentle heart and lowly mind, we have instantly attained\nour object: we have bestowed animation, but we have not disturbed\nrepose.\n\n11. It is for this reason that the cottage is one of the embellishments\nof natural scenery which deserve attentive consideration. It is\nbeautiful always, and everywhere. Whether looking out of the woody\ndingle with its eye-like window, and sending up the motion of azure\nsmoke between the silver trunks of aged trees; or grouped among the\nbright cornfields of the fruitful plain; or forming gray clusters along\nthe slope of the mountain side, the cottage always gives the idea of a\nthing to be beloved: a quiet life-giving voice, that is as peaceful as\nsilence itself.\n\n12. With these feelings, we shall devote some time to the consideration\nof the prevailing character, and national peculiarities, of European\ncottages. The principal thing worthy of observation in the lowland\ncottage of England is its finished neatness. The thatch is firmly pegged\ndown, and mathematically leveled at the edges; and, though the martin is\npermitted to attach his humble domicile, in undisturbed security, to the\neaves, he may be considered as enhancing the effect of the cottage, by\nincreasing its usefulness, and making it contribute to the comfort of\nmore beings than one. The whitewash is stainless, and its rough surface\ncatches a side light as brightly as a front one: the luxuriant rose is\ntrained gracefully over the window; and the gleaming lattice, divided\nnot into heavy squares, but into small pointed diamonds, is thrown half\nopen, as is just discovered by its glance among the green leaves of the\nsweetbrier, to admit the breeze, that, as it passes over the flowers,\nbecomes full of their fragrance. The light wooden porch breaks the flat\nof the cottage face by its projection; and a branch or two of wandering\nhoneysuckle spread over the low hatch. A few square feet of garden and a\nlatched wicket, persuading the weary and dusty pedestrian, with\nexpressive eloquence, to lean upon it for an instant and request a drink\nof water or milk, complete a picture, which, if it be far enough from\nLondon to be unspoiled by town sophistications, is a very perfect thing\nin its way.[1] The ideas it awakens are agreeable, and the architecture\nis all that we want in such a situation. It is pretty and appropriate;\nand if it boasted of any other perfection, it would be at the expense of\nits propriety.\n\n[Footnote 1: Compare _Lectures on Architecture and Painting_, I. Sec. 16.]\n\n13. Let us now cross the Channel, and endeavor to find a country cottage\non the other side, if we can; for it is a difficult matter. There are\nmany villages; but such a thing as an isolated cottage is extremely\nrare. Let us try one or two of the green valleys among the chalk\neminences which sweep from Abbeville to Rouen. Here is a cottage at\nlast, and a picturesque one, which is more than we could say for the\nEnglish domicile. What then is the difference? There is a general air of\n_nonchalance_ about the French peasant's habitation, which is aided by a\nperfect want of everything like neatness; and rendered more conspicuous\nby some points about the building which have a look of neglected beauty,\nand obliterated ornament. Half of the whitewash is worn off, and the\nother half colored by various mosses and wandering lichens, which have\nbeen permitted to vegetate upon it, and which, though beautiful,\nconstitute a kind of beauty from which the ideas of age and decay are\ninseparable. The tall roof of the garret window stands fantastically\nout; and underneath it, where, in England, we had a plain double\nlattice, is a deep recess, flatly arched at the top, built of solid\nmasses of gray stone, fluted on the edge; while the brightness of the\nglass within (if there be any) is lost in shade, causing the recess to\nappear to the observer like a dark eye. The door has the same character:\nit is also of stone, which is so much broken and disguised as to prevent\nit from giving any idea of strength or stability. The entrance is always\nopen; no roses, or anything else, are wreathed about it; several\nouthouses, built in the same style, give the building extent; and the\ngroup (in all probability, the dependency of some large old chateau in\nthe distance) does not peep out of copse, or thicket, or a group of tall\nand beautiful trees, but stands comfortlessly between two individuals\nof the columns of long-trunked facsimile elms, which keep guard along\nthe length of the public road.\n\n14. Now, let it be observed how perfectly, how singularly, the\ndistinctive characters of these two cottages agree with those of the\ncountries in which they are built; and of the people for whose use they\nare constructed. England is a country whose every scene is in\nminiature.[2] Its green valleys are not wide; its dewy hills are not\nhigh; its forests are of no extent, or, rather, it has nothing that can\npretend to a more sounding title than that of \"wood.\" Its champaigns are\nminutely checkered into fields; we can never see far at a time; and\nthere is a sense of something inexpressible, except by the truly English\nword \"snug,\" in every quiet nook and sheltered lane. The English\ncottage, therefore, is equally small, equally sheltered, equally\ninvisible at a distance.\n\n[Footnote 2: Compare with this chapter, _Modern Painters_, vol. iv.\nchap. 1.]\n\n15. But France is a country on a large scale. Low, but long, hills sweep\naway for miles into vast uninterrupted champaigns; immense forests\nshadow the country for hundreds of square miles, without once letting\nthrough the light of day; its pastures and arable land are divided on\nthe same scale; there are no fences; we can hardly place ourselves in\nany spot where we shall not see for leagues around; and there is a kind\nof comfortless sublimity in the size of every scene. The French cottage,\ntherefore, is on the same scale, equally large and desolate looking;\nbut we shall see, presently, that it can arouse feelings which, though\nthey cannot be said to give it sublimity, yet are of a higher order than\nany which can be awakened at the sight of the English cottage.\n\n16. Again, every bit of cultivated ground in England has a finished\nneatness; the fields are all divided by hedges or fences; the fruit\ntrees are neatly pruned; the roads beautifully made, etc. Everything is\nthe reverse in France: the fields are distinguished by the nature of the\ncrops they bear; the fruit trees are overgrown with moss and mistletoe;\nand the roads immeasurably wide, and miserably made.\n\n17. So much for the character of the two cottages, as they assimilate\nwith the countries in which they are found. Let us now see how they\nassimilate with the character of the people by whom they are built.\nEngland is a country of perpetually increasing prosperity and active\nenterprise; but, for that very reason, nothing is allowed to remain till\nit gets old. Large old trees are cut down for timber; old houses are\npulled down for the materials; and old furniture is laughed at and\nneglected. Everything is perpetually altered and renewed by the activity\nof invention and improvement. The cottage, consequently, has no\ndilapidated look about it; it is never suffered to get old; it is used\nas long as it is comfortable, and then taken down and rebuilt; for it\nwas originally raised in a style incapable of resisting the ravages of\ntime. But, in France, there prevail two opposite feelings, both in the\nextreme; that of the old pedigreed population, which preserves\nunlimitedly; and that of the modern revolutionists, which destroys\nunmercifully. Every object has partly the appearance of having been\npreserved with infinite care from an indefinite age, and partly exhibits\nthe evidence of recent ill-treatment and disfiguration. Primeval forests\nrear their vast trunks over those of many younger generations growing up\nbeside them; the chateau or the palace, showing, by its style of\narchitecture, its venerable age, bears the marks of the cannon-ball,\nand, from neglect, is withering into desolation. Little is renewed:\nthere is little spirit of improvement; and the customs which prevailed\ncenturies ago are still taught by the patriarchs of the families to\ntheir grandchildren. The French cottage, therefore, is just such as we\nshould have expected from the disposition of its inhabitants; its\nmassive windows, its broken ornaments, its whole air and appearance, all\ntell the same tale of venerable age, respected and preserved, till at\nlast its dilapidation wears an appearance of neglect.\n\n18. Again, the Englishman will sacrifice everything to comfort, and\nwill not only take great pains to secure it, but he has generally also\nthe power of doing so: for the English peasant is, on the average,\nwealthier than the French. The French peasant has no idea of comfort,\nand therefore makes no effort to secure it. The difference in the\ncharacter of their inhabitants is, as we have seen, written on the\nfronts of their respective cottages. The Englishman is, also, fond of\ndisplay; but the ornaments, exterior and interior, with which he adorns\nhis dwelling, however small it may be, are either to show the extent of\nhis possessions, or to contribute to some personal profit or\ngratification: they never seem designed for the sake of ornament alone.\nThus, his wife's love of display is shown by the rows of useless\ncrockery in her cupboard; and his own by the rose tree at the front\ndoor, from which he may obtain an early bud to stick in the buttonhole\nof his best blue coat on Sundays: the honeysuckle is cultivated for its\nsmell, the garden for its cabbages. Not so in France. There, the meanest\npeasant, with an equal or greater love of display, embellishes his\ndwelling as much as lies in his power, solely for the gratification of\nhis feeling of what is agreeable to the eye. The gable of his roof is\nprettily shaped; the niche at its corner is richly carved; the wooden\nbeams, if there be any, are fashioned into grotesque figures; and even\nthe \"air neglige\" and general dilapidation of the building tell a\nthousand times more agreeably to an eye accustomed to the picturesque,\nthan the spruce preservation of the English cottage.\n\n19. No building which we feel to excite a sentiment of mere complacency\ncan be said to be in good taste. On the contrary, when the building is\nof such a class, that it can neither astonish by its beauty, nor impress\nby its sublimity, and when it is likewise placed in a situation so\nuninteresting as to render something more than mere fitness or propriety\nnecessary, and to compel the eye to expect something from the building\nitself, a gentle contrast of feeling in that building is exceedingly\ndesirable; and if possible, a sense that something has passed away, the\npresence of which would have bestowed a deeper interest on the whole\nscene. The fancy will immediately try to recover this, and, in the\nendeavor, will obtain the desired effect from an indefinite cause.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 1. Old Windows: from an early sketch by the Author.]\n\n20. Now, the French cottage cannot please by its propriety, for it can\nonly be adapted to the ugliness around; and, as it ought to be, and\ncannot but be, adapted to this, it is still less able to please by its\nbeauty. How, then, can it please? There is no pretense to gayety in its\nappearance, no green flower-pots in ornamental lattices; but the\nsubstantial style of any ornaments it may possess, the recessed windows,\nthe stone carvings, and the general size of the whole, unite to produce\nan impression of the building having once been fit for the residence of\nprouder inhabitants; of its having once possessed strength, which is now\nwithered, and beauty, which is now faded. This sense of something lost,\nsomething which has been, and is not, is precisely what is wanted. The\nimagination is set actively to work in an instant; and we are made aware\nof the presence of a beauty, the more pleasing because visionary; and,\nwhile the eye is pitying the actual humility of the present building,\nthe mind is admiring the imagined pride of the past. Every mark of\ndilapidation increases this feeling; while these very marks (the\nfractures of the stone, the lichens of the moldering walls, and the\ngraceful lines of the sinking roof) are all delightful in themselves.\n\n21. Thus, we have shown that, while the English cottage is pretty from\nits propriety, the French cottage, having the same connection with its\nclimate, country, and people, produces such a contrast of feeling as\nbestows on it a beauty addressing itself to the mind, and is therefore\nin perfectly good taste. If we are asked why, in this instance, good\ntaste produces only what every traveler feels to be not in the least\nstriking, we reply that, where the surrounding circumstances are\nunfavorable, the very adaptation to them which we have declared to be\nnecessary renders the building uninteresting; and that, in the next\npaper, we shall see a very different result from the operations of\nequally good taste in adapting a cottage to its situation, in one of the\nnoblest districts of Europe. Our subject will be, the Lowland Cottage of\nNorth Italy.\n\nOXFORD, _Sept., 1837._\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nTHE LOWLAND COTTAGE--ITALY.\n\n\"Most musical, most melancholy.\"\n\n\n22. Let it not be thought that we are unnecessarily detaining our\nreaders from the proposed subject, if we premise a few remarks on the\ncharacter of the landscape of the country we have now entered. It will\nalways be necessary to obtain some definite knowledge of the distinctive\nfeatures of a country, before we can form a just estimate of the\nbeauties or the errors of its architecture. We wish our readers to imbue\nthemselves as far as may be with the spirit of the clime which we are\nnow entering; to cast away all general ideas; to look only for unison of\nfeeling, and to pronounce everything wrong which is contrary to the\n_humors_ of nature. We must make them feel where they are; we must throw\na peculiar light and color over their imaginations; then we will bring\ntheir judgment into play, for then it will be capable of just operation.\n\n23. We have passed, it must be observed (in leaving England and France\nfor Italy), from comfort to desolation; from excitement, to sadness: we\nhave left one country prosperous in its prime, and another frivolous in\nits age, for one glorious in its death.\n\nNow, we have prefixed the hackneyed line of Il Penseroso to our paper,\nbecause it is a definition of the essence of the beautiful. What is most\nmusical, will always be found most melancholy; and no real beauty can be\nobtained without a touch of sadness. Whenever the beautiful loses its\nmelancholy, it degenerates into prettiness. We appeal to the memories of\nall our observing readers, whether they have treasured up any scene,\npretending to be more than pretty, which has not about it either a tinge\nof melancholy or a sense of danger; the one constitutes the beautiful,\nthe other the sublime.\n\n24. This postulate being granted, as we are sure it will by most (and we\nbeg to assure those who are refractory or argumentative, that, were this\na treatise on the sublime and beautiful, we could convince and quell\ntheir incredulity to their entire satisfaction by innumerable\ninstances), we proceed to remark here, once for all, that the principal\nglory of the Italian landscape is its extreme melancholy. It is fitting\nthat it should be so: the dead are the nations of Italy; her name and\nher strength are dwelling with the pale nations underneath the earth;\nthe chief and chosen boast of her utmost pride is the _hic jacet_; she\nis but one wide sepulcher, and all her present life is like a shadow or\na memory. And therefore, or, rather, by a most beautiful coincidence,\nher national tree is the cypress; and whoever has marked the peculiar\ncharacter which these noble shadowy spires can give to her landscape,\nlifting their majestic troops of waving darkness from beside the fallen\ncolumn, or out of the midst of the silence of the shadowed temple and\nworshipless shrine, seen far and wide over the blue of the faint plain,\nwithout loving the dark trees for their sympathy with the sadness of\nItaly's sweet cemetery shore, is one who profanes her soil with his\nfootsteps.\n\n25. Every part of the landscape is in unison; the same glory of mourning\nis thrown over the whole; the deep blue of the heavens is mingled with\nthat of the everlasting hills, or melted away into the silence of the\nsapphire sea; the pale cities, temple and tower, lie gleaming along the\nchampaign; but how calmly! no hum of men; no motion of multitude in the\nmidst of them: they are voiceless as the city of ashes. The transparent\nair is gentle among the blossoms of the orange and the dim leaves of the\nolive; and the small fountains, which, in any other land, would spring\nmerrily along, sparkling and singing among tinkling pebbles, here flow\ncalmly and silently into some pale font of marble, all beautiful with\nlife; worked by some unknown hand, long ago nerveless, and fall and\npass on among wan flowers, and scented copse, through cool leaf-lighted\ncaves or gray Egerian grottoes, to join the Tiber or Eridanus, to swell\nthe waves of Nemi, or the Larian Lake. The most minute objects (leaf,\nflower, and stone), while they add to the beauty, seem to share in the\nsadness, of the whole.\n\n26. But, if one principal character of Italian landscape is melancholy,\nanother is elevation. We have no simple rusticity of scene, no cowslip\nand buttercup humility of seclusion. Tall mulberry trees, with festoons\nof the luxuriant vine, purple with ponderous clusters, trailed and\ntrellised between and over them, shade the wide fields of stately Indian\ncorn; luxuriance of lofty vegetation (catalpa, and aloe, and olive),\nranging itself in lines of massy light along the wan champaign, guides\nthe eye away to the unfailing wall of mountain, Alp or Apennine; no cold\nlong range of shivery gray, but dazzling light of snow, or undulating\nbreadth of blue, fainter and darker, in infinite variety; peak,\nprecipice, and promontory passing away into the wooded hills, each with\nits tower or white village sloping into the plain; castellated\nbattlements cresting their undulations; some wide majestic river gliding\nalong the champaign, the bridge on its breast, and the city on its\nshore; the whole canopied with cloudless azure, basking in mistless\nsunshine, breathing the silence of odoriferous air.\n\n27. Now comes the question. In a country of this pomp of natural glory,\ntempered with melancholy memory of departed pride, what are we to wish\nfor, what are we naturally to expect in the character of her most humble\nedifices; those which are most connected with present life--least with\nthe past? what are we to consider fitting or beautiful in her cottage?\n\nWe do not expect it to be comfortable, when everything around it\nbetokens decay and desolation in the works of man. We do not wish it to\nbe neat, where nature is most beautiful, because neglected. But we\nnaturally look for an elevation of character, a richness of design or\nform, which, while the building is kept a cottage, may yet give it a\npeculiar air of cottage aristocracy; a beauty (no matter how\ndilapidated) which may appear to have been once fitted for the\nsurrounding splendor of scene and climate. Now, let us fancy an Italian\ncottage before us. The reader who has traveled in Italy will find little\ndifficulty in recalling one to his memory, with its broad lines of light\nand shadow, and its strange, but not unpleasing mixture of grandeur and\ndesolation. Let us examine its details, enumerate its architectural\npeculiarities, and see how far it agrees with our preconceived idea of\nwhat the cottage ought to be?\n\n28. The first remarkable point of the building is the roof. It generally\nconsists of tiles of very deep curvature, which rib it into distinct\nvertical lines, giving it a far more agreeable surface than that of our\nflatter tiling. The _form_ of the roof, however, is always excessively\nflat, so as never to let it intrude upon the eye; and the consequence\nis, that, while an English village, seen at a distance, appears all red\nroof, the Italian is all white wall; and therefore, though always\nbright, is never gaudy. We have in these roofs an excellent example of\nwhat should always be kept in mind, that everything will be found\nbeautiful, which climate or situation render useful. The strong and\nconstant heat of the Italian sun would be intolerable if admitted at the\nwindows; and, therefore, the edges of the roof project far over the\nwalls, and throw long shadows downwards, so as to keep the upper windows\nconstantly cool. These long oblique shadows on the white surface are\nalways delightful, and are alone sufficient to give the building\ncharacter. They are peculiar to the buildings of Spain and Italy; for\nowing to the general darker color of those of more northerly climates,\nthe shadows of their roofs, however far thrown, do not tell distinctly,\nand render them, not varied, but gloomy. Another ornamental use of these\nshadows is, that they break the line of junction of the wall with the\nroof: a point always desirable, and in every kind of building, whether\nwe have to do with lead, slate, tile, or thatch, one of extreme\ndifficulty. This object is farther forwarded in the Italian cottage, by\nputting two or three windows up under the very eaves themselves, which\nis also done for coolness, so that their tops are formed by the roof;\nand the wall has the appearance of having been terminated by large\nbattlements and roofed over. And, finally, the eaves are seldom kept\nlong on the same level: double or treble rows of tiling are introduced;\nlong sticks and irregular wood-work are occasionally attached to them,\nto assist the festoons of the vine; and the graceful irregularity and\nmarked character of the whole must be dwelt on with equal delight by the\neye of the poet, the artist, or the unprejudiced architect. All,\nhowever, is exceedingly humble; we have not yet met with the elevation\nof character we expected. We shall find it however as we proceed.\n\n29. The next point of interest is the window. The modern Italian is\ncompletely owl-like in his habits. All the daytime he lies idle and\ninert; but during the night he is all activity, but it is mere activity\nof inoccupation. Idleness, partly induced by the temperature of the\nclimate, and partly consequent on the decaying prosperity of the nation,\nleaves indications of its influence on all his undertakings. He prefers\npatching up a ruin to building a house; he raises shops and hovels, the\nabodes of inactive, vegetating, brutish poverty, under the protection of\naged and ruined, yet stalwart, arches of the Roman amphitheater; and the\nhabitations of the lower orders frequently present traces of ornament\nand stability of material evidently belonging to the remains of a\nprouder edifice. This is the case sometimes to such a degree as, in\nanother country, would be disagreeable from its impropriety; but, in\nItaly, it corresponds with the general prominence of the features of a\npast age, and is always beautiful. Thus, the eye rests with delight on\nthe broken moldings of the windows, and the sculptured capitals of the\ncorner columns, contrasted, as they are, the one with the glassless\nblackness within, the other with the ragged and dirty confusion of\ndrapery around. The Italian window, in general, is a mere hole in the\nthick wall, always well proportioned; occasionally arched at the top,\nsometimes with the addition of a little rich ornament: seldom, if ever,\nhaving any casement or glass, but filled up with any bit of striped or\ncolored cloth, which may have the slightest chance of deceiving the\ndistant observer into the belief that it is a legitimate blind. This\nkeeps off the sun, and allows a free circulation of air, which is the\ngreat object. When it is absent, the window becomes a mere black hole,\nhaving much the same relation to a glazed window that the hollow of a\nskull has to a bright eye; not unexpressive, but frowning and ghastly,\nand giving a disagreeable impression of utter emptiness and desolation\nwithin. Yet there is character in them: the black dots tell agreeably on\nthe walls at a distance, and have no disagreeable sparkle to disturb the\nrepose of surrounding scenery. Besides, the temperature renders\neverything agreeable to the eye, which gives it an idea of ventilation.\nA few roughly constructed balconies, projecting from detached windows,\nusually break the uniformity of the wall. In some Italian cottages there\nare wooden galleries, resembling those so frequently seen in\nSwitzerland; but this is not a very general character, except in the\nmountain valleys of North Italy, although sometimes a passage is\neffected from one projecting portion of a house to another by means of\nan exterior gallery. These are very delightful objects; and when shaded\nby luxuriant vines, which is frequently the case, impart a gracefulness\nto the building otherwise unattainable.\n\n30. The next striking point is the arcade at the base of the building.\nThis is general in cities; and, although frequently wanting to the\ncottage, is present often enough to render it an important feature. In\nfact, the Italian cottage is usually found in groups. Isolated buildings\nare rare; and the arcade affords an agreeable, if not necessary, shade,\nin passing from one building to another. It is a still more unfailing\nfeature of the Swiss city, where it is useful in deep snow. But the\nsupports of the arches in Switzerland are generally square masses of\nwall, varying in size, separating the arches by irregular intervals, and\nsustained by broad and massy buttresses; while in Italy, the arches\ngenerally rest on legitimate columns, varying in height from one and a\nhalf to four diameters, with huge capitals, not unfrequently rich in\ndetail. These give great gracefulness to the buildings in groups: they\nwill be spoken of more at large when we are treating of arrangement and\nsituation.\n\n[Illustration: Italian Cottage Gallery, 1846. Chimney at Neuchatel;\nDent du Midi and Mont Blanc in the distance.]\n\n[Illustration: Cottage near la Cite, Val d'Aosta, 1838.]\n\n31. The square tower, rising over the roof of the farther cottage, will\nnot escape observation. It has been allowed to remain, not because such\nelevated buildings ever belong to mere cottages, but, first, that the\ntruth of the scene might not be destroyed;[3] and, secondly, because it\nis impossible, or nearly so, to obtain a group of buildings of any sort,\nin Italy, without one or more such objects rising behind them,\nbeautifully contributing to destroy the monotony, and contrast with the\nhorizontal lines of the flat roofs and square walls. We think it right,\ntherefore, to give the cottage the relief and contrast which, in\nreality, it possessed, even though we are at present speaking of it in\nthe abstract.\n\n[Footnote 3: The annexed illustration will, perhaps, make the remarks\nadvanced more intelligible. The building, which is close to the city of\nAosta, unites in itself all the peculiarities for which the Italian\ncottage is remarkable: the dark arcade, the sculptured capital, the\nvine-covered gallery, the flat and confused roof; and clearly exhibits\nthe points to which we wish particularly to direct attention; namely,\nbrightness of effect, simplicity of form, and elevation of character.\nLet it not be supposed, however, that such a combination of attributes\nis rare; on the contrary, it is common to the greater part of the\ncottages of Italy. This building has not been selected as a rare\nexample, but it is given as a good one. [These remarks refer to a cut in\nthe magazine text, represented in the illustrated edition by a\nphotogravure from the original sketch.]]\n\n32. Having now reviewed the distinctive parts of the Italian cottage in\ndetail, we shall proceed to direct our attention to points of general\ncharacter. I. Simplicity of form. The roof, being flat, allows of no\nprojecting garret windows, no fantastic gable ends: the walls themselves\nare equally flat; no bow-windows or sculptured oriels, such as we meet\nwith perpetually in Germany, France, or the Netherlands, vary their\nwhite fronts. Now, this simplicity is, perhaps, the principal attribute\nby which the Italian cottage attains the elevation of character we\ndesired and expected. All that is fantastic in form, or frivolous in\ndetail, annihilates the aristocratic air of a building: it at once\ndestroys its sublimity and size, besides awakening, as is almost always\nthe case, associations of a mean and low character. The moment we see a\ngable roof, we think of cock-lofts; the instant we observe a projecting\nwindow, of attics and tent-bedsteads. Now, the Italian cottage assumes,\nwith the simplicity, _l'air noble_ of buildings of a higher order; and,\nthough it avoids all ridiculous miniature mimicry of the palace, it\ndiscards the humbler attributes of the cottage. The ornament it assumes\nis dignified; no grinning faces, or unmeaning notched planks, but\nwell-proportioned arches, or tastefully sculptured columns. While there\nis nothing about it unsuited to the humility of its inhabitant, there is\na general dignity in its air, which harmonizes beautifully with the\nnobility of the neighboring edifices, or the glory of the surrounding\nscenery.\n\n33. II. Brightness of effect. There are no weather stains on the walls:\nthere is no dampness in air or earth, by which they could be induced;\nthe heat of the sun scorches away all lichens, and mosses and moldy\nvegetation. No thatch or stone crop on the roof unites the building with\nsurrounding vegetation; all is clear, and warm, and sharp on the eye;\nthe more distant the building, the more generally bright it becomes,\ntill the distant village sparkles out of the orange copse, or the\ncypress grove, with so much distinctness as might be thought in some\ndegree objectionable. But it must be remembered that the prevailing\ncolor of the Italian landscape is blue; sky, hills, water, are equally\nazure: the olive, which forms a great proportion of the vegetation, is\nnot green, but gray; the cypress and its varieties, dark and neutral,\nand the laurel and myrtle far from bright. Now, white, which is\nintolerable with green, is agreeably contrasted with blue; and to this\ncause it must be ascribed that the white of the Italian building is not\nfound startling and disagreeable in the landscape. That it is not, we\nbelieve, will be generally allowed.\n\n34. III. Elegance of feeling. We never can prevent ourselves from\nimagining that we perceive in the graceful negligence of the Italian\ncottage, the evidence of a taste among the lower orders refined by the\nglory of their land, and the beauty of its remains. We have always had\nstrong faith in the influence of climate on the mind, and feel strongly\ntempted to discuss the subject at length; but our paper has already\nexceeded its proposed limits, and we must content ourselves with\nremarking what will not, we think, be disputed, that the eye, by\nconstantly resting either on natural scenery of noble tone and\ncharacter, or on the architectural remains of classical beauty, must\ncontract a habit of feeling correctly and tastefully; the influence of\nwhich, we think, is seen in the style of edifices the most modern and\nthe most humble.\n\n35. Lastly, Dilapidation. We have just used the term \"graceful\nnegligence\": whether it be graceful, or not, is a matter of taste; but\nthe uncomfortable and ruinous disorder and dilapidation of the Italian\ncottage is one of observation. The splendor of the climate requires\nnothing more than shade from the sun, and occasionally shelter from a\nviolent storm: the outer arcade affords them both; it becomes the\nnightly lounge and daily dormitory of its inhabitant, and the interior\nis abandoned to filth and decay. Indolence watches the tooth of Time\nwith careless eye and nerveless hand. Religion, or its abuse, reduces\nevery individual of the population to utter inactivity three days out of\nthe seven; and the habits formed in the three regulate the four. Abject\npoverty takes away the power, while brutish sloth weakens the will; and\nthe filthy habits of the Italian prevent him from suffering from the\nstate to which he is reduced. The shattered roofs, the dark, confused,\nragged windows, the obscure chambers, the tattered and dirty draperies,\naltogether present a picture which, seen too near, is sometimes\nrevolting to the eye, always melancholy to the mind. Yet even this many\nwould not wish to be otherwise. The prosperity of nations, as of\nindividuals, is cold and hard-hearted, and forgetful. The dead die,\nindeed, trampled down by the crowd of the living; the place thereof\nshall know them no more, for that place is not in the hearts of the\nsurvivors for whose interests they have made way. But adversity and ruin\npoint to the sepulcher, and it is not trodden on; to the chronicle, and\nit doth not decay. Who would substitute the rush of a new nation, the\nstruggle of an awakening power, for the dreamy sleep of Italy's\ndesolation, for her sweet silence of melancholy thought, her twilight\ntime of everlasting memories?\n\n36. Such, we think, are the principal distinctive attributes of the\nItalian cottage. Let it not be thought that we are wasting time in the\ncontemplation of its beauties; even though they are of a kind which the\narchitect can never imitate, because he has no command over time, and no\nchoice of situation; and which he ought not to imitate, if he could,\nbecause they are only locally desirable or admirable. Our object, let it\nalways be remembered, is not the attainment of architectural data, but\nthe formation of taste.\n\n_Oct. 12, 1837_\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN COTTAGE--SWITZERLAND.\n\n\n37. In the three instances of the lowland cottage which have been\nalready considered, are included the chief peculiarities of style which\nare interesting or important. I have not, it is true, spoken of the\ncarved oaken gable and shadowy roof of the Norman village; of the black\ncrossed rafters and fantastic proportions which delight the eyes of the\nGerman; nor of the Moorish arches and confused galleries which mingle so\nmagnificently with the inimitable fretwork of the gray temples of the\nSpaniard. But these are not peculiarities solely belonging to the\ncottage: they are found in buildings of a higher order, and seldom,\nunless where they are combined with other features. They are therefore\nrather to be considered, in future, as elements of street effect, than,\nnow, as the peculiarities of independent buildings. My remarks on the\nItalian cottage might, indeed, be applied, were it not for the constant\npresence of Moorish feeling, to that of Spain. The architecture of the\ntwo nations is intimately connected: modified, in Italy, by the taste of\nthe Roman; and, in Spain, by the fanciful creations of the Moor. When I\nam considering the fortress and the palace,[4] I shall be compelled to\ndevote a very large share of my attention to Spain; but for\ncharacteristic examples of the cottage, I turn rather to Switzerland and\nEngland. Preparatory, therefore, to a few general remarks on modern\nornamental cottages, it will be instructive to observe the peculiarities\nof two varieties of the mountain cottage, diametrically opposite to\neach other in most of their features; one always beautiful, and the\nother frequently so.\n\n[Footnote 4: That part, however, was not written, as the \"Architectural\nMagazine\" stopped running soon after the conclusion of Part II. \"The\nVilla.\"]\n\n38. First, for Helvetia. Well do I remember the thrilling and exquisite\nmoment when first, first in my life (which had not been over long), I\nencountered, in a calm and shadowy dingle, darkened with the thick\nspreading of tall pines, and voiceful with the singing of a\nrock-encumbered stream, and passing up towards the flank of a smooth\ngreen mountain, whose swarded summit shone in the summer snow like an\nemerald set in silver; when, I say, I first encountered in this calm\ndefile of the Jura, the unobtrusive, yet beautiful, front of the Swiss\ncottage. I thought it the loveliest piece of architecture I had ever had\nthe felicity of contemplating; yet it was nothing in itself, nothing but\na few mossy fir trunks, loosely nailed together, with one or two gray\nstones on the roof: but its power was the power of association; its\nbeauty, that of fitness and humility.\n\n39. How different is this from what modern architects erect, when they\nattempt to produce what is, by courtesy, called a Swiss cottage. The\nmodern building known in Britain by that name has very long chimneys,\ncovered with various exceedingly ingenious devices for the convenient\nreception and hospitable entertainment of soot, supposed by the innocent\nand deluded proprietor to be \"meant for ornament.\" Its gable roof slopes\nat an acute angle, and terminates in an interesting and romantic manner,\nat each extremity, in a tooth-pick. Its walls are very precisely and\nprettily plastered; and it is rendered quite complete by the addition of\ntwo neat little bow windows, supported on neat little mahogany brackets,\nfull of neat little squares of red and yellow glass. Its door is\napproached under a neat little veranda, \"uncommon green,\" and is flanked\non each side by a neat little round table, with all its legs of\ndifferent lengths, and by a variety of neat little wooden chairs, all\nvery peculiarly uncomfortable, and amazingly full of earwigs: the whole\nbeing surrounded by a garden full of flints, burnt bricks and cinders,\nwith some water in the middle, and a fountain in the middle of it,\nwhich won't play; accompanied by some goldfish, which won't swim; and\nby two or three ducks, which will splash. Now, I am excessively sorry to\ninform the members of any respectable English family, who are making\nthemselves uncomfortable in one of these ingenious conceptions, under\nthe idea that they are living in a Swiss cottage, that they labor under\na melancholy deception; and shall now proceed to investigate the\npeculiarities of the real building.\n\n40. The life of a Swiss peasant is divided into two periods; that in\nwhich he is watching his cattle at their summer pasture on the high\nAlps,[5] and that in which he seeks shelter from the violence of the\nwinter storms in the most retired parts of the low valleys. During the\nfirst period, he requires only occasional shelter from storms of\nexcessive violence; during the latter, a sufficient protection from\ncontinued inclement weather. The Alpine or summer cottage, therefore, is\na rude log hut, formed of unsquared pine trunks, notched into each other\nat the corners. The roof being excessively flat, so as to offer no\nsurface to the wind, is covered with fragments of any stone that will\nsplit easily, held on by crossing logs; which are in their turn kept\ndown by masses of stone; the whole being generally sheltered behind some\nprotecting rock, or resting against the slope of the mountain, so that,\nfrom one side, you may step upon the roof. That is the _chalet_. When\nwell grouped, running along a slope of mountain side, these huts produce\na very pleasing effect, being never obtrusive (owing to the prevailing\ngrayness of their tone), uniting well with surrounding objects, and\nbestowing at once animation and character.\n\n[Footnote 5: I use the word Alp here, and in future, in its proper\nsense, of a high mountain pasture; not in its secondary sense, of a\nsnowy peak.]\n\n41. But the winter residence, the Swiss cottage, properly so-called is a\nmuch more elaborate piece of workmanship. The principal requisite is, of\ncourse, strength: and this is always observable in the large size of the\ntimbers, and the ingenious manner in which they are joined, so as to\nsupport and relieve each other, when any of them are severely tried.\nThe roof is always very flat, generally meeting at an angle of 155 deg., and\nprojecting from 5 ft. to 7 ft. over the cottage side, in order to\nprevent the windows from being thoroughly clogged up with snow. That\nthis projection may not be crushed down by the enormous weight of snow\nwhich it must sometimes sustain, it is assisted by strong wooden\nsupports (seen in Fig. 3), which sometimes extend half down the walls\nfor the sake of strength, divide the side into regular compartments, and\nare rendered ornamental by grotesque carving. Every canton has its own\nwindow. That of Uri, with its diamond wood-work at the bottom, is,\nperhaps, one of the richest. (See Fig. 4.) The galleries are generally\nrendered ornamental by a great deal of labor bestowed upon their\nwood-work. This is best executed in the canton of Berne. The door is\nalways six or seven feet from the ground, and occasionally much more,\nthat it may be accessible in snow; and is reached by an oblique gallery,\nleading up to a horizontal one, as shown in Figs. 3 and 4. The base of\nthe cottage is formed of stone, generally whitewashed. The chimneys\nmust have a chapter to themselves; they are splendid examples of utility\ncombined with ornament.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 3. Swiss Cottage. 1837.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 4. Cottage near Altorf. 1835.]\n\nSuch are the chief characteristics of the Swiss cottage, separately\nconsidered. I must now take notice of its effect in scenery.\n\n42. When one has been wandering for a whole morning through a valley of\nperfect silence, where everything around, which is motionless, is\ncolossal, and everything which has motion, resistless; where the\nstrength and the glory of nature are principally developed in the very\nforces which feed upon her majesty; and where, in the midst of\nmightiness which seems imperishable, all that is indeed eternal is the\ninfluence of desolation; one is apt to be surprised, and by no means\nagreeably, to find, crouched behind some projecting rock, a piece of\narchitecture which is neat in the extreme, though in the midst of\nwildness, weak in the midst of strength, contemptible in the midst of\nimmensity. There is something offensive in its neatness: for the wood is\nalmost always perfectly clean, and looks as if it had just been cut; it\nis consequently raw in its color, and destitute of all variety of tone.\nThis is especially disagreeable, when the eye has been previously\naccustomed to, and finds, everywhere around, the exquisite mingling of\ncolor, and confused, though perpetually graceful, forms, by which the\ndetails of mountain scenery are peculiarly distinguished. Every fragment\nof rock is finished in its effect, tinted with thousands of pale lichens\nand fresh mosses; every pine tree is warm with the life of various\nvegetation; every grassy bank glowing with mellowed color, and waving\nwith delicate leafage. How, then, can the contrast be otherwise than\npainful, between this perfect loveliness, and the dead, raw, lifeless\nsurface of the deal boards of the cottage. Its weakness is pitiable;\nfor, though there is always evidence of considerable strength on close\nexamination, there is no _effect_ of strength: the real thickness of the\nlogs is concealed by the cutting and carving of their exposed surfaces;\nand even what is seen is felt to be so utterly contemptible, when\nopposed to the destructive forces which are in operation around, that\nthe feelings are irritated at the imagined audacity of the inanimate\nobject, with the self-conceit of its impotence; and, finally, the eye is\noffended at its want of size. It does not, as might be at first\nsupposed, enhance the sublimity of surrounding scenery by its\nlittleness, for it provokes no comparison; and there must be proportion\nbetween objects, or they cannot be compared. If the Parthenon, or the\nPyramid of Cheops, or St. Peter's, were placed in the same situation,\nthe mind would first form a just estimate of the magnificence of the\nbuilding, and then be trebly impressed with the size of the masses which\noverwhelmed it. The architecture would not lose, and the crags would\ngain, by the juxtaposition; but the cottage, which must be felt to be a\nthing which the weakest stream of the Alps could toss down before it\nlike a foam-globe, is offensively contemptible: it is like a child's toy\nlet fall accidentally on the hillside; it does not unite with the scene;\nit is not content to sink into a quiet corner, and personify humility\nand peace; but it draws attention upon itself by its pretension to\ndecoration, while its decorations themselves cannot bear examination,\nbecause they are useless, unmeaning and incongruous.\n\n43. So much for its faults; and I have had no mercy upon them, the\nrather, because I am always afraid of being biased in its favor by my\nexcessive love for its sweet nationality. Now for its beauties. Wherever\nit is found, it always suggests ideas of a gentle, pure, and pastoral\nlife.[6] One feels that the peasants whose hands carved the planks so\nneatly, and adorned their cottage so industriously, and still preserve\nit so perfectly, and so neatly, can be no dull, drunken, lazy boors; one\nfeels, also, that it requires both firm resolution, and determined\nindustry, to maintain so successful a struggle against \"the crush of\nthunder, and the warring winds.\" Sweet ideas float over the imagination\nof such passages of peasant life as the gentle Walton so loved; of the\nfull milk-pail, and the mantling cream-bowl; of the evening dance and\nthe matin song; of the herdsmen on the Alps, of the maidens by the\nfountain; of all that is peculiarly and indisputably Swiss. For the\ncottage is beautifully national; there is nothing to be found the least\nlike it in any other country. The moment a glimpse is caught of its\nprojecting galleries, one knows that it is the land of Tell and\nWinkelried; and the traveler feels, that, were he indeed Swiss-born and\nAlp-bred, a bit of that carved plank, meeting his eye in a foreign land,\nwould be as effectual as a note of the _Ranz des Vaches_ upon the ear.\n\n[Footnote 6: Compare _Modern Painters_, vol. iv. chap. xi, and vol. v.\nchap. ix.]\n\n44. Again, when a number of these cottages are grouped together, they\nbreak upon each other's formality, and form a mass of fantastic\nproportion, of carved window and overhanging roof, full of character and\npicturesque in the extreme. An excellent example of this is the Bernese\nvillage of Unterseen. Again, when the ornament is not very elaborate,\nyet enough to preserve the character, and the cottage is old, and not\nvery well kept (suppose in a Catholic canton), and a little rotten, the\neffect is beautiful: the timber becomes weather-stained, and of a fine\nwarm brown, harmonizing delightfully with the gray stones on the roof,\nand the dark green of surrounding pines. If it be fortunate enough to be\nsituated in some quiet glen, out of sight of the gigantic features of\nthe scene, and surrounded with cliffs to which it bears some proportion;\nand if it be partially concealed, not intruding on the eye, but well\nunited with everything around, it becomes altogether perfect; humble,\nbeautiful, and interesting. Perhaps no cottage can then be found to\nequal it; and none can be more finished in effect, graceful in detail,\nand characteristic as a whole.\n\n45. The ornaments employed in the decoration of the Swiss cottage do not\ndemand much attention; they are usually formed in a most simple manner,\nby thin laths, which are carved into any fanciful form, or in which rows\nof holes are cut, generally diamond shaped; and they are then nailed one\nabove another to give the carving depth. Pinnacles are never raised on\nthe roof, though carved spikes are occasionally suspended from it at\nthe angles. No ornamental work is ever employed to disguise the beams of\nthe projecting part of the roof, nor does any run along its edges. The\ngalleries, in the canton of Uri, are occasionally supported on arched\nbeams, as shown in Fig. 4, which have a very pleasing effect.\n\n[Illustration: Swiss Chalet Balcony, 1842.]\n\n46. Of the adaptation of the building to climate and character, little\ncan be said. When I called it \"national,\" I meant only that it was quite\n_sui generis_, and, therefore, being only found in Switzerland, might be\nconsidered as a national building; though it has none of the mysterious\nconnection with the mind of its inhabitants which is evident in all\nreally fine edifices. But there is a reason for this; Switzerland has no\nclimate, properly speaking, but an assemblage of every climate, from\nItaly to the Pole; the vine wild in its valleys, the ice eternal on its\ncrags. The Swiss themselves are what we might have expected in persons\ndwelling in such a climate; they have no character. The sluggish nature\nof the air of the valleys has a malignant operation on the mind; and\neven the mountaineers, though generally shrewd and intellectual, have no\nperceptible nationality: they have no language, except a mixture of\nItalian and bad German; they have no peculiar turn of mind; they might\nbe taken as easily for Germans as for Swiss. No correspondence,\nconsequently, can exist between national architecture and national\ncharacter, where the latter is not distinguishable. Generally speaking,\nthen, the Swiss cottage cannot be said to be built in good taste; but it\nis occasionally picturesque, frequently pleasing, and, under a favorable\nconcurrence of circumstances, beautiful. It is not, however, a thing to\nbe imitated; it is always, when out of its own country, incongruous; it\nnever harmonizes with anything around it, and can therefore be employed\nonly in mimicry of what does not exist, not in improvement of what does.\nI mean, that any one who has on his estate a dingle shaded with larches\nor pines, with a rapid stream, may manufacture a bit of Switzerland as a\ntoy; but such imitations are always contemptible, and he cannot use the\nSwiss cottage in any other way. A modified form of it, however, as will\nbe hereafter shown, may be employed with advantage. I hope, in my next\npaper, to derive more satisfaction from the contemplation of the\nmountain cottage of Westmoreland, than I have been able to obtain from\nthat of the Swiss.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN COTTAGE--WESTMORELAND.\n\n\n47. When I devoted so much time to the consideration of the\npeculiarities of the Swiss cottage, I did not previously endeavor to\nascertain what the mind, influenced by the feelings excited by the\nnature of its situation, would be induced to expect, or disposed to\nadmire. I thus deviated from the general rule which I hope to be able to\nfollow out; but I did so only because the subject for consideration was\nincapable of fulfilling the expectation when excited, or corresponding\nwith the conception when formed. But now, in order to appreciate the\nbeauty of the Westmoreland cottage, it will be necessary to fix upon a\nstandard of excellence, with which it may be compared.\n\nOne of the principal charms of mountain scenery is its solitude. Now,\njust as silence is never perfect or deep without motion, solitude is\nnever perfect without some vestige of life. Even desolation is not felt\nto be utter, unless in some slight degree interrupted: unless the\ncricket is chirping on the lonely hearth, or the vulture soaring over\nthe field of corpses, or the one mourner lamenting over the red ruins of\nthe devastated village, that devastation is not felt to be complete. The\nanathema of the prophet does not wholly leave the curse of loneliness\nupon the mighty city, until he tells us that \"the satyr shall dance\nthere.\" And, if desolation, which is the destruction of life, cannot\nleave its impression perfect without some interruption, much less can\nsolitude, which is only the absence of life, be felt without some\ncontrast. Accordingly, it is, perhaps, never so perfect as when a\npopulous and highly cultivated plain, immediately beneath, is visible\nthrough the rugged ravines, or over the cloudy summits of some tall,\nvast, and voiceless mountain.\n\n48. When such a prospect is not attainable, one of the chief uses of the\nmountain cottage, paradoxical as the idea may appear, is to increase\nthis sense of solitude. Now, as it will only do so when it is seen at a\nconsiderable distance, it is necessary that it should be visible, or, at\nleast, that its presence should be indicated, over a considerable\nportion of surrounding space. It must not, therefore, be too much shaded\nby trees, or it will be useless; but if, on the contrary, it be too\nconspicuous on the open hillside, it will be liable to most of the\nobjections which were advanced against the Swiss cottage, and to\nanother, which was not then noticed. Anything which, to the eye, is\nsplit into parts, appears less as a whole than what is undivided. Now, a\nconsiderable mass, of whatever tone or color it may consist, is as\neasily divisible by dots as by lines; that is, a conspicuous point, on\nany part of its surface, will divide it into two portions, each of which\nwill be individually measured by the eye, but which will never make the\nimpression which they would have made, had their unity not been\ninterrupted. A conspicuous cottage on a distant mountain side has this\neffect in a fatal degree, and is, therefore, always intolerable.\n\n49. It should accordingly, in order to reconcile the attainment of the\ngood, with the avoidance of the evil, be barely visible: it should not\ntell as a cottage on the eye, though it should on the mind; for be it\nobserved that, if it is only by the closest investigation that we can\nascertain it to be a human habitation, it will answer the purpose of\nincreasing the solitude quite as well as if it were evidently so;\nbecause this impression is produced by its appeal to the thoughts, not\nby its effect on the eye. Its color, therefore, should be as nearly as\npossible that of the hill on which, or the crag beneath which, it is\nplaced; its form, one that will incorporate well with the ground, and\napproach that of a large stone more than of anything else. The color\nwill consequently, if this rule be followed, be subdued and grayish,\nbut rather warm; and the form simple, graceful, and unpretending. The\nbuilding should retain the same general character on a closer\nexamination. Everything about it should be natural, and should appear as\nif the influences and forces which were in operation around it had been\ntoo strong to be resisted, and had rendered all efforts of art to check\ntheir power, or conceal the evidence of their action, entirely\nunavailing. It cannot but be an alien child of the mountains; but it\nmust show that it has been adopted and cherished by them. This effect is\nonly attainable by great ease of outline and variety of color;\npeculiarities which, as will be presently seen, the Westmoreland cottage\npossesses in a supereminent degree.\n\n50. Another feeling, with which one is impressed during a mountain\nramble, is humility. I found fault with the insignificance of the Swiss\ncottage, because \"it was not content to sink into a quiet corner, and\npersonify humility.\" Now, had it not been seen to be pretending, it\nwould not have been felt to be insignificant; for the feelings would\nhave been gratified with its submission to, and retirement from, the\nmajesty of the destructive influences which it rather seemed to rise up\nagainst in mockery. Such pretension is especially to be avoided in the\nmountain cottage: it can never lie too humbly in the pastures of the\nvalley, nor shrink too submissively into the hollows of the hills; it\nshould seem to be asking the storm for mercy, and the mountain for\nprotection: and should appear to owe to its weakness, rather than to its\nstrength, that it is neither overwhelmed by the one, nor crushed by the\nother.\n\n51. Such are the chief attributes, without which a mountain cottage\ncannot be said to be beautiful. It may possess others, which are\ndesirable or objectionable, according to their situation, or other\naccidental circumstances. The nature of these will be best understood by\nexamining an individual building. The material is, of course, what is\nmost easily attainable and available without much labor. The Cumberland\nand Westmoreland hills are, in general, composed of clay-slate and\ngray-wacke, with occasional masses of chert[7] (like that which forms\nthe summit of Scawfell), porphyritic greenstone, and syenite. The chert\ndecomposes deeply, and assumes a rough brown granular surface, deeply\nworn and furrowed. The clay-slate or gray-wacke, as it is shattered by\nfrost, and carried down by torrents, of course forms itself into\nirregular flattish masses. The splintery edges of these are in some\ndegree worn off by the action of water; and, slight decomposition taking\nplace on the surface of the clay-slate, furnishes an aluminous soil,\nwhich is immediately taken advantage of by innumerable lichens, which\nchange the dark gray of the original substance into an infinite variety\nof pale and warm colors. These stones, thus shaped to his hand, are the\nmost convenient building materials the peasant can obtain.[8] He lays\nhis foundation and strengthens his angles with large masses, filling up\nthe intervals with pieces of a more moderate size; and using here and\nthere a little cement to bind the whole together, and to keep the wind\nfrom getting through the interstices; but never enough to fill them\naltogether up, or to render the face of the wall smooth. At intervals of\nfrom 4 ft. to 6 ft. a horizontal line of flat and broad fragments is\nintroduced projecting about a foot from the wall. Whether this is\nsupposed to give strength, I know not; but as it is invariably covered\nby luxuriant stonecrop, it is always a delightful object.\n\n[Footnote 7: That is to say, a _flinty_ volcanic ash.]\n\n[Footnote 8: Compare the treatment of a similar theme in _Modern\nPainters_, vol. iv., chaps. viii.-x.]\n\n52. The door is flanked and roofed by three large oblong sheets of gray\nrock, whose form seems not to be considered of the slightest\nconsequence. Those which form the cheeks of the windows are generally\nselected with more care from the debris of some rock, which is naturally\nsmooth and polished, after being subjected to the weather, such as\ngranite or syenite. The window itself is narrow and deep set; in the\nbetter sort of cottages, latticed, but with no affectation of\nsweetbrier or eglantine about it. It may be observed of the whole of the\ncottage, that, though all is beautiful, nothing is pretty. The roof is\nrather flat, and covered with heavy fragments of the stone of which the\nwalls are built, originally very loose; but generally cemented by\naccumulated soil, and bound together by houseleek, moss, and stonecrop:\nbrilliant in color, and singular in abundance. The form of the larger\ncottages, being frequently that of a cross, would hurt the eye by the\nsharp angles of the roof, were it not for the cushion-like vegetation\nwith which they are rounded and concealed. Varieties of the fern\nsometimes relieve the massy forms of the stonecrop, with their light and\ndelicate leafage. Windows in the roof are seldom met with. Of the\nchimney I shall speak hereafter.\n\n53. Such are the prevailing peculiarities of the Westmoreland cottage.\n\"Is this all?\" some one will exclaim: \"a hovel, built of what first\ncomes to hand, and in the most simple and convenient form; not one\nthought of architectural beauty ever coming into the builder's head!\"\nEven so; to this illustration of an excellent rule, I wished\nparticularly to direct attention: that the material which Nature\nfurnishes, in any given country, and the form which she suggests, will\nalways render the building the most beautiful, because the most\nappropriate. Observe how perfectly this cottage fulfills the conditions\nwhich were before ascertained to be necessary to perfection. Its color\nis that of the ground on which it stands, always subdued and gray, but\nexquisitely rich, the color being disposed crumblingly, in groups of\nshadowy spots; a deep red brown, passing into black, being finely\ncontrasted with the pale yellow of the _Lichen geographicus_, and the\nsubdued white of another lichen, whose name I do not know; all mingling\nwith each other as on a native rock, and with the same beautiful effect:\nthe mass, consequently, at a distance, tells only as a large stone\nwould, the simplicity of its form contributing still farther to render\nit inconspicuous. When placed on a mountain-side such a cottage will\nbecome a point of interest, which will relieve its monotony, but will\nnever cut the hill in two, or take away from its size. In the valley,\nthe color of these cottages agrees with everything: the green light,\nwhich trembles through the leafage of the taller trees, falls with\nexquisite effect on the rich gray of the ancient roofs: the deep pool of\nclear water is not startled from its peace by their reflection; the ivy,\nor the creepers to which the superior wealth of the peasant of the\nvalley does now and then pretend, in opposition to the general custom,\ncling gracefully and easily to its innumerable crevices; and rock, lake,\nand meadow seem to hail it with a brotherly affection, as if Nature had\ntaken as much pains with it as she has with them.\n\n54. Again, observe its ease of outline. There is not a single straight\nline to be met with from foundation to roof; all is bending or broken.\nThe form of every stone in its walls is a study; for, owing to the\ninfinite delicacy of structure in all minerals, a piece of stone 3 in.\nin diameter, irregularly fractured, and a little worn by the weather,\nhas precisely the same character of outline which we should find and\nadmire in a mountain of the same material 6000 ft. high;[9] and,\ntherefore, the eye, though not feeling the cause, rests on every cranny,\nand crack, and fissure with delight. It is true that we have no idea\nthat every small projection, if of chert, has such an outline as\nScawfell's; if of gray-wacke, as Skiddaw's; or if of slate, as\nHelvellyn's; but their combinations of form are, nevertheless, felt to\nbe exquisite, and we dwell upon every bend of the rough roof and every\nhollow of the loose wall, feeling it to be a design which no architect\non earth could ever equal, sculptured by a chisel of unimaginable\ndelicacy, and finished to a degree of perfection, which is unnoticed\nonly because it is everywhere.\n\n[Footnote 9: Compare _Modern Painters_, vol. iv. chap. 18, Sec. 7.]\n\n55. This ease and irregularity is peculiarly delightful where\ngracefulness and freedom of outline and detail are, as they always are\nin mountain countries, the chief characteristics of every scene. It is\nwell that, where every plant is wild and every torrent free, every field\nirregular in its form, every knoll various in its outline, one is not\nstartled by well built walls, or unyielding roofs, but is permitted to\ntrace in the stones of the peasant's dwelling, as in the crags of the\nmountain side, no evidence of the line or the mallet, but the operation\nof eternal influences, the presence of an Almighty hand. Another\nperfection connected with its ease of outline is, its severity of\ncharacter: there is no foppery about it; not the slightest effort at any\nkind of ornament, but what nature chooses to bestow; it wears all its\ndecorations wildly, covering its nakedness, not with what the peasant\nmay plant, but with what the winds may bring. There is no gay color or\nneatness about it; no green shutters or other abomination: all is calm\nand quiet, and severe, as the mind of a philosopher, and, withal, a\nlittle somber. It is evidently old, and has stood many trials in its\nday; and the snow, and the tempest, and the torrent have all spared it,\nand left it in its peace, with its gray head unbowed, and its early\nstrength unbroken, even though the spirit of decay seems creeping, like\nthe moss and the lichen, through the darkness of its crannies. This\nvenerable and slightly melancholy character is the very soul of all its\nbeauty.\n\n56. There remains only one point to be noticed, its humility. This was\nbefore stated to be desirable, and it will here be found in perfection.\nThe building draws as little attention upon itself as possible; since,\nwith all the praise I have bestowed upon it, it possesses not one point\nof beauty in which it is not equaled or excelled by every stone at the\nside of the road. It is small in size, simple in form, subdued in tone,\neasily concealed or overshadowed; often actually so; and one is always\ndelighted and surprised to find that what courts attention so little is\ncapable of sustaining it so well. Yet it has no appearance of weakness:\nit is stoutly, though rudely, built; and one ceases to fear for its sake\nthe violence of surrounding agencies, which, it may be seen, will be\npartly deprecated by its humility.\n\n57. Such is the mountain cottage of Westmoreland; and such, with\noccasional varieties, are many of the mountain cottages of England and\nWales. It is true that my memory rests with peculiar pleasure in a\ncertain quiet valley near Kirkstone, little known to the general\ntourist, distant from any public track, and, therefore, free from all\nthe horrors of improvement:[10] in which it seemed to me that the\narchitecture of the cottage had attained a peculiar degree of\nperfection. But I think that this impression was rather produced by a\nfew seemingly insignificant accompanying circumstances, than by any\ndistinguished beauty of design in the cottages themselves. Their\ninhabitants were evidently poor, and apparently had not repaired their\ndwellings since their first erection; and, certainly, had never torn one\ntuft of moss or fern from roofs or walls, which were green with the rich\nvegetation of years. The valley was narrow, and quiet, and deep, and\nshaded by reverend trees, among whose trunks the gray cottages looked\nout, with a perfection of effect which I never remember to have seen\nequaled, though I believe that, in many of the mountain districts of\nBritain, the peasant's domicile is erected with equal good taste.\n\n[Footnote 10: Troutbeck, sixty years since?]\n\n58. I have always rejoiced in the thought, that our native highland\nscenery, though, perhaps, wanting in sublimity, is distinguished by a\ndelicate finish in its details, and by a unanimity and propriety of\nfeeling in the works of its inhabitants, which are elsewhere looked for\nin vain; and the reason of this is evident. The mind of the inhabitant\nof the continent, in general, is capable of deeper and finer sensations\nthan that of the islander. It is higher in its aspirations, purer in its\npassions, wilder in its dreams, and fiercer in its anger; but it is\nwanting in gentleness, and in its simplicity; naturally desirous of\nexcitement, and incapable of experiencing, in equal degree, the calmer\nflow of human felicity, the stillness of domestic peace, and the\npleasures of the humble hearth, consisting in everyday duties performed,\nand everyday mercies received; consequently, in the higher walks of\narchitecture, where the mind is to be impressed or elevated, we never\nhave equaled, and we never shall equal, them. It will be seen\nhereafter, when we leave the lowly valley for the torn ravine, and the\ngrassy knoll for the ribbed precipice, that, if the continental\narchitects cannot adorn the pasture with the humble roof, they can crest\nthe crag with eternal battlements;[11] if they cannot minister to a\nlandscape's peace, they can add to its terror; and it has been already\nseen, that, in the lowland cottages of France and Italy, where high and\nrefined feelings were to be induced, where melancholy was to be excited,\nor majesty bestowed, the architect was successful, and his labor was\nperfect: but, now, nothing is required but humility and gentleness; and\nthis, which he does not feel, he cannot give: it is contrary to the\nwhole force of his character, nay, even to the spirit of his religion.\nIt is unfelt even at the time when the soul is most chastened and\nsubdued; for the epitaph on the grave is affected in its sentiment, and\nthe tombstone gaudily gilded, or wreathed with vain flowers.\n\n[Footnote 11: This too refers to the unwritten sequel.]\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 6. The Highest House in England.]\n\n59. We cannot, then, be surprised at the effort at ornament and other\nfancied architectural beauties, which injure the effect of the more\npeaceful mountain scenery abroad; but still less should we be surprised\nat the perfect propriety which prevails in the same kind of scenery at\nhome; for the error which is there induced by one mental deficiency, is\nhere prevented by another. The uncultivated mountaineer of Cumberland\nhas no taste, and no idea of what architecture means; he never thinks of\nwhat is right, or what is beautiful, but he builds what is most adapted\nto his purposes, and most easily erected: by suiting the building to the\nuses of his own life, he gives it humility; and, by raising it with the\nnearest material, adapts it to its situation. This is all that is\nrequired, and he has no credit in fulfilling the requirement, since the\nmoment he begins to think of effect, he commits a barbarism by\nwhitewashing the whole. The cottages of Cumberland would suffer much by\nthis piece of improvement, were it not for the salutary operation of\nmountain rains and mountain winds.\n\n60. So much for the hill dwellings of our own country. I think the\nexamination of the five examples of the cottage which I have given have\nfurnished all the general principles which are important or worthy of\nconsideration; and I shall therefore devote no more time to the\ncontemplation of individual buildings. But, before I leave the cottage\naltogether, it will be necessary to notice a part of the building which\nI have in the separate instances purposely avoided mentioning, that I\nmight have the advantage of immediate comparison; a part exceedingly\nimportant, and which seems to have been essential to the palace as well\nas to the cottage, ever since the time when Perdiccas received his\nsignificant gift of the sun from his Macedonian master, [Greek:\nperigrapsas ton helion, hos en kata ten kapnodoken es ton oikon\nesechon].[12] And then I shall conclude the subject by a few general\nremarks on modern ornamental cottages, illustrative of the principle so\nadmirably developed in the beauty of the Westmoreland building; to\nwhich, it must be remembered, the palm was assigned, in preference to\nthe Switzer's; not because it was more labored, but because it was more\nnatural.\n\nOXFORD, _Jan., 1838._\n\n[Footnote 12: Herodotus viii, 137, freely quoted from memory. The story\nwas that three brothers took service with a kinglet in Macedonia. The\nqueen, who cooked their food herself, for it was in the good old times,\nnoticed that the portion of Perdiccas, the youngest, always \"rose\" three\ntimes as large as any other. The king judged this to be an omen of the\nlad's coming to fortune; and dismissed them. They demanded their wages.\n\"When the king heard talk about wages--you must know _the sun was\nshining into the house, down the chimney_--he said (for God had hardened\nhis heart) 'There's your wage; all you deserve and all you'll get:' and\npointed to the sunshine. The elder brothers were dumfoundered when they\nheard that; but the lad, who happened to have his knife with him, said,\n'We accept, King, the gift.' With his knife he _made a scratch around\nthe sunstreak_ on the floor, took the shine of it three times into the\nfold of his kirtle\"--his pocket, we should say nowadays--\"and went his\nway.\" Eventually he became king of Macedonia, and ancestor of Alexander\nthe Great.]\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nA CHAPTER ON CHIMNEYS.\n\n\n61. It appears from the passage in Herodotus, which we alluded to in the\nlast paper, that there has been a time, even in the most civilized\ncountries, when the king's palace was entirely unfurnished with anything\nhaving the slightest pretension to the dignity of chimney tops; and the\nsavory vapors which were wont to rise from the hospitable hearth, at\nwhich the queen or princess prepared the feast with the whitest of\nhands, escaped with indecorous facility through a simple hole in the\nflat roof. The dignity of smoke, however, is now better understood, and\nit is dismissed through Gothic pinnacles, and (as at Burleigh House)\nthrough Tuscan columns, with a most praiseworthy regard to its comfort\nand convenience. Let us consider if it is worth the trouble.\n\n62. We advanced a position in the last paper, that silence is never\nperfect without motion. That is, unless something which might possibly\nproduce sound is evident to the eye, the absence of sound is not\nsurprising to the ear, and, therefore, not impressive. Let it be\nobserved, for instance, how much the stillness of a summer's evening is\nenhanced by the perception of the gliding and majestic motion of some\ncalm river, strong but still; or of the high and purple clouds; or of\nthe voiceless leaves, among the opening branches. To produce this\nimpression, however, the motion must be uniform, though not necessarily\nslow. One of the chief peculiarities of the ocean thoroughfares of\nVenice, is the remarkable silence which rests upon them, enhanced as it\nis by the swift, but beautifully uniform motion of the gondola. Now,\nthere is no motion more uniform, silent or beautiful than that of\nsmoke; and, therefore, when we wish the peace or stillness of a scene to\nbe impressive, it is highly useful to draw the attention to it.\n\n63. In the cottage, therefore, a building peculiarly adapted for scenes\nof peace, the chimney, as conducting the eye to what is agreeable, may\nbe considered as important, and, if well managed, a beautiful\naccompaniment. But in buildings of a higher class, smoke ceases to be\ninteresting. Owing to their general greater elevation, it is relieved\nagainst the sky, instead of against a dark background, thereby losing\nthe fine silvery blue,--which among trees, or rising out of a distant\ncountry, is so exquisitely beautiful,--and assuming a dingy yellowish\nblack: its motion becomes useless; for the idea of stillness is no\nlonger desirable, or, at least, no longer attainable, being interrupted\nby the nature of the building itself: and, finally, the associations it\narouses are not dignified; we may think of a comfortable fireside,\nperhaps, but are quite as likely to dream of kitchens, and spits, and\nshoulders of mutton. None of these imaginations are in their place, if\nthe character of the building be elevated; they are barely tolerable in\nthe dwelling house and the street. Now, when smoke is objectionable, it\nis certainly improper to direct attention to the chimney; and,\ntherefore, for two weighty reasons, _decorated_ chimneys, of any sort or\nsize whatsoever, are inexcusable barbarisms; first, because, where smoke\nis beautiful, decoration is unsuited to the building; and secondly,\nbecause, where smoke is ugly, decoration directs attention _to its\nugliness_.\n\n64. It is unfortunately a prevailing idea with some of our architects,\nthat what is a disagreeable object in itself may be relieved or\nconcealed by lavish ornament; and there never was a greater mistake. It\nshould be a general principle, that what is intrinsically ugly should be\nutterly destitute of ornament, that the eye may not be drawn to it. The\npretended skulls of the three Magi at Cologne are set in gold, and have\na diamond in each eye; and are a thousand times more ghastly than if\ntheir brown bones had been left in peace. Such an error as this ought\nnever to be committed in architecture. If any part of the building has\ndisagreeable associations connected with it, let it alone: do not\nornament it. Keep it subdued, and simply adapted to its use; and the eye\nwill not go to it, nor quarrel with it. It would have been well if this\nprinciple had been kept in view in the renewal of some of the public\nbuildings in Oxford. In All Souls College, for instance, the architect\nhas carried his chimneys half as high as all the rest of the building,\nand fretted them with Gothic. The eye is instantly caught by the plated\ncandlestick-like columns, and runs with some complacency up the groining\nand fret-work, and alights finally and fatally on a red chimney-top. He\nmight as well have built a Gothic aisle at an entrance to a coal wharf.\nWe have no scruple in saying that the man who could desecrate the Gothic\ntrefoil into an ornament for a chimney has not the slightest feeling,\nand never will have any, of its beauty or its use; he was never born to\nbe an architect, and never will be one.\n\n65. Now, if chimneys are not to be decorated (since their existence is\nnecessary), it becomes an object of some importance to know what is to\nbe done with them: and we enter into the inquiry before leaving the\ncottage, as in its most proper place; because, in the cottage, and only\nin the cottage, it is desirable to direct attention to smoke.\n\nSpeculation, however, on the _beau ideal_ of a chimney can never be\nunshackled; because, though we may imagine what it ought to be, we can\nnever tell, until the house is built, what it _must_ be; we may require\nit to be short, and find that it will smoke, unless it is long; or, we\nmay desire it to be covered, and find it will not go unless it is open.\nWe can fix, therefore, on no one model; but by looking over the chimneys\nof a few nations, we may deduce some general principles from their\nvarieties, which may always be brought into play, by whatever\ncircumstances our own imaginations may be confined.\n\n66. Looking first to the mind of the people, we cannot expect to find\ngood examples of the chimney, as we go to the south. The Italian or the\nSpaniard does not know the use of a chimney, properly speaking; they\n_have_ such things, and they light a fire, five days in the year,\nchiefly of wood, which does not give smoke enough to teach the chimney\nits business; but they have not the slightest idea of the meaning or the\nbeauty of such things as hobs, and hearths, and Christmas blazes; and we\nshould, therefore, expect, _a priori_, that there would be no soul in\ntheir chimneys; that they would have no practiced substantial air about\nthem; that they would, in short, be as awkward and as much in the way,\nas individuals of the human race are, when they don't know what to do\nwith themselves, or what they were created for. But in England, sweet\ncarbonaceous England, we flatter ourselves we _do_ know something about\nfire, and smoke too, or our eyes have strangely deceived us; and, from\nthe whole comfortable character and fireside disposition of the nation,\nwe should conjecture that the architecture of the chimney would be\nunderstood, both as a matter of taste and as a matter of comfort, to the\n_ne plus ultra_ of perfection. Let us see how far our expectations are\nrealized.\n\n67. Fig. 7, _a_, _b_ and _c_ are English chimneys. They are\ndistinguishable, we think, at a glance, from all the rest, by a\ndownright serviceableness of appearance, a substantial, unaffected,\ndecent, and chimney-like deportment, in the contemplation of which we\nexperience infinite pleasure and edification, particularly as it seems\nto us to be strongly contrasted with an appearance, in all the other\nchimneys, of an indefinable something, only to be expressed by the\ninteresting word \"humbug.\" Fig. _7 a_ is a chimney of Cumberland, and\nthe north of Lancashire. It is, as may be seen at a glance, only\napplicable at the extremity of the roof, and requires a bent flue. It is\nbuilt of unhewn stones, in the same manner as the Westmoreland cottages;\nthe flue itself being not one-third the width of the chimney, as is seen\nat the top, where four flat stones placed on their edges form the\ntermination of the flue itself, and give lightness of appearance to the\nwhole. Cover this with a piece of paper, and observe how heavy and\nsquare the rest becomes. A few projecting stones continue the line of\nthe roof across the center of the chimney, and two large masses support\nthe projection of the whole, and unite it agreeably with the wall. This\nis exclusively a cottage chimney; it cannot, and must not, be built of\ncivilized materials; it must be rough, and mossy, and broken; but it is\ndecidedly the best chimney of the whole set. It is simple and\nsubstantial, without being cumbrous; it gives great variety to the wall\nfrom which it projects, terminates the roof agreeably, and dismisses its\nsmoke with infinite propriety.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 7. Chimneys.]\n\n68. Fig. _b_ is a chimney common over the whole of the north of England;\nbeing, as I think, one that will go well in almost any wind, and is\napplicable at any part of the roof. It is also roughly built, consisting\nof a roof of loose stones, sometimes one large flat slab, supported\nabove the flue by four large supports, each of a single stone. It is\nrather light in its appearance, and breaks the ridge of a roof very\nagreeably. Separately considered, it is badly proportioned; but, as it\njust equals the height to which a long chimney at the extremity of the\nbuilding would rise above the roof (as in a), it is quite right _in\nsitu_, and would be ungainly if it were higher. The upper part is always\ndark, owing to the smoke, and tells agreeably against any background\nseen through the hollow.\n\n69. Fig. _c_ is the chimney of the Westmoreland cottage which formed the\nsubject of the last paper. The good taste which prevailed in the rest of\nthe building is not so conspicuous here, because the architect has begun\nto consider effect instead of utility, and has put a diamond-shaped\npiece of ornament on the front (usually containing the date of the\nbuilding), which was not necessary, and looks out of place. He has\nendeavored to build neatly too, and has bestowed a good deal of plaster\non the outside, by all which circumstances the work is infinitely\ndeteriorated. We have always disliked cylindrical chimneys, probably\nbecause they put us in mind of glasshouses and manufactories, for we are\naware of no more definite reason; yet this example is endurable, and has\na character about it which it would be a pity to lose. Sometimes when\nthe square part is carried down the whole front of the cottage, it looks\nlike the remains of some gray tower, and is not felt to be a chimney at\nall. Such deceptions are always very dangerous, though in this case\nsometimes attended with good effect, as in the old building called\nConiston Hall, on the shores of Coniston Water, whose distant outline\n(Fig. 8) is rendered light and picturesque, by the size and shape of its\nchimneys, which are the same in character as Fig. _c_.\n\n[Illustration: FIG. 8. Coniston Hall, from the Lake near Brantwood\n(1837).]\n\n70. Of English chimneys adapted for buildings of a more elevated\ncharacter, we can adduce no good examples. The old red brick mass, which\nwe see in some of our venerable manor-houses, has a great deal of\nEnglish character about it, and is always agreeable, when the rest of\nthe building is of brick. Fig. _p_ is a chimney of this kind: there is\nnothing remarkable in it; it is to be met with all over England; but we\nhave placed it beside its neighbor _q_ to show how the same form and\nidea are modified by the mind of the nations who employ it. The design\nis the same in both, the proportions also; but the one is a chimney, the\nother a paltry model of a paltrier edifice. Fig. _q_ is Swiss, and is\nliable to all the objections advanced against the Swiss cottages; it is\na despicable mimicry of a large building, like the tower in the\nengraving of the Italian cottage (Sec. 31), carved in stone, it is true,\nbut not the less to be reprobated. Fig. _p_, on the contrary, is adapted\nto its use, and has no affectation about it. It would be spoiled,\nhowever, if built in stone; because the marked bricks tell us the size\nof the whole at once, and prevent the eye from suspecting any intention\nto deceive it with a mockery of arches and columns, the imitation of\nwhich would be too perfect in stone; and therefore, even in this case,\nwe have failed in discovering a chimney adapted to the higher class of\nedifices.\n\n71. Fig. _d_ is a Netherland chimney, _e_ and _f_ German. Fig. _d_\nbelongs to an old Gothic building in Malines, and is a good example of\nthe application of the same lines to the chimney which occur in other\nparts of the edifice, without bestowing any false elevation of\ncharacter. It is roughly carved in stone, projecting at its base\ngrotesquely from the roof, and covered at the top. The pointed arch, by\nwhich its character is given, prevents it from breaking in upon the\nlines of the rest of the building, and, therefore, in reality renders it\nless conspicuous than it would otherwise have been. We should never have\nnoticed its existence, had we not been looking out for chimneys.\n\n72. Fig. _e_ is also carved in stone, and where there is much variety of\narchitecture, or where the buildings are grotesque, would be a good\nchimney, for the very simple reason, that it resembles nothing but a\nchimney, and its lines are graceful. Fig. _f_, though ugly in the\nabstract, might be used with effect in situations where perfect\nsimplicity would be too conspicuous; but both _e_ and _f_ are evidently\nthe awkward efforts of a tasteless nation, to produce something\noriginal: they have lost the chastity which we admired in _a_, without\nobtaining the grace and spirit of _l_ and _o_. In fact, they are\nessentially German.\n\n73. Figs. _h_ to _m_, inclusive, are Spanish, and have a peculiar\ncharacter, which would render it quite impossible to employ them out of\ntheir own country. Yet they are not decorated chimneys. There is not one\nfragment of ornament on any of them. All is done by variety of form; and\nwith such variety no fault can be found, because it is necessary to give\nthem the character of the buildings, out of which they rise. For we may\nobserve here, once for all, that character may be given either by form\nor by decoration, and that where the latter is improper, variety of form\nis allowable, because the humble associations which render ornament\nobjectionable, also render simplicity of form unnecessary.[13] We need\nnot then find fault with _fantastic_ chimneys, provided they are kept in\nunison with the rest of the building, and do not draw too much\nattention.\n\n[Footnote 13: Elevation of character, as was seen in the Italian\ncottage, depends upon simplicity of form.]\n\n74. Fig. _h_, according to this rule, is a very good chimney. It is\ngraceful without pretending, and its grotesqueness will suit the\nbuildings round it--we wish we could give them: they are at Cordova.\n\nFigs. _k_ and _l_ ought to be seen, as they would be in reality, rising\nbrightly up against the deep blue heaven of the south, the azure\ngleaming through their hollows; unless perchance a slight breath of\nrefined, pure, pale vapor finds its way from time to time out of them\ninto the light air; their tiled caps casting deep shadows on their\nwhite surfaces, and their _tout ensemble_ causing no interruption to\nthe feelings excited by the Moresco arches and grotesque dwelling houses\nwith which they would be surrounded; they are sadly spoiled by being cut\noff at their bases.\n\n75. Figs. _g_, _n_, _o_ are Italian. Fig. _g_ has only been given,\nbecause it is constantly met with among the more modern buildings of\nItaly. Figs. _n_ and _o_ are almost the only two varieties of chimneys\nwhich are to be found on the old Venetian palaces (whose style is to be\ntraced partly to the Turk, and partly to the Moor). The curved lines of\n_n_ harmonize admirably with those of the roof itself, and its\ndiminutive size leaves the simplicity of form of the large building to\nwhich it belongs entirely uninterrupted and uninjured. Fig. _o_ is seen\nperpetually carrying the whiteness of the Venetian marble up into the\nsky; but it is too tall, and attracts by far too much attention, being\nconspicuous on the sides of all the canals.\n\n76. Figs. _q_, _r_, _s_ are Swiss. Fig. _r_ is one specimen of an\nextensive class of decorated chimneys, met with in the northeastern\ncantons. It is never large, and consequently having no false elevation\nof character, and being always seen with eyes which have been prepared\nfor it, by resting on the details of the Swiss cottage, is less\ndisagreeable than might be imagined, but ought never to be imitated. The\npyramidal form is generally preserved, but the design is the same in no\ntwo examples.\n\nFig. _s_ is a chimney very common in the eastern cantons, the principle\nof which we never understood. The oblique part moves on a hinge, so as\nto be capable of covering the chimney like a hat; and the whole is\ncovered with wooden scales, like those of a fish. This chimney sometimes\ncomes in very well among the confused rafters of the mountain cottage,\nthough it is rather too remarkable to be in good taste.\n\n77. It seems then, that out of the eighteen chimneys, which we have\nnoticed, though several possess character, and one or two elegance, only\ntwo are to be found fit for imitation; and, of these, one is exclusively\na _cottage_ chimney. This is somewhat remarkable and may serve as a\nproof:--\n\nFirst, of what we at first asserted, that chimneys which in any way\nattract notice (and if these had not, we should not have sketched them)\nwere seldom to be imitated; that there are few buildings which require\nthem to be singular, and none which can tolerate them if decorated; and\nthat the architect should always remember that the size and height being\nby necessity fixed, the form which draws least attention is the best.\n\n78. Secondly, that this inconspicuousness is to be obtained, not by\nadhering to any model of simplicity, but by taking especial care that\nthe lines of the chimney are no interruption, and its color no contrast,\nto those of the building to which it belongs. Thus Figs. _h_ to _m_\nwould be far more actually remarkable in their natural situation, if\nthey were more simple in their form; for they would interrupt the\ncharacter of the rich architecture by which they are surrounded. Fig.\n_d_, rising as it does above an old Gothic window, would have attracted\ninstant attention, had it not been for the occurrence of the same lines\nin it which prevail beneath it. The form of _n_ only assimilates it more\nclosely with the roof on which it stands. But we must not _imitate_\nchimneys of this kind, for their excellence consists only in their\nagreement with other details, separated from which they would be\nobjectionable; we can only follow the principle of the design, which\nappears, from all that we have advanced, to be this: we require, in a\ngood chimney, _the character of the building to which it belongs\ndivested of all its elevation, and its prevailing lines, deprived of all\ntheir ornament_.\n\n79. This it is, no doubt, excessively difficult to give; and, in\nconsequence, there are very few cities or edifices in which the chimneys\nare not objectionable. We must not, therefore, omit to notice the\nfulfillment of our expectations, founded on English character. The only\ntwo chimneys fit for imitation, in the whole eighteen, are English; and\nwe would not infer anything from this, tending to invalidate the\nposition formerly advanced, that there was no taste in England; but we\nwould adduce it as a farther illustration of the rule, that what is most\nadapted to its purpose is most beautiful. For that we have no taste,\neven in chimneys, is sufficiently proved by the roof effects, even of\nthe most ancient, unaffected, and unplastered of our streets, in which\nthe chimneys, instead of assisting in the composition of the groups of\nroofs, stand out in staring masses of scarlet and black, with foxes and\ncocks whisking about, like so many little black devils, in the smoke on\nthe top of them, interrupting all repose, annihilating all dignity, and\nawaking every possible conception which would be picturesque, and every\nimagination which would be rapturous, to the mind of master-sweeps.\n\n80. On the other hand, though they have not on the Continent the same\nknowledge of the use and beauty of chimneys in the abstract, they\ndisplay their usual good taste in grouping, or concealing them; and,\nwhether we find them mingling with the fantastic domiciles of the\nGerman, with the rich imaginations of the Spaniard, with the classical\nremains and creations of the Italian, they are never intrusive or\ndisagreeable; and either assist the grouping, and relieve the\nhorizontality of the lines of the roof, or remain entirely unnoticed and\ninsignificant, smoking their pipes in peace.\n\n81. It is utterly impossible to give rules for the attainment of these\neffects, since they are the result of a feeling of the proportion and\nrelation of lines, which, if not natural to a person, cannot be\nacquired, but by long practice and close observation; and it presupposes\na power rarely bestowed on an English architect, of setting regularity\nat defiance, and sometimes comfort out of the question. We could give\nsome particular examples of this grouping; but, as this paper has\nalready swelled to an unusual length, we shall defer them until we come\nto the consideration of street effects in general. Of the chimney in the\nabstract, we are afraid we have only said enough to illustrate, without\nremoving, the difficulty of designing it; but we cannot but think that\nthe general principles which have been deduced, if carefully followed\nout, would be found useful, if not for the attainment of excellence, at\nleast for the prevention of barbarism.\n\nOXFORD, _Feb. 10, [1838]._\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nTHE COTTAGE--CONCLUDING REMARKS.\n\n\"Nunquam aliud Natura, aliud Sapientia, dicit.\"\n\n_Juvenal_ xiv. 321.\n\n\n82. It now only remains for us to conclude the subject of the cottage,\nby a few general remarks on the just application of modern buildings to\nadorn or vivify natural scenery.\n\nThere are, we think, only three cases in which the cottage is considered\nas an element of architectural, or any other kind of beauty, since it is\nordinarily raised by the peasant where he likes, and how he likes; and,\ntherefore, as we have seen, frequently in good taste.\n\n83. I. When a nobleman, or man of fortune, amuses himself with\nsuperintending the erection of the domiciles of his domestics. II. When\nornamental summer-houses, or mimicries of wigwams, are to be erected as\nornamental adjuncts to a prospect which the owner has done all he can to\nspoil, that it may be worthy of the honor of having him to look at it.\nIII. When the landlord exercises a certain degree of influence over the\ncottages of his tenants, or the improvements of the neighboring village,\nso as to induce such a tone of feeling in the new erections as he may\nthink suitable to the situation.\n\n84. In the first of these cases, there is little to be said; for the\nhabitation of the domestic is generally a dependent feature of his\nmaster's, and, therefore, to be considered as a part of it. Porters'\nlodges are also dependent upon, and to be regulated by, the style of the\narchitecture to which they are attached; and they are generally well\nmanaged in England, properly united with the gate, and adding to the\neffect of the entrance.\n\nIn the second case, as the act is in itself a barbarism, it would be\nuseless to consider what would be the best mode of perpetrating it.\n\nIn the third case, we think it will be useful to apply a few general\nprinciples, deduced from positions formerly advanced.\n\n85. All buildings are, of course, to be considered in connection with\nthe country in which they are to be raised. Now, all landscape must\npossess one out of four distinct characters.\n\nIt must be either woody, the green country; cultivated, the blue\ncountry; wild, the gray country; or hilly, the brown country.\n\nI. The Woody, or green, Country. By this is to be understood the mixture\nof park, pasture, and variegated forest, which is only to be seen in\ntemperate climates, and in those parts of a kingdom which have not often\nchanged proprietors, but have remained in unproductive beauty (or at\nleast, furnishing timber only), the garden of the wealthier population.\nIt is to be seen in no other country, perhaps, so well as in England. In\nother districts, we find extensive masses of black forest, but not the\nmixture of sunny glade, and various foliage, and dewy sward, which we\nmeet with in the richer park districts of England. This kind of country\nis always surgy, oceanic, and massy, in its outline: it never affords\nblue distances, unless seen from a height; and, even then, the nearer\ngroups are large, and draw away the attention from the background. The\nunder soil is kept cool by the shade, and its vegetation rich; so that\nthe prevailing color, except for a few days at the fall of the leaf, is\na fresh green. A good example of this kind of country is the view from\nRichmond Hill.\n\n86. Now, first, let us consider what sort of feeling this green country\nexcites; and, in order to do so, be it observed, that anything which is\napparently enduring and unchangeable gives us an impression rather of\nfuture, than of past, duration of existence; but anything which being\nperishable, and from its nature subject to change, has yet existed to a\ngreat age, gives us an impression of antiquity, though, of course, none\nof stability. A mountain, for instance (not geologically speaking, for\nthen the furrows on its brow give it age as visible as was ever wrinkled\non human forehead, but considering it as it appears to ordinary eyes),\nappears to be beyond the influence of change: it does not put us in mind\nof its past existence, by showing us any of the effect of time upon\nitself; we do not feel that it is old, because it is not approaching any\nkind of death; it is a mass of unsentient undecaying matter, which, if\nwe think about it, we discover must have existed for some time, but\nwhich does not tell this fact to our feelings, or, rather, which tells\nus of no time at which it came into existence; and therefore, gives us\nno standard by which to measure its age, which, unless measured, cannot\nbe distinctly felt. But a very old forest tree is a thing subject to the\nsame laws of nature as ourselves: it is an energetic being, liable to an\napproaching death; its age is written on every spray; and, because we\nsee it is susceptible of life and annihilation, like our own, we imagine\nit must be capable of the same feelings, and possess the same faculties,\nand, above all others, memory: it is always telling us about the past,\nnever pointing to the future; we appeal to it, as to a thing which has\nseen and felt during a life similar to our own, though of ten times its\nduration, and therefore receive from it a perpetual impression of\nantiquity. So again a ruined town gives us an impression of antiquity;\nthe stones of which it is built, none; for their age is not written upon\nthem.\n\n87. This being the case, it is evident that the chief feeling induced by\nwoody country is one of reverence for its antiquity. There is a quiet\nmelancholy about the decay of the patriarchal trunks, which is enhanced\nby the green and elastic vigor of the young saplings; the noble form of\nthe forest aisles, and the subdued light which penetrates their\nentangled boughs, combine to add to the impression; and the whole\ncharacter of the scene is calculated to excite conservative feeling.\nThe man who could remain a radical in a wood country is a disgrace to\nhis species.\n\n88. Now, this feeling of mixed melancholy and veneration is the one of\nall others which the modern cottage must not be allowed to violate. It\nmay be fantastic or rich in detail; for the one character will make it\nlook old-fashioned, and the other will assimilate with the intertwining\nof leaf and bough around it: but it must not be spruce, or natty, or\nvery bright in color; and the older it looks the better.\n\nA little grotesqueness in form is the more allowable, because the\nimagination is naturally active in the obscure and indefinite daylight\nof wood scenery; conjures up innumerable beings, of every size and\nshape, to people its alleys and smile through its thickets; and is by no\nmeans displeased to find some of its inventions half-realized in a\ndecorated panel or grinning extremity of a rafter.\n\n89. These characters being kept in view, as objects to be attained, the\nremaining considerations are technical.\n\nFor the form. Select any well-grown group of the tree which prevails\nmost near the proposed site of the cottage. Its summit will be a rounded\nmass. Take the three principal points of its curve: namely, its apex and\nthe two points where it unites itself with neighboring masses. Strike a\ncircle through these three points; and the angle contained in the\nsegment cut off by a line joining the two lower points is to be the\nangle of the cottage roof. (Of course we are not thinking of interior\nconvenience: the architect must establish his mode of beauty first, and\nthen approach it as nearly as he can.) This angle will generally be very\nobtuse; and this is one reason why the Swiss cottage is always beautiful\nwhen it is set among walnut or chestnut trees. Its obtuse roof is just\nabout the true angle. With pines or larches, the angle should not be\nregulated by the form of the tree, but by the slope of the branches. The\nbuilding itself should be low and long, so that, if possible, it may not\nbe seen all at once, but may be partially concealed by trunks or leafage\nat various distances.\n\n90. For the color, that of wood is always beautiful. If the wood of the\nnear trees be used, so much the better; but the timbers should be\nrough-hewn, and allowed to get weather-stained. Cold colors will not\nsuit with green; and, therefore, slated roofs are disagreeable, unless,\nas in the Westmoreland cottage, the gray roof is warmed with lichenous\nvegetation, when it will do well with anything; but thatch is better. If\nthe building be not of wood, the walls may be built of anything which\nwill give them a quiet and unobtruding warmth of tone. White, if in\nshade, is sometimes allowable; but, if visible at any point more than\n200 yards off, it will spoil the whole landscape. In general, as we saw\nbefore, the building will bear some fantastic finishing, that is, if it\nbe entangled in forest; but, if among massive groups of trees, separated\nby smooth sward, it must be kept simple.\n\n91. II. The Cultivated, or blue, Country. This is the rich champaign\nland, in which large trees are more sparingly scattered, and which is\nchiefly devoted to the purposes of agriculture. In this we are\nperpetually getting blue distances from the slightest elevation, which\nare rendered more decidedly so by their contrast with warm corn or\nplowed fields in the foreground. Such is the greater part of England.\nThe view from the hills of Malvern is a good example. In districts of\nthis kind, all is change; one year's crop has no memory of its\npredecessor; all is activity, prosperity, and usefulness: nothing is\nleft to the imagination; there is no obscurity, no poetry, no nonsense:\nthe colors of the landscape are bright and varied; it is thickly\npopulated, and glowing with animal life. Here, then, the character of\nthe cottage must be cheerfulness; its colors may be vivid: white is\nalways beautiful; even red tiles are allowable, and red bricks\nendurable. Neatness will not spoil it: the angle of its roof may be\nacute, its windows sparkling, and its roses red and abundant; but it\nmust not be ornamented nor fantastic, it must be evidently built for the\nuses of common life, and have a matter-of-fact business-like air about\nit. Its outhouses and pigsties, and dunghills should therefore, be kept\nin sight: the latter may be made very pretty objects, by twisting them\nwith the pitchfork, and plaiting them into braids, as the Swiss do.\n\n92. III. The Wild, or gray, Country. \"Wild\" is not exactly a correct\nepithet; we mean wide, uninclosed, treeless undulations of land, whether\ncultivated or not. The greater part of northern France, though well\nbrought under the plow, would come under the denomination of gray\ncountry. Occasional masses of monotonous forest do not destroy this\ncharacter. Here, size is desirable, and massiness of form; but we must\nhave no brightness of color in the cottage, otherwise it would draw the\neye to it at three miles off, and the whole landscape would be covered\nwith conspicuous dots. White is agreeable, if sobered down; slate\nallowable on the roof as well as thatch. For the rest, we need only\nrefer to the remarks made on the propriety of the French cottage.\n\n93. Lastly, Hill, or brown, Country. And here if we look to England\nalone, as peculiarly a cottage country, the remarks formerly advanced,\nin the consideration of the Westmoreland cottage, are sufficient; but if\nwe go into mountain districts of more varied character, we shall find a\ndifference existing between every range of hills, which will demand a\ncorresponding difference in the style of their cottages. The principles,\nhowever, are the same in all situations, and it would be a hopeless task\nto endeavor to give more than general principles. In hill country,\nhowever, another question is introduced, whose investigation is\npeculiarly necessary in cases in which the ground has inequality of\nsurface, that of position. And the difficulty here is, not so much to\nascertain where the building ought to be, as to put it there, without\nsuggesting any inquiry as to the mode in which it got there; to prevent\nits just application from appearing artificial. But we cannot enter into\nthis inquiry, before laying down a number of principles of composition,\nwhich are applicable, not only to cottages, but generally; and which we\ncannot deduce until we come to the consideration of buildings in\ngroups.\n\n94. Such are the great divisions under which country and rural buildings\nmay be comprehended; but there are intermediate conditions, in which\nmodified forms of the cottage are applicable; and it frequently happens\nthat country which, considered in the abstract, would fall under one of\nthese classes, possesses, owing to its peculiar climate or associations,\na very different character. Italy, for instance, is blue country; yet it\nhas not the least resemblance to English blue country. We have paid\nparticular attention to wood; first, because we had not, in any previous\npaper, considered what was beautiful in a forest cottage; and secondly,\nbecause in such districts there is generally much more influence\nexercised by proprietors over their tenantry, than in populous and\ncultivated districts; and our English park scenery, though exquisitely\nbeautiful, is sometimes, we think, a little monotonous, from the want of\nthis very feature.\n\n95. And now, farewell to the cottage, and, with it, to the humility of\nnatural scenery. We are sorry to leave it; not that we have any idea of\nliving in a cottage, as a comfortable thing; not that we prefer mud to\nmarble, or deal to mahogany; but that, with it, we leave much of what is\nmost beautiful of earth, the low and bee-inhabited scenery, which is\nfull of quiet and prideless emotion, of such calmness as we can imagine\nprevailing over our earth when it was new in heaven. We are going into\nhigher walks of architecture, where we shall find a less close\nconnection established between the building and the soil on which it\nstands, or the air with which it is surrounded, but a closer connection\nwith the character of its inhabitant. We shall have less to do with\nnatural feeling, and more with human passion; we are coming out of\nstillness into turbulence, out of seclusion into the multitude, out of\nthe wilderness into the world.\n\n\n\n\n_PART II._\n\nThe Villa.\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN VILLA: LAGO DI COMO:\n\nTHE LOWLAND VILLA:--ENGLAND:\n\nTHE BRITISH VILLA: PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN VILLA--LAGO DI COMO.\n\n\n96. In all arts or sciences, before we can determine what is just or\nbeautiful in a group, we must ascertain what is desirable in the parts\nwhich compose it, separately considered; and therefore it will be most\nadvantageous in the present case, to keep out of the village and the\ncity, until we have searched hill and dale for examples of isolated\nbuildings. This mode of considering the subject is also agreeable to the\nfeelings, as the transition from the higher orders of solitary edifices,\nto groups of associated edifices, is not so sudden or startling, as that\nfrom nature's most humble peace, to man's most turbulent pride.\n\nWe have contemplated the rural dwelling of the peasant; let us next\nconsider the ruralized domicile of the gentleman: and here, as before,\nwe shall first determine what is theoretically beautiful, and then\nobserve how far our expectations are fulfilled in individual buildings.\nBut a few preliminary observations are necessary.\n\n97. Man, the peasant, is a being of more marked national character, than\nman, the educated and refined. For nationality is founded, in a great\ndegree, on prejudices and feelings inculcated and aroused in youth,\nwhich grow inveterate in the mind as long as its views are confined to\nthe place of its birth; its ideas molded by the customs of its country,\nand its conversation limited to a circle composed of individuals of\nhabits and feelings like its own; but which are gradually softened down,\nand eradicated, when the mind is led into general views of things, when\nit is guided by reflection instead of habit, and has begun to lay aside\nopinions contracted under the influence of association and\nprepossession, substituting in their room philosophical deductions from\nthe calm contemplation of the various tempers, and thoughts, and\ncustoms, of mankind. The love of its country will remain with\nundiminished strength in the cultivated mind, but the national modes of\nthinking will vanish from the disciplined intellect.\n\n98. Now as it is only by these mannerisms of thought that architecture\nis affected, we shall find that, the more polished the mind of its\ndesigner, the less national will be the building; for its architect will\nbe led away by a search after a model of ideal beauty, and will not be\ninvoluntarily guided by deep-rooted feelings, governing irresistibly his\nheart and hand. He will therefore be in perpetual danger of forgetting\nthe necessary unison of scene and climate, and, following up the chase\nof the ideal, will neglect the beauty of the natural; an error which he\ncould not commit, were he less general in his views, for then the\nprejudices to which he would be subject, would be as truly in unison\nwith the objects which created them, as answering notes with the chords\nwhich awaken them. We must not, therefore, be surprised, if buildings\nbearing impress of the exercise of fine thought and high talent in their\ndesign, should yet offend us by perpetual discords with scene and\nclimate; and if, therefore, we sometimes derive less instruction, and\nless pleasure from the columnar portico of the Palace, than from the\nlatched door of the Cottage.\n\n99. Again: man, in his hours of relaxation, when he is engaged in the\npursuit of mere pleasure, is less national than when he is under the\ninfluence of any of the more violent feelings which agitate everyday\nlife. The reason of this may at first appear somewhat obscure, but it\nwill become evident, on a little reflection. Aristotle's definition of\npleasure, perhaps the best ever given, is \"an agitation, and settling of\nthe spirit into its own proper nature;\" similar, by the by, to the\ngiving of liberty of motion to the molecules of a mineral, followed by\ntheir crystallization, into their own proper form. Now this \"proper\nnature,\" [Greek: hyparchousan physin], is not the acquired national\nhabit, but the common and universal constitution of the human soul. This\nconstitution is kept under by the feelings which prompt to action, for\nthose feelings depend upon parts of character, or of prejudice, which\nare peculiar to individuals or to nations; and the pleasure which all\nmen seek is a kind of partial casting away of these more active\nfeelings, to return to the calm and unchanging constitution of mind\nwhich is the same in all.\n\n100. We shall, therefore, find that man, in the business of his life, in\nreligion, war, or ambition, is national, but in relaxation he manifests\na nature common to every individual of his race. A Turk, for instance,\nand an English farmer, smoking their evening pipes, differ only in so\nmuch as the one has a mouthpiece of amber, and the other one of sealing\nwax; the one has a turban on his head, and the other a night-cap; they\nare the same in feeling, and to all intents and purposes the same men.\nBut a Turkish janissary and an English grenadier differ widely in all\ntheir modes of thinking, feeling, and acting; they are strictly\nnational. So again, a Tyrolese evening dance, though the costume, and\nthe step, and the music may be different, is the same in feeling as that\nof the Parisian guinguette; but follow the Tyrolese into their temples,\nand their deep devotion and beautiful though superstitious reverence\nwill be found very different from any feeling exhibited during a mass in\nNotre-Dame. This being the case, it is a direct consequence, that we\nshall find much nationality in the Church or the Fortress, or in any\nbuilding devoted to the purposes of active life, but very little in that\nwhich is dedicated exclusively to relaxation, the Villa. We shall be\ncompelled to seek out nations of very strong feeling and imaginative\ndisposition, or we shall find no correspondence whatever between their\ncharacter, and that of their buildings devoted to pleasure.\n\n101. In our own country, for instance, there is not the slightest.\nBeginning at the head of Windermere, and running down its border for\nabout six miles, there are six important gentlemen's seats, villas they\nmay be called; the first of which is a square white mass, decorated with\npilasters of no order, set in a green avenue, sloping down to the water;\nthe second is an imitation, we suppose, of something possessing\ntheoretical existence in Switzerland, with sharp gable ends, and wooden\nflourishes turning the corners, set on a little dumpy mound with a slate\nwall running all round it, glittering with iron pyrites; the third is a\nblue dark-looking box, squeezed up into a group of straggly larches,\nwith a bog in front of it; the fourth is a cream-colored domicile, in a\nlarge park, rather quiet and unaffected, the best of the four, though\nthat is not saying much; the fifth is an old-fashioned thing, formal,\nand narrow-windowed, yet gray in its tone, and quiet, and not to be\nmaligned; and the sixth is a nondescript, circular, putty-colored\nhabitation, with a leaden dome on the top of it.\n\n102. If, however, instead of taking Windermere, we trace the shore of\nthe Lago di Como, we shall find some expression and nationality; and\nthere, therefore, will we go, to return, however, to England, when we\nhave obtained some data by which to judge of her more fortunate\nedifices. We notice the mountain villa first, for two reasons; because\neffect is always more considered in its erection, than when it is to be\nsituated in a less interesting country, and because the effect desired\nis very rarely given, there being far greater difficulties to contend\nwith. But one word more, before setting off for the south. Though, as we\nsaw before, the gentleman has less _national_ character than the boor,\nhis _individual_ character is more marked, especially in its finer\nfeatures, which are clearly and perfectly developed by education;\nconsequently, when the inhabitant of the villa has had anything to do\nwith its erection, we might expect to find indications of individual and\npeculiar feelings, which it would be most interesting to follow out. But\nthis is no part of our present task; at some future period we hope to\ngive a series of essays on the habitations of the most distinguished men\nof Europe, showing how the alterations which they directed, and the\nexpression which they bestowed, corresponded with the turn of their\nemotions, and leading intellectual faculties: but at present we have to\ndeal only with generalities; we have to ascertain not what will be\npleasing to a single mind, but what will afford gratification to every\neye possessing a certain degree of experience, and every mind endowed\nwith a certain degree of taste.\n\n103. Without further preface, therefore, let us endeavor to ascertain\nwhat would be theoretically beautiful, on the shore, or among the\nscenery of the Larian Lake, preparatory to a sketch of the general\nfeatures of those villas which exist there, in too great a multitude to\nadmit, on our part, of much individual detail.\n\nFor the general tone of the scenery, we may refer to the paper on the\nItalian cottage; for the shores of the Lake of Como have generally the\ncharacter there described, with a little more cheerfulness, and a little\nless elevation,[14] but aided by great variety of form. They are not\nquite so rich in vegetation as the plains: both because the soil is\nscanty, there being, of course, no decomposition going on among the\nrocks of black marble which form the greater part of the shore; and\nbecause the mountains rise steeply from the water, leaving only a narrow\nzone at their bases in the climate of Italy. In that zone, however, the\nolive grows in great luxuriance, with the cypress, orange, aloe, myrtle,\nand vine, the latter always trellised.\n\n[Footnote 14: That Italian mountain scenery has less elevation of\ncharacter than the plains may appear singular; but there are many simple\nreasons for a fact which, we doubt not, has been felt by every one\n(capable of feeling anything), who ever left the Alps to pass into\nLombardy. The first is, that a mountain scene, as we saw in the last\npaper, bears no traces of decay, since it never possessed any of life.\nThe desolation of the sterile peaks, never having been interrupted, is\naltogether free from the melancholy which is consequent on the passing\naway of interruption. They stood up in the time of Italy's glory, into\nthe voiceless air, while all the life and light which she remembers now\nwas working and moving at their feet, an animated cloud, which they did\nnot feel, and do not miss. That region of life never reached up their\nflanks, and has left them no memorials of its being; they have no\nassociations, no monuments, no memories; we look on them as we would on\nother hills; things of abstract and natural magnificence, which the\npresence of man could not increase, nor his departure sadden. They are,\nin consequence, destitute of all that renders the name of Ausonia\nthrilling, or her champaigns beautiful, beyond the mere splendor of\nclimate; and even that splendor is unshared by the mountain; its cold\natmosphere being undistinguished by any of that rich, purple, ethereal\ntransparency which gives the air of the plains its _depth of\nfeeling_,--we can find no better expression.\n\nSecondly. In all hill scenery, though there is increase of size, there\nis want of distance. We are not speaking of views from summits, but of\nthe average aspect of valleys. Suppose the mountains be 10,000 feet\nhigh, their summit will not be more than six miles distant in a direct\nline: and there is a general sense of confinement, induced by their\nwall-like boundaries, which is painful, contrasted with the wide\nexpatiation of spirit induced by a distant view over plains. In ordinary\ncountries, however, where the plain is an uninteresting mass of\ncultivation, the sublimity of distance is not to be compared to that of\nsize: but, where every yard of the cultivated country has its tale to\ntell; where it is perpetually intersected by rivers whose names are\nmeaning music, and glancing with cities and villages every one of which\nhas its own halo round its head; and where the eye is carried by the\nclearness of the air over the blue of the farthest horizon, without\nfinding one wreath of mist, or one shadowy cloud, to check the\ndistinctness of the impression; the mental emotions excited are richer,\nand deeper, and swifter than could be awakened by the noblest hills of\nthe earth, unconnected with the deeds of men.\n\nLastly. The plain country of Italy has not even to choose between the\nglory of distance and of size, for it has both. I do not think there is\na spot, from Venice to Messina, where two ranges of mountain, at the\nleast, are not in sight at the same time. In Lombardy, the Alps are on\none side, the Apennines on the other; in the Venetian territory, the\nAlps, Apennines and Euganean hills; going southward, the Apennines\nalways, their outworks running far towards the sea, and the coast itself\nfrequently mountainous. Now, the aspect of a noble range of hills, at a\nconsiderable distance, is, in our opinion, far more imposing (considered\nin the abstract) than they are, seen near: their height is better told,\ntheir outlines softer and more melodious, their majesty more mysterious.\nBut, in Italy, they gain more by distance than majesty: they gain life.\nThey cease to be the cold forgetful things they were; they hold the\nnoble plains in their lap, and become venerable, as having looked down\nupon them, and watched over them forever, unchanging; they become part\nof the picture of associations: we endow them with memory, and then feel\nthem to be possessed of all that is glorious on earth.\n\nFor these three reasons, then, the plains of Italy possess far more\nelevation of character than her hill scenery. To the northward, this\ncontrast is felt very strikingly, as the distinction is well marked, the\nAlps rising sharply and suddenly. To the southward, the plain is more\nmingled with low projecting promontories, and unites almost every kind\nof beauty. However, even among her northern lakes, the richness of the\nlow climate, and the magnificence of form and color presented by the\ndistant Alps, raise the character of the scene immeasurably above that\nof most hill landscapes, even were those natural features entirely\nunassisted by associations which, though more sparingly scattered than\nin the south, are sufficient to give light to every leaf, and voice to\nevery wave.]\n\n104. Now, as to the situation of the cottage, we have already seen that\ngreat humility was necessary, both in the building and its site, to\nprevent it from offending us by an apparent struggle with forces,\ncompared with which its strength was dust: but we cannot have this\nextreme humility in the villa, the dwelling of wealth and power, and yet\nwe must not, any more, suggest the idea of its resisting natural\ninfluences under which the Pyramids could not abide. The only way of\nsolving the difficulty is, to select such sites as shall seem to have\nbeen set aside by nature as places of rest, as points of calm and\nenduring beauty, ordained to sit and smile in their glory of quietness,\nwhile the avalanche brands the mountain top,[15] and the torrent\ndesolates the valley; yet so preserved, not by shelter amidst violence,\nbut by being placed wholly out of the influence of violence. For in this\nthey must differ from the site of the cottage, that the peasant may seek\nfor protection under some low rock or in some narrow dell, but the villa\nmust have a domain to itself, at once conspicuous, beautiful, and calm.\n\n[Footnote 15: There are two kinds of winter avalanches; the one, sheets\nof frozen snow sliding on the surface of others. The swiftness of these,\nas the clavendier of the Convent of St. Bernard told me, he could\ncompare to nothing but that of a cannon ball of equal size. The other is\na rolling mass of snow, accumulating in its descent. This, grazing the\nbare hill-side, tears up its surface like dust, bringing away soil,\nrock, and vegetation, as a grazing ball tears flesh; and leaving its\nwithered path distinct on the green hill-side, as if the mountain had\nbeen branded with red-hot iron. They generally keep to the same paths;\nbut when the snow accumulates, and sends one down the wrong way, it has\nbeen known to cut down a pine forest, as a scythe mows grass. The tale\nof its work is well told by the seared and branded marks on the hill\nsummits and sides.]\n\n105. As regards the form of the cottage, we have seen how the\nWestmoreland cottage harmonized with the ease of outline so conspicuous\nin hill scenery, by the irregularity of its details; but, here, no such\nirregularity is allowable or consistent, and is not even desirable. For\nthe cottage enhances the wildness of the surrounding scene, by\nsympathizing with it; the villa must do the same thing, by contrasting\nwith it. The eye feels, in a far greater degree, the terror of the\ndistant and desolate peaks, when it passes down their ravined sides to\nsloping and verdant hills, and is guided from these to the rich glow of\nvegetable life in the low zones, and through this glow to the tall front\nof some noble edifice, peaceful even in its pride. But this contrast\nmust not be sudden, or it will be startling and harsh; and therefore, as\nwe saw above, the villa must be placed where all the severe features of\nthe scene, though not concealed, are distant, and where there is a\ngraduation, so to speak, of impressions, from terror to loveliness, the\none softened by distance, the other elevated in its style: and the form\nof the villa must not be fantastic or angular, but must be full of\nvariety, so tempered by simplicity as to obtain ease of outline united\nwith elevation of character; the first being necessary for reasons\nbefore advanced, and the second, that the whole may harmonize with the\nfeelings induced by the lofty features of the accompanying scenery in\nany hill country, and yet more, on the Larian Lake, by the deep memories\nand everlasting associations which haunt the stillness of its shore. Of\nthe color required by Italian landscape we have spoken before, and we\nshall see that, particularly in this case, white or pale tones are\nagreeable.\n\n106. We shall now proceed to the situation and form of the villa. As\nregards situation; the villas of the Lago di Como are built, _par\npreference_, either on jutting promontories of low crag covered with\nolives, or on those parts of the shore where some mountain stream has\ncarried out a bank of alluvium into the lake. One object proposed in\nthis choice of situation is, to catch the breeze as it comes up the main\nopening of the hills, and to avoid the reflection of the sun's rays from\nthe rocks of the actual shore; and another is, to obtain a prospect up\nor down the lake, and of the hills on whose projection the villa is\nbuilt: but the effect of this choice when the building is considered the\nobject, is to carry it exactly into the place where it ought to be, far\nfrom the steep precipice and dark mountain, to the border of the winding\nbay and citron-scented cape, where it stands at once conspicuous and in\npeace. For instance, in the view of Villa Serbelloni[16] from across the\nlake, although the eye falls suddenly from the crags above to the\npromontory below, yet all the sublime and severe features of the scene\nare kept in the distance, and the villa itself is mingled with graceful\nlines, and embosomed in rich vegetation. The promontory separates the\nLake of Lecco from that of Como, properly so-called, and is three miles\nfrom the opposite shore, which gives room enough for aerial perspective.\n\n[Footnote 16: [Villa Serbelloni, now the dependence of the Hotel Grande\nBretagne at Bellaggio, and Villa Somma-Riva, now called Villa Carlotta,\nat Cadenabbia, and visited by every tourist for its collection of modern\nstatuary, are both too well known to need illustration by the very poor\nwood-cuts which accompanied this chapter in the \"Architectural\nMagazine.\" The original drawings are lost; judging from that of the\ncottage in Val d'Aosta we may safely believe that they were most\ninadequately represented by the old cuts.]]\n\n107. We shall now consider the form of the villa. It is generally the\napex of a series of artificial terraces, which conduct through its\ngardens to the water. These are formal in their design, but extensive,\nwide, and majestic in their slope, the steps being generally about 1/2\nft. high and 4-1/2 ft. wide (sometimes however much deeper). They are\ngenerally supported by white wall, strengthened by unfilled arches, the\nangles being turned by sculptured pedestals, surmounted by statues, or\nurns. Along the terraces are carried rows, sometimes of cypress, more\nfrequently of orange or lemon trees, with myrtles, sweet bay, and aloes,\nintermingled, but always with dark and spiry cypresses occurring in\ngroups; and attached to these terraces, or to the villa itself, are\nseries of arched grottoes built (or sometimes cut in the rock) for\ncoolness, frequently overhanging the water, kept dark and fresh, and\naltogether delicious to the feelings. A good instance of these united\npeculiarities is seen in Villa Somma-Riva, Lago di Como.\n\nThe effect of these approaches is disputable. It is displeasing to many,\nfrom its formality; but we are persuaded that it is right, because it is\na national style, and therefore has in all probability due connection\nwith scene and character: and this connection we shall endeavor to\nprove.\n\n108. The frequent occurrence of the arch is always delightful in distant\neffect, partly on account of its graceful line, partly because the shade\nit casts is varied in depth, becoming deeper and deeper as the grotto\nretires, and partly because it gives great apparent elevation to the\nwalls which it supports. The grottoes themselves are agreeable objects\nseen near, because they give an impression of coolness to the eye; and\nthey echo all sounds with great melody; small streams are often\nconducted through them, occasioning slight breezes by their motion. Then\nthe statue and the urn are graceful in their outline, classical in their\nmeaning, and correct in their position, for where could they be more\nappropriate than here; the one ministering to memory, and the other to\nmourning. The terraces themselves are dignified in their character (a\nnecessary effect, as we saw above), and even the formal rows of trees\nare right in this climate, for a peculiar reason. Effect is always to be\nconsidered, in Italy, as if the sun were always to shine, for it does\nnine days out of ten. Now the shadows of foliage regularly disposed,\nfall with a grace which it is impossible to describe, running up and\ndown across the marble steps, and casting alternate statues into\ndarkness; and checkering the white walls with a \"method in their\nmadness,\" altogether unattainable by loose grouping of trees; and\ntherefore, for the sake of this kind of shade, to which the eye, as well\nas the feeling, is attracted, the long row of cypresses or orange trees\nis allowable.\n\n109. But there is a still more important reason for it, of a directly\ncontrary nature to that which its formality would seem to require. In\nall beautiful designs of exterior descent, a certain regularity is\nnecessary; the lines should be graceful, but they must balance each\nother, slope answering to slope, statue to statue. Now this mathematical\nregularity would hurt the eye excessively in the midst of scenes of\nnatural grace, were it executed in bare stone; but, if we make part of\nthe design itself foliage, and put in touches of regular shade,\nalternating with the stone, whose distances and darkness are as\nmathematically limited as the rest of the grouping, but whose nature is\nchangeful and varied in individual forms, we have obtained a link\nbetween nature and art, a step of transition, leading the feelings\ngradually from the beauty of regularity to that of freedom. And this\neffect would not be obtained, as might at first appear, by intermingling\ntrees of different kinds, at irregular distances, or wherever they chose\nto grow; for then the design and the foliage would be instantly\nseparated by the eye, the symmetry of the one would be interrupted, the\ngrace of the other lost; the nobility of the design would not be seen,\nbut its formality would be felt; and the wildness of the trees would be\ninjurious, because it would be felt to be out of place. On principles of\ncomposition, therefore, the regular disposition of decorative foliage is\nright, when such foliage is mixed with architecture; but it requires\ngreat taste, and long study, to design this disposition properly. Trees\nof dark leaf and little color should be invariably used, for they are to\nbe considered, it must be remembered, rather as free touches of shade\nthan as trees.\n\n110. Take, for instance, the most simple bit of design, such as a hollow\nbalustrade, and suppose that it is found to look cold or raw, when\nexecuted, and to want depth. Then put small pots, with any dark shrub,\nthe darker the better, at fixed places behind them, at the same distance\nas the balustrades, or between every two or three, and keep them cut\ndown to a certain height, and we have immediate depth and increased\nease, with undiminished symmetry. But the great difficulty is to keep\nthe thing within proper limits, since too much of it will lead to\npaltriness, as is the case in a slight degree in Isola Bella, on Lago\nMaggiore; and not to let it run into small details: for, be it\nremembered, that it is only in the majesty of art, in its large and\ngeneral effects, that this regularity is allowable; nothing but variety\nshould be studied in detail, and therefore there can be no barbarism\ngreater than the lozenge borders and beds of the French garden. The\nscenery around must be naturally rich, that its variety of line may\nrelieve the slight stiffness of the architecture itself: and the climate\nmust always be considered; for, as we saw, the chief beauty of these\nflights of steps depends upon the presence of the sun; and, if they are\nto be in shade half the year, the dark trees will only make them gloomy,\nthe grass will grow between the stones of the steps, black weeds will\nflicker from the pedestals, damp mosses discolor the statues and urns,\nand the whole will become one incongruous ruin, one ridiculous decay.\nBesides, the very dignity of its character, even could it be kept in\nproper order, would be out of place in any country but Italy. Busts of\nVirgil or Ariosto would look astonished in an English snowstorm; statues\nof Apollo and Diana would be no more divine, where the laurels of the\none would be weak, and the crescent of the other would never gleam in\npure moonlight. The whole glory of the design consists in its unison\nwith the dignity of the landscape, and with the classical tone of the\ncountry. Take it away from its concomitant circumstances, and, instead\nof conducting the eye to it by a series of lofty and dreamy impressions,\nbring it through green lanes, or over copse-covered crags, as would be\nthe case in England, and the whole system becomes utterly and absolutely\nabsurd, ugly in outline, worse than useless in application, unmeaning in\ndesign, and incongruous in association.\n\n111. It seems, then, that in the approach to the Italian villa, we have\ndiscovered great nationality and great beauty, which was more than we\ncould have expected, but a beauty utterly untransferable from its own\nsettled habitation. In our next paper we shall proceed to the building\nitself, which will not detain us long, as it is generally simple in its\ndesign, and take a general view of villa architecture over Italy.\n\n112. We have bestowed considerable attention on this style of Garden\nArchitecture, because it has been much abused by persons of high\nauthority, and general good taste, who forgot, in their love of grace\nand ideal beauty, the connection with surrounding circumstances so\nmanifest even in its formality. Eustace, we think, is one of these; and,\nalthough it is an error of a kind he is perpetually committing, he is so\nfar right, that this mannerism is frequently carried into excess even in\nits own peculiar domain, then becoming disagreeable, and is always a\ndangerous style in inexperienced hands. We think, however, paradoxical\nas the opinion may appear, that every one who is a true lover of nature,\nand has been bred in her wild school, will be an admirer of this\nsymmetrical designing, in its place; and will feel, as often as he\ncontemplates it, that the united effect of the wide and noble steps,\nwith the pure water dashing over them like heated crystal, the long\nshadows of the cypress groves, the golden leaves and glorious light of\nblossom of the glancing aloes, the pale statues gleaming along the\nheights in their everlasting death in life, their motionless brows\nlooking down forever on the loveliness in which their beings once dwelt,\nmarble forms of more than mortal grace lightening along the green\narcades, amidst dark cool grottoes, full of the voice of dashing waters,\nand of the breath of myrtle blossoms, with the blue of the deep lake and\nthe distant precipice mingling at every opening with the eternal snows\nglowing in their noontide silence, is one not unworthy of Italy's most\nnoble remembrances.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nTHE MOUNTAIN VILLA--LAGO DI COMO (Continued).\n\n\n113. Having considered the propriety of the approach, it remains for us\nto investigate the nature of the feelings excited by the villas of the\nLago di Como in particular, and of Italy in general.\n\nWe mentioned that the bases of the mountains bordering the Lake of Como\nwere chiefly composed of black marble; black, at least, when polished,\nand very dark gray in its general effect. This is very finely stratified\nin beds varying in thickness from an inch to two or three feet; and\nthese beds, taken of a medium thickness, form flat slabs, easily broken\ninto rectangular fragments, which, being excessively compact in their\ngrain, are admirably adapted for a building material. There is a little\npale limestone[17] among the hills to the south; but this marble, or\nprimitive limestone (for it is not highly crystalline), is not only more\neasy of access, but a more durable stone. Of this, consequently, almost\nall the buildings on the lake shore are built; and, therefore, were\ntheir material unconcealed, would be of a dark monotonous and melancholy\ngray tint, equally uninteresting to the eye, and depressing to the mind.\nTo prevent this result, they are covered with different compositions,\nsometimes white, more frequently cream-colored, and of varying depth;\nthe moldings and pilasters being frequently of deeper tones than the\nwalls. The insides of the grottoes, however, when not cut in the rock\nitself, are left uncovered, thus forming a strong contrast with the\nwhiteness outside; giving great depth, and permitting weeds and flowers\nto root themselves on the roughnesses, and rock streams to distill\nthrough the fissures of the dark stones; while all parts of the building\nto which the eye is drawn, by their form or details (except the capitals\nof the pilasters), such as the urns, the statues, the steps, or\nbalustrades, are executed in very fine white marble, generally from the\nquarries of Carrara, which supply quantities of fragments of the finest\nquality, which nevertheless, owing to their want of size, or to the\npresence of conspicuous veins, are unavailable for the higher purposes\nof sculpture.\n\n[Footnote 17: Pale limestone, with dolomite. A coarse dolomite forms the\nmass of mountains on the east of Lake Lecco, Monte Campione, etc., and\npart of the other side, as well as the Monte del Novo, above Cadenabbia;\nbut the bases of the hills, along the _shore_ of the Lake of Lecco, and\nall the mountains on both sides of the lower limb of Como are black\nlimestone. The whole northern half of the lake is bordered by gneiss or\nmica slate, with tertiary deposit where torrents enter it. So that the\ndolomite is only obtainable by ascending the hills, and incurring\nconsiderable expense of carriage; while the rocks of the shore split\ninto blocks of their own accord, and are otherwise an excellent\nmaterial.]\n\n114. Now, the first question is, is this very pale color desirable? It\nis to be hoped so, or else the whole of Italy must be pronounced full of\nimpropriety. The first circumstance in its favor is one which, though\nconnected only with lake scenery, we shall notice at length, as it is a\npoint of high importance in our own country. When a small piece of quiet\nwater reposes in a valley, or lies embosomed among crags, its chief\nbeauty is derived from our perception of crystalline depth, united with\nexcessive slumber. In its limited surface we cannot get the sublimity of\nextent, but we may have the beauty of peace, and the majesty of depth.\nThe object must therefore be, to get the eye off its surface, and to\ndraw it down, to beguile it into that fairy land underneath, which is\nmore beautiful than what it repeats, because it is all full of dreams\nunattainable, and illimitable. This can only be done by keeping its edge\nout of sight, and guiding the eye off the land into the reflection, as\nif it were passing into a mist, until it finds itself swimming into the\nblue sky, with a thrill of unfathomable falling. (If there be not a\ntouch of sky at the bottom, the water will be disagreeably black, and\nthe clearer the more fearful.) Now, one touch of _white_ reflection of\nan object at the edge will destroy the whole illusion, for it will come\nlike the flash of light on armor, and will show the surface, not the\ndepth: it will tell the eye whereabouts it is; will define the limit of\nthe edge; and will turn the dream of limitless depth into a small,\nuninteresting, reposeless piece of water. In all small lakes or pools,\ntherefore, steep borders of dark crag, or of thick foliage, are to be\nobtained, if possible; even a shingly shore will spoil them: and this\nwas one reason, it will be remembered for our admiration of the color of\nthe Westmoreland cottage, because it never broke the repose of water by\nits reflection.\n\n115. But this principle applies only to small pieces of water, on which\nwe look down, as much as along the surface. As soon as we get a sheet,\neven if only a mile across, we lose depth; first, because it is almost\nimpossible to get the surface without a breeze on some part of it; and,\nagain, because we look along it, and get a great deal of sky in the\nreflection, which, when occupying too much space, tells as mere flat\nlight. But we may have the beauty of extent in a very high degree; and\nit is therefore desirable to know how far the water goes, that we may\nhave a clear conception of its space. Now, its border, at a great\ndistance, is always lost, unless it be defined by a very distinct line;\nand such a line is harsh, flat, and cutting on the eye. To avoid this,\nthe border itself should be dark, as in the other case, so that there\nmay be no continuous horizontal line of demarcation; but one or two\nbright white objects should be set here and there along or near the\nedge: their reflections will flash on the dark water, and will inform\nthe eye in a moment of the whole distance and transparency of the\nsurface it is traversing. When there is a slight swell on the water,\nthey will come down in long, beautiful, perpendicular lines, mingling\nexquisitely with the streaky green of reflected foliage; when there is\nnone, they become a distant image of the object they repeat, endowed\nwith infinite repose.\n\n116. These remarks, true of small lakes whose edges are green, apply\nwith far greater force to sheets of water on which the eye passes over\nten or twenty miles in one long glance, and the prevailing color of\nwhose borders is, as we noticed when speaking of the Italian cottage,\nblue. The white reflections are here excessively valuable, giving space,\nbrilliancy, and transparency; and furnish one very powerful apology,\neven did other objections render an apology necessary, for the pale tone\nof the color of the villas, whose reflections, owing to their size and\nconspicuous situations, always take a considerable part in the scene,\nand are therefore things to be attentively considered in the erection of\nsuch buildings, particularly in a climate whose calmness renders its\nlakes quiet for the greater part of the day. Nothing, in fact, can be\nmore beautiful than the intermingling of these bright lines with the\ndarkness of the reversed cypresses seen against the deep azure of the\ndistant hills in the crystalline waters of the lake, of which some one\naptly says, \"Deep within its azure rest, white villages sleep\nsilently;\"[18] or than their columnar perspective, as village after\nvillage catches the light, and strikes the image to the very quietest\nrecess of the narrow water, and the very farthest hollow of the folded\nhills.\n\n[Footnote 18: [A reminiscence of two lines from a poem on the \"Lago di\nComo\" written by the author in 1833.]]\n\n117. From all this, it appears that the effect of the white villa in\nwater is delightful. On land it is quite as important, but more\ndoubtful. The first objection, which strikes us instantly when we\n_imagine_ such a building, is the want of repose, the startling glare of\neffect, induced by its unsubdued tint. But this objection does not\nstrike us when we _see_ the building; a circumstance which was partly\naccounted for before, in speaking of the cottage, and which we shall\npresently see farther cause not to be surprised at. A more important\nobjection is, that such whiteness destroys a great deal of venerable\ncharacter, and harmonizes ill with the melancholy tones of surrounding\nlandscape: and this requires detailed consideration.\n\n118. Paleness of color destroys the majesty of a building; first, by\nhinting at a disguised and humble material; and, secondly, by taking\naway all appearance of age. We shall speak of the effect of the material\npresently; but the deprivation of apparent antiquity is dependent in a\ngreat degree on the color; and in Italy, where, as we saw before,\neverything ought to point to the past, is serious injury, though, for\nseveral reasons, not so fatal as might be imagined; for we do not\nrequire, in a building raised as a light summer-house, wherein to while\naway a few pleasure hours, the evidence of ancestral dignity, without\nwhich the chateau or palace can possess hardly any beauty. We know that\nit is originally built more as a plaything than as a monument; as the\ndelight of an individual, not the possession of a race; and that the\nvery lightness and carelessness of feeling with which such a domicile is\nentered and inhabited by its first builder would demand, to sympathize\nand keep in unison with them, not the kind of building adapted to excite\nthe veneration of ages, but that which can most gayly minister to the\namusement of hours. For all men desire to have memorials of their\nactions, but none of their recreations; inasmuch as we only wish that to\nbe remembered which others will not, or cannot perform or experience;\nand we know that all men can enjoy recreation as much as ourselves. We\nwish succeeding generations to admire our energy, but not even to be\naware of our lassitude; to know when we moved, but not when we rested;\nhow we ruled, not how we condescended; and, therefore, in the case of\nthe triumphal arch, or the hereditary palace, if we are the builders, we\ndesire stability; if the beholders, we are offended with novelty: but in\nthe case of the villa, the builder desires only a correspondence with\nhis humor; the beholder, evidence of such correspondence; for he feels\nthat the villa is most beautiful when it ministers most to pleasure;\nthat it cannot minister to pleasure without perpetual change, so as to\nsuit the varying ideas, and humors, and imaginations of its inhabitant,\nand that it cannot possess this light and variable habit with any\nappearance of antiquity.\n\n119. And, for a yet more important reason, such appearance is not\ndesirable. Melancholy, when it is productive of pleasure, is accompanied\neither by loveliness in the object exciting it, or by a feeling of pride\nin the mind experiencing it. Without one of these, it becomes absolute\npain, which all men throw off as soon as they can, and suffer under as\nlong as their minds are too weak for the effort. Now, when it is\naccompanied by loveliness in the object exciting it, it forms beauty;\nwhen by a feeling of pride, it constitutes the pleasure we experience in\ntragedy, when we have the pride of endurance, or in contemplating the\nruin, or the monument, by which we are informed or reminded of the pride\nof the past. Hence, it appears that age is beautiful only when it is the\ndecay of glory or of power, and memory only delightful when it reposes\nupon pride.[19] All remains therefore of what was merely devoted to\npleasure; all evidence of lost enjoyment; all memorials of the\nrecreation and rest of the departed; in a word, all desolation of\ndelight is productive of mere pain, for there is no feeling of\nexultation connected with it. Thus, in any ancient habitation, we pass\nwith reverence and pleasurable emotion through the ordered armory, where\nthe lances lie, with none to wield; through the lofty hall, where the\ncrested scutcheons glow with the honor of the dead: but we turn sickly\naway from the arbor which has no hand to tend it, and the boudoir which\nhas no life to lighten it, and the smooth sward which has no light feet\nto dance on it. So it is in the villa: the more memory, the more sorrow;\nand, therefore, the less adaptation to its present purpose. But, though\ncheerful, it should be ethereal in its expression: \"spiritual\" is a good\nword, giving ideas of the very highest order of delight that can be\nobtained in the mere present.\n\n[Footnote 19: Observe, we are not speaking of emotions felt on\nremembering what we ourselves have enjoyed, for then the imagination is\nproductive of pleasure by replacing us in enjoyment, but of the feelings\nexcited in the _indifferent_ spectator, by the evident decay of power or\ndesolation of enjoyment, of which the first ennobles, the other only\nharrows, the spirit.]\n\n120. It seems, then, that for all these reasons an appearance of age is\nnot desirable, far less necessary, in the villa; but its existing\ncharacter must be in unison with its country; and it must appear to be\ninhabited by one brought up in that country, and imbued with its\nnational feelings. In Italy, especially, though we can even here\ndispense with one component part of elevation of character,--age, we\nmust have all the others: we must have high feeling, beauty of form, and\ndepth of effect, or the thing will be a barbarism; the inhabitant must\nbe an Italian, full of imagination and emotion: a villa inhabited by an\nEnglishman, no matter how close its imitation of others, will always be\npreposterous.\n\nWe find, therefore, that white is not to be blamed in the villa for\ndestroying its antiquity; neither is it reprehensible, as harmonizing\nill with the surrounding landscape: on the contrary, it adds to its\nbrilliancy, without taking away from its depth of tone. We shall\nconsider it as an element of landscape, more particularly, when we come\nto speak of grouping.\n\n121. There remains only one accusation to be answered; viz., that it\nhints at a paltry and unsubstantial material: and this leads us to the\nsecond question. Is this material allowable? If it were distinctly felt\nby the eye to be stucco, there could be no question about the matter, it\nwould be decidedly disagreeable; but all the parts to which the eye is\nattracted are executed in marble, and the stucco merely forms the dead\nflat of the building, not a single wreath of ornament being formed of\nit. Its surface is smooth and bright, and altogether avoids what a stone\nbuilding, when not built of large masses, and uncharged with ornament,\nalways forces upon the attention, the rectangular lines of the blocks,\nwhich, however nicely fitted they may be, are \"horrible! most horrible!\"\nThere is also a great deal of ease and softness in the angular lines of\nthe stucco, which are never sharp or harsh, like those of stone; and it\nreceives shadows with great beauty, a point of infinite importance in\nthis climate; giving them lightness and transparency, without any\ndiminution of depth. It is also agreeable to the eye, to pass from the\nsharp carving of the marble decorations to the ease and smoothness of\nthe stucco; while the utter want of interest in those parts which are\nexecuted in it prevents the humility of the material from being\noffensive: for this passage of the eye from the marble to the\ncomposition is managed with the dexterity of the artist, who, that the\nattention may be drawn to the single point of the picture which is his\nsubject, leaves the rest so obscured and slightly painted, that the mind\nloses it altogether in its attention to the principal feature.\n\n122. With all, however, that can be alleged in extenuation of its\nfaults, it cannot be denied that the stucco _does_ take away so much of\nthe dignity of the building, that, unless we find enough bestowed by its\nform and details to counterbalance, and a great deal more than\ncounterbalance, the deterioration occasioned by tone and material, the\nwhole edifice must be condemned, as incongruous with the spirit of the\nclimate, and even with the character of its own gardens and approach. It\nremains, therefore, to notice the details themselves. Its form is simple\nto a degree; the roof generally quite flat, so as to leave the mass in\nthe form of a parallelopiped, in general without wings or adjuncts of\nany sort. Villa Somma-Riva [Carlotta] is a good example of this general\nform and proportion, though it has an arched passage on each side, which\ntakes away from its massiness. This excessive weight of effect would be\ninjurious, if the building were set by itself; but, as it always forms\nthe apex of a series of complicated terraces, it both relieves them and\ngains great dignity by its own unbroken simplicity of size. This general\neffect of form is not injured, when, as is often the case, an open\npassage is left in the center of the building, under tall and\nwell-proportioned arches, supported by pilasters (never by columns).\nVilla Porro, Lago di Como, is a good example of this method. The arches\nhardly ever exceed three in number, and these are all of the same size,\nso that the crowns of the arches continue the horizontal lines of the\nrest of the building. Were the center one higher than the others, these\nlines would be interrupted, and a great deal of simplicity lost. The\ncovered space under these arches is a delightful, shaded, and breezy\nretreat in the heat of the day; and the entrance doors usually open into\nit, so that a current of cool air is obtainable by throwing them open.\n\n123. The building itself consists of three floors: we remember no\ninstance of a greater number, and only one or two of fewer. It is, in\ngeneral, crowned with a light balustrade, surmounted by statues at\nintervals. The windows of the uppermost floor are usually square, often\nwithout any architrave. Those of the principal floor are surrounded with\nbroad architraves, but are frequently destitute of frieze or cornice.\nThey have usually flat bands at the bottom, and their aperture is a\ndouble square. Their recess is very deep, so as not to let the sun fall\nfar into the interior. The interval between them is very variable. In\nsome of the villas of highest pretensions, such as those on the banks of\nthe Brenta, that of Isola Bella, and others, which do not face the\nsouth, it is not much more than the breadth of the two architraves, so\nthat the rooms within are filled with light. When this is the case, the\nwindows have friezes and cornices. But, when the building fronts the\nsouth, the interval is often very great, as in the case of the Villa\nPorro. The ground-floor windows are frequently set in tall arches,\nsupported on deeply engaged pilasters as in the Villa Somma-Riva. The\ndoor is not large, and never entered by high steps, as it generally\nopens on a terrace of considerable height, or on a wide landing-place at\nthe head of a flight of fifty or sixty steps descending through the\ngardens.\n\n124. Now, it will be observed, that, in these general forms, though\nthere is no splendor, there is great dignity. The lines throughout are\nsimple to a degree, entirely uninterrupted by decorations of any kind,\nso that the beauty of their proportions is left visible and evident. We\nshall see hereafter that ornament in Grecian architecture, while, when\nwell managed, it always adds to its grace, invariably takes away from\nits majesty; and that these two attributes never can exist together in\ntheir highest degrees. By the utter absence of decoration, therefore,\nthe Italian villa, possessing, as it usually does, great beauty of\nproportion, attains a degree of elevation of character, which impresses\nthe mind in a manner which it finds difficult to account for by any\nconsideration of its simple details or moderate size; while, at the same\ntime, it lays so little claim to the attention, and is so subdued in its\ncharacter, that it is enabled to occupy a conspicuous place in a\nlandscape, without any appearance of intrusion. The glance of the\nbeholder rises from the labyrinth of terrace and arbor beneath, almost\nweariedly; it meets, as it ascends, with a gradual increase of bright\nmarble and simple light, and with a proportionate diminution of dark\nfoliage and complicated shadow, till it rests finally on a piece of\nsimple brilliancy, chaste and unpretending, yet singularly dignified;\nand does not find its color too harsh, because its form is so simple:\nfor color of any kind is only injurious when the eye is too much\nattracted to it; and, when there is so much quietness of detail as to\nprevent this misfortune, the building will possess the cheerfulness,\nwithout losing the tranquillity, and will seem to have been erected, and\nto be inhabited, by a mind of that beautiful temperament wherein modesty\ntempers majesty, and gentleness mingles with rejoicing, which, above all\nothers, is most suited to the essence, and most interwoven with the\nspirit, of the natural beauty whose peculiar power is invariably repose.\n\n125. So much for its general character. Considered by principles of\ncomposition, it will also be found beautiful. Its prevailing lines are\nhorizontal; and every artist knows that, where peaks of any kind are in\nsight, the lines above which they rise ought to be flat. It has not one\nacute angle in all its details, and very few intersections of verticals\nwith horizontals; while all that do intersect seem useful as supporting\nthe mass. The just application of the statues at the top is more\ndoubtful, and is considered reprehensible by several high authorities,\nwho, nevertheless, are inconsistent enough to let the balustrade pass\nuncalumniated, though it is objectionable on exactly the same grounds;\nfor, if the statues suggest the inquiry of \"What are they doing there?\"\nthe balustrade compels its beholder to ask, \"whom it keeps from tumbling\nover?\"\n\n126. The truth is, that the balustrade and statues derive their origin\nfrom a period when there was easy access to the roof of either temple or\nvilla; (that there was such access is proved by a passage in the\n_Iphigenia Taurica_, line 113, where Orestes speaks of getting up to the\ntriglyphs of a Doric temple as an easy matter;) and when the flat roofs\nwere used, not, perhaps, as an evening promenade, as in Palestine, but\nas a place of observation, and occasionally of defense. They were\ncomposed of large flat slabs of stone ([Greek: keramos,[20]]) peculiarly\nadapted for walking, one or two of which, when taken up, left an opening\nof easy access into the house, as in Luke v. 19, and were perpetually\nused in Greece as missile weapons, in the event of a hostile attack or\nsedition in the city, by parties of old men, women, and children, who\nused, as a matter of course, to retire to the roof as a place of\nconvenient defense. By such attacks from the roof with the [Greek:\nkeramos] the Thebans were thrown into confusion in Plataea (_Thucydides_\nii. 4.). So, also, we find the roof immediately resorted to in the case\nof the starving of Pausanias in the Temple of Minerva of the Brazen\nHouse, and in that of the massacre of the aristocratic party at Corcyra\n(_Thucydides_ iv. 48):--[Greek: Anabantes de epi to tegos tou oikematos,\nkai dielontes ten orophen, eballon to keramo].\n\n[Footnote 20: In the large buildings, that is: [Greek: keramos] also\nsignifies earthen tiling, and sometimes earthenware in general, as in\n_Herodotus_ iii. 6 [where it is used of earthen jars of wine.] It\nappears that such tiling was frequently used in smaller edifices. The\nGreeks may have derived their flat roofs from Egypt. Herodotus mentions\nof the Labyrinth of the Twelve Kings, that [Greek: horophe de panton\ntouton lithine], but not as if the circumstance were in the least\nextraordinary [_Herodotus_ ii. 148.]]\n\n127. Now, where the roof was thus a place of frequent resort, there\ncould be no more useful decoration than a balustrade; nor one more\nappropriate or beautiful than occasional statues in attitudes of\nwatchfulness, expectation, or observation: and even now, wherever the\nroof is flat, we have an idea of convenience and facility of access,\nwhich still renders the balustrade agreeable, and the statue beautiful,\nif well designed. It must not be a figure of perfect peace or repose;\nfar less should it be in violent action: but it should be fixed in that\nquick, startled stillness, which is the result of intent observation or\nexpectation, and which seems ready to start into motion every instant.\nIts height should be slightly colossal, as it is always to be seen\nagainst the sky; and its draperies should not be too heavy, as the eye\nwill always expect them to be caught by the wind. We shall enter into\nthis subject, however, more fully hereafter. We only wish at present to\nvindicate from the charge of impropriety one of the chief features of\nthe Italian villa. Its white figures, always marble, remain entirely\nunsullied by the weather, and stand out with great majesty against the\nblue air behind them, taking away from the heaviness, without destroying\nthe simplicity, of the general form.\n\n128. It seems then that, by its form and details, the villa of the Lago\ndi Como attains so high a degree of elevation of character, as not only\nbrings it into harmony of its _locus_, without any assistance from\nappearance of antiquity, but may, we think, permit it to dispense even\nwith solidity of material, and appear in light summer stucco, instead of\nraising itself in imperishable marble. And this conclusion, which is\nmerely theoretical, is verified by fact: for we remember no instance,\nexcept in cases where poverty had overpowered pretension, or decay had\nturned rejoicing into silence, in which the lightness of the material\nwas offensive to the feelings; in all cases, it is agreeable to the eye.\nWhere it is allowed to get worn, and discolored, and broken, it induces\na wretched mockery of the dignified form which it preserves; but, as\nlong as it is renewed at proper periods, and watched over by the eye of\nits inhabitant, it is an excellent and easily managed medium of effect.\n\n129. With all the praise, however, which we have bestowed upon it, we do\nnot say that the villa of the Larian Lake is perfection; indeed we\ncannot say so, until we have compared it with a few other instances,\nchiefly to be found in Italy, on whose soil we delay, as being the\nnative country of the villa, properly so-called, and as ever yet being\nalmost the only spot of Europe where any good specimens of it are to be\nfound; for we do not understand by the term \"villa\" a cubic erection,\nwith one window on each side of a verdant door, and three on the second\nand uppermost story, such as the word suggests to the fertile\nimagination of ruralizing cheesemongers; neither do we understand the\nquiet and unpretending country house of a respectable gentleman; neither\ndo we understand such a magnificent mass of hereditary stone as\ngenerally forms the autumn retreat of an English noble; but we\nunderstand the light but elaborate summer habitation, raised however and\nwherever it pleases his fancy, by some individual of great wealth and\ninfluence, who can enrich it with every attribute of beauty; furnish it\nwith every appurtenance of pleasure; and repose in it with the dignity\nof a mind trained to exertion or authority. Such a building could not\nexist in Greece, where every district a mile and a quarter square was\nquarreling with all its neighbors. It could exist, and did exist, in\nItaly, where the Roman power secured tranquillity, and the Roman\nconstitution distributed its authority among a great number of\nindividuals, on whom, while it raised them to a position of great\ninfluence, and, in its later times, of wealth, it did not bestow the\npower of raising palaces or private fortresses. The villa was their\npeculiar habitation, their only resource, and a most agreeable one;\nbecause the multitudes of the kingdom being, for a long period, confined\nto a narrow territory, though ruling the world, rendered the population\nof the city so dense, as to drive out its higher ranks to the\nneighboring hamlets of Tibur and Tusculum.\n\n130. In other districts of Europe the villa is not found, because in\nvery perfect monarchies, as in Austria, the power is thrown chiefly into\nthe hands of a few, who build themselves palaces, not villas; and in\nperfect republics, as in Switzerland, the power is so split among the\nmultitude, that nobody can build himself anything. In general, in\nkingdoms of great extent, the country house becomes the permanent and\nhereditary habitation; and the villas are all crowded together, and form\ngingerbread rows in the environs of the capital; and, in France and\nGermany, the excessively disturbed state of affairs in the Middle Ages\ncompelled every baron or noble to defend himself, and retaliate on his\nneighbors as he best could, till the villa was lost in the chateau and\nthe fortress; and men now continue to build as their forefathers built\n(and long may they do so), surrounding the domicile of pleasure with a\nmoat and a glacis, and guarding its garret windows with turrets and\ntowers: while, in England, the nobles, comparatively few, and of great\npower, inhabit palaces, not villas; and the rest of the population is\nchiefly crowded into cities, in the activity of commerce, or dispersed\nover estates in that of agriculture; leaving only one grade of gentry,\nwho have neither the taste to desire, nor the power to erect, the villa,\nproperly so-called.\n\n131. We must not, therefore, be surprised if, on leaving Italy, where\nthe crowd of poverty-stricken nobility can still repose their pride in\nthe true villa, we find no farther examples of it worthy of\nconsideration; though we hope to have far greater pleasure in\ncontemplating its substitutes, the chateau and the fortress. We must be\nexcused, therefore, for devoting one paper more to the state of villa\narchitecture in Italy; after which we shall endeavor to apply the\nprinciples we shall have deduced to the correction of some abuses in the\nerection of English country houses, in cases where scenery would demand\nbeauty of design and wealth permit finish of decoration.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE ITALIAN VILLA (Concluded).\n\n\n132. We do not think there is any truth in the aphorism, now so\nfrequently advanced in England, that the adaptation of shelter to the\ncorporal comfort of the human race is the original and true end of the\nart of architecture, properly so-called: for, were such the case, he\nwould be the most distinguished architect who was best acquainted with\nthe properties of cement, with the nature of stone, and the various\ndurability of wood. That such knowledge is necessary to the perfect\narchitect we do not deny; but it is no more the end and purpose of his\napplication, than a knowledge of the alphabet is the object of the\nrefined scholar, or of rhythm of the inspired poet.\n\n133. For, supposing that we were for a moment to consider that we built\na house _merely_ to be lived in, and that the whole bent of our\ninvention, in raising the edifice, is to be directed to the provision of\ncomfort for the life to be spent therein; supposing that we build it\nwith the most perfect dryness and coolness of cellar, the most luxurious\nappurtenances of pantry; that we build our walls with the most compacted\nstrength of material, the most studied economy of space; that we leave\nnot a chink in the floor for a breath of wind to pass through, not a\nhinge in the door, which, by any possible exertion of its irritable\nmuscles, could creak; that we elevate our chambers into exquisite\ncoolness, furnish them with every attention to the maintenance of\ngeneral health, as well as the prevention of present inconvenience: to\ndo all this, we must be possessed of great knowledge and various skill;\nlet this knowledge and skill be applied with the greatest energy, and\nwhat have they done? Exactly as much as brute animals can do by mere\ninstinct; nothing more than bees and beavers, moles and magpies, ants\nand earwigs, do every day of their lives, without the slightest effort\nof reason; we have made ourselves superior as architects to the most\ndegraded animation of the universe, only insomuch as we have lavished\nthe highest efforts of intellect, to do what they have done with the\nmost limited sensations that can constitute life.\n\n134. The mere preparation of convenience, therefore, is not architecture\nin which man can take pride, or ought to take delight;[21] but the high\nand ennobling art of architecture is that of giving to buildings, whose\nparts are determined by necessity, such forms and colors as shall\ndelight the mind, by preparing it for the operations to which it is to\nbe subjected in the building: and thus, as it is altogether to the mind\nthat the work of the architect is addressed, it is not as a part of his\nart, but as a limitation of its extent, that he must be acquainted with\nthe minor principles of the economy of domestic erections. For this\nreason, though we shall notice every class of edifice, it does not come\nwithin our proposed plan, to enter into any detailed consideration of\nthe inferior buildings of each class, which afford no scope for the play\nof the imagination by their nature or size; but we shall generally\nselect the most perfect and beautiful examples, as those in which alone\nthe architect has the power of fulfilling the high purposes of his art.\nIn the villa, however, some exception must be made, inasmuch as it will\nbe useful, and perhaps interesting, to arrive at some fixed conclusions\nrespecting the modern buildings, improperly called villas, raised by\nmoderate wealth, and of limited size, in which the architect is\ncompelled to produce his effect without extent or decoration. The\nprinciples which we have hitherto arrived at, deduced as they are from\nedifices of the noblest character, will be but of little use to a\ncountry gentleman, about to insinuate himself and his habitation into a\nquiet corner of our lovely country; and, therefore, we must glance at\nthe more humble homes of the Italian, preparatory to the consideration\nof what will best suit our own less elevated scenery.\n\n[Footnote 21: [Compare \"The Seven Lamps of Architecture,\" chap. i. Sec.\n1.]]\n\n135. First, then, we lose the terraced approach, or, at least, its size\nand splendor, as these require great wealth to erect them, and perpetual\nexpense to preserve them. For the chain of terraces we find substituted\na simple garden, somewhat formally laid out; but redeemed from the\ncharge of meanness by the nobility and size attained by most of its\ntrees; the line of immense cypresses which generally surrounds it in\npart, and the luxuriance of the vegetation of its flowering shrubs. It\nhas frequently a large entrance gate, well designed, but carelessly\nexecuted; sometimes singularly adorned with fragments of ancient\nsculpture, regularly introduced, which the spectator partly laments, as\npreserved in a mode so incongruous with their ancient meaning, and\npartly rejoices over, as preserved at all. The grottoes of the superior\ngarden are here replaced by light ranges of arched summerhouses,\ndesigned in stucco, and occasionally adorned in their interior with\nfresco paintings of considerable brightness and beauty.\n\n136. All this, however, has very little effect in introducing the eye to\nthe villa itself, owing to the general want of inequality of level in\nthe ground, so that the main building becomes an independent feature,\ninstead of forming the apex of a mass of various architecture.\nConsequently, the weight of form which in the former case it might, and\neven ought to, possess, would here be cumbrous, ugly, and improper; and\naccordingly we find it got rid of. This is done, first by the addition\nof the square tower, a feature which is not allowed to break in upon the\nsymmetry of buildings of high architectural pretensions; but is\nimmediately introduced, whenever less richness of detail, or variety of\napproach, demands or admits of irregularity of form. It is a constant\nand most important feature in Italian landscape; sometimes high and\napparently detached, as when it belongs to sacred edifices; sometimes\nlow and strong, united with the mass of the fortress, or varying the\nform of the villa. It is always simple in its design, flat-roofed, its\ncorners being turned by very slightly projecting pilasters, which are\ncarried up the whole height of the tower, whatever it may be, without\nany regard to proportion, terminating in two arches on each side, in the\nvilla most frequently filled up, though their curve is still\ndistinguished by darker tint and slight relief. Two black holes on each\nside, near the top, are very often the only entrances by which light or\nsun can penetrate. These are seldom actually large, always\nproportionably small, and destitute of ornament or relief.\n\n137. The forms of the villas to which these towers are attached are\nstraggling, and varied by many crossing masses; but the great principle\nof simplicity is always kept in view; everything is square, and\nterminated by parallel lines; no tall chimneys, no conical roofs, no\nfantastic ornaments are ever admitted: the arch alone is allowed to\nrelieve the stiffness of the general effect. This is introduced\nfrequently, but not in the windows, which are either squares or double\nsquares, at great distances from each other, set deeply into the walls\nand only adorned with broad flat borders. Where more light is required\nthey are set moderately close, and protected by an outer line of arches,\ndeep enough to keep the noonday sun from entering the rooms. These lines\nof arches cast soft shadows along the bright fronts, and are otherwise\nof great value. Their effect is pretty well seen in fig. 10; a piece\nwhich, while it has no distinguished beauty is yet pleasing by its\nentire simplicity; and peculiarly so, when we know that simplicity to\nhave been chosen (some say, built) for its last and lonely habitation,\nby a mind of softest passion as of purest thought; and to have sheltered\nits silent old age among the blue and quiet hills, till it passed away\nlike a deep lost melody from the earth, leaving a light of peace about\nthe gray tomb at which the steps of those who pass by always falter, and\naround this deserted, and decaying, and calm habitation of the thoughts\nof the departed; Petrarch's, at Arqua. A more familiar instance of the\napplication of these arches is the Villa of Mecaenas at Tivoli, though it\nis improperly styled a villa, being pretty well known to have been\nnothing but stables.\n\n138. The buttress is the only remaining point worthy of notice. It\nprevails to a considerable extent among the villas of the south, being\nalways broad and tall, and occasionally so frequent as to give the\nbuilding, viewed laterally, a pyramidal and cumbrous effect. The most\nusual form is that of a simple sloped mass, terminating in the wall,\nwithout the slightest finishing, and rising at an angle of about 84 deg..\nSometimes it is perpendicular, sloped at the top into the wall; but it\nnever has steps of increasing projection as it goes down. By observing\nthe occurrence of these buttresses, an architect, who knew nothing of\ngeology, might accurately determine the points of most energetic\nvolcanic action in Italy; for their use is to protect the building from\nthe injuries of earthquakes, the Italian having far too much good taste\nto use them, except in cases of extreme necessity. Thus, they are never\nfound in North Italy, even in the fortresses. They begin to occur among\nthe Apennines, south of Florence; they become more and more frequent and\nmassy towards Rome; in the neighborhood of Naples they are huge and\nmultitudinous, even the walls themselves being sometimes sloped; and the\nsame state of things continues as we go south, on the coast of Calabria\nand Sicily.\n\n139. Now, these buttresses present one of the most extraordinary and\nstriking instances of the beauty of adaptation of style to locality and\npeculiarity of circumstance, that can be met with in the whole range of\narchitectural investigation. Taken in the abstract, they are utterly\ndetestable, formal, clumsy, and apparently unnecessary. Their builder\nthinks so himself: he hates them as things to be looked at, though he\nerects them as things to be depended upon. He has no idea that there is\nany propriety in their presence, though he knows perfectly well that\nthere is a great deal of necessity; and, therefore he builds them.\nWhere? On rocks whose sides are one mass of buttresses, of precisely the\nsame form; on rocks which are cut and cloven by basalt and lava dikes\nof every size, and which, being themselves secondary, wear away\ngradually by exposure to the atmosphere, leaving the intersecting dikes\nstanding out in solid and vertical walls, from the faces of their\nprecipices. The eye passes over heaps of scoriae and sloping banks of\nashes, over the huge ruins of more ancient masses, till it trembles for\nthe fate of the crags still standing round; but it finds them ribbed\nwith basalt like bones, buttressed with a thousand lava walls, propped\nupon pedestals and pyramids of iron, which the pant and the pulse of the\nearthquake itself can scarcely move, for they are its own work; it\nclimbs up to their summits, and there it finds the work of man; but it\nis no puny domicile, no eggshell imagination, it is in a continuation of\nthe mountain itself, inclined at the same slope, ribbed in the same\nmanner, protected by the same means against the same danger; not,\nindeed, filling the eye with delight, but, which is of more importance,\nfreeing it from fear, and beautifully corresponding with the prevalent\nlines around it, which a less massive form would have rendered, in some\ncases, particularly about Etna, even ghastly. Even in the long and\nluxuriant views from Capo di Monte, and the heights to the east of\nNaples, the spectator looks over a series of volcanic eminences,\ngenerally, indeed, covered with rich verdure, but starting out here and\nthere in gray and worn walls, fixed at a regular slope, and breaking\naway into masses more and more rugged towards Vesuvius, till the eye\ngets thoroughly habituated to their fortress-like outlines.\n\n[Illustration: Fig. 10. Petrarch's Villa; Arqua.--1837.]\n\n140. Throughout the whole of this broken country, and, on the summits of\nthese volcanic cones, rise innumerable villas; but they do not offend\nus, as we should have expected, by their attestation of cheerfulness of\nlife amidst the wrecks left by destructive operation, nor hurt the eye\nby non-assimilation with the immediate features of the landscape: but\nthey seem to rise prepared and adapted for resistance to, and endurance\nof, the circumstances of their position; to be inhabited by beings of\nenergy and force sufficient to decree and to carry on a steady struggle\nwith opposing elements, and of taste and feeling sufficient to\nproportion the form of the walls of men to the clefts in the flanks of\nthe volcano, and to prevent the exultation and the lightness of\ntransitory life from startling, like a mockery, the eternal remains of\ndisguised desolation.\n\n141. We have always considered these circumstances as most remarkable\nproofs of the perfect dependence of architecture on its situation, and\nof the utter impossibility of judging of the beauty of any building in\nthe abstract: and we would also lay much stress upon them, as showing\nwith what boldness the designer may introduce into his building,\nundisguised, such parts as local circumstances render desirable; for\nthere will invariably be something in the nature of that which causes\ntheir necessity, which will endow them with beauty.\n\n142. These, then, are the principal features of the Italian villa,\nmodifications of which, of course more or less dignified in size,\nmaterial or decoration, in proportion to the power and possessions of\ntheir proprietor, may be considered as composing every building of that\nclass in Italy. A few remarks on their general effect will enable us to\nconclude the subject.\n\n143. We have been so long accustomed to see the horizontal lines and\nsimple forms which, as we have observed, still prevail among the\nAusonian villas, used with the greatest dexterity, and the noblest\neffect, in the compositions of Claude, Salvator, and Poussin--and so\nhabituated to consider these compositions as perfect models of the\nbeautiful, as well as the pure in taste--that it is difficult to divest\nourselves of prejudice, in the contemplation of the sources from which\nthose masters received their education, their feelings, and their\nsubjects. We would hope, however, and we think it may be proved, that in\nthis case principle assists and encourages prejudice. First, referring\nonly to the gratification afforded to the eye, which we know to depend\nupon fixed mathematical principles, though those principles are not\nalways developed, it is to be observed, that country is always most\nbeautiful when it is made up of curves, and that one of the chief\ncharacters of Ausonian landscape is the perfection of its curvatures,\ninduced by the gradual undulation of promontories into the plains. In\nsuiting architecture to such a country, that building which least\ninterrupts the curve on which it is placed will be felt to be most\ndelightful to the eye.\n\n[Illustration: Fig. 11. Broken Curves.]\n\n144. Let us take then the simple form _a b c d_, interrupting the curve\n_c e_ [fig. 11, A]. Now, the eye will always continue the principal\nlines of such an object for itself, until they cut the main curve; that\nis, it will carry on _a b_ to _e_, and the total effect of the\ninterruption will be that of the form _c d e_. Had the line _b d_ been\nnearer to _a c_, the effect would have been just the same. Now, every\ncurve may be considered as composed of an infinite number of lines at\nright angles to each other, as _m n_ is made up of _o p, p q_, etc.,\n(fig. B), whose ratio to each other varies with the direction of the\ncurve. Then, if the right lines which form the curve at _c_ (fig. A) be\nincreased, we have the figure _c d e_, that is, the apparent\ninterruption of the curve is an increased part of the curve itself. To\nthe mathematical reader we can explain our meaning more clearly, by\npointing out that, taking _c_ for our origin, we have _a c_, _a e_, for\nthe co-ordinates of _e_, and that, therefore, their ratio is the\nequation to the curve. Whence it appears, that, when any curve is broken\nin upon by a building composed of simple vertical and horizontal lines,\nthe eye is furnished, by the interruption, with the equation to that\npart of the curve which is interrupted. If, instead of square forms, we\ntake obliquity, as _r s t_ (fig. C), we have one line, _s t_, an\nabsolute break, and the other _r s_, in false proportion. If we take\nanother curve, we have an infinite number of lines, only two of which\nare where they ought to be. And this is the true reason for the constant\nintroduction of features which appear to be somewhat formal, into the\nmost perfect imaginations of the old masters, and the true cause of the\nextreme beauty of the groups formed by Italian villages in general.\n\n145. Thus much for the mere effect on the eye. Of correspondence with\nnational character, we have shown that we must not be disappointed, if\nwe find little in the villa. The unfrequency of windows in the body of\nthe building is partly attributed to the climate; but the total\nexclusion of light from some parts, as the base of the central tower,\ncarries our thoughts back to the ancient system of Italian life, when\nevery man's home had its dark, secret places, the abodes of his worst\npassions; whose shadows were alone intrusted with the motion of his\nthoughts; whose walls became the whited sepulchers of crime; whose\nechoes were never stirred except by such words as they dared not\nrepeat;[22] from which the rod of power, or the dagger of passion, came\nforth invisible; before whose stillness princes grew pale, as their\nfates were prophesied or fulfilled by the horoscope or the hemlock; and\nnations, as the whisper of anarchy or of heresy was avenged by the\nopening of the low doors, through which those who entered returned not.\n\n[Footnote 22: Shelley has caught the feeling finely:--\"The house is\npenetrated to its corners by the peeping insolence of the day. When the\ntime comes the crickets shall not see me.\"--_Cenci_ [Act II. scene I,\nquoted from memory.]]\n\n146. The mind of the Italian, sweet and smiling in its operations, deep\nand silent in its emotions, was thus, in some degree, typified by those\nabodes into which he was wont to retire from the tumult and wrath of\nlife, to cherish or to gratify the passions which its struggles had\nexcited; abodes which now gleam brightly and purely among the azure\nmountains, and by the sapphire sea, but whose stones are dropped with\nblood; whose vaults are black with the memory of guilt and grief\nunpunished and unavenged, and by whose walls the traveler hastens\nfearfully, when the sun has set, lest he should hear, awakening again\nthrough the horror of their chambers, the faint wail of the children of\nUgolino,[23] the ominous alarm of Bonatti, or the long low cry of her\nwho perished at Coll' Alto.\n\nOXFORD, _July, 1838._\n\n[Footnote 23: Ugolino; Dante, _Inferno_ xxxiii. Guido Bonatti, the\nastrologer of Forli, _Inferno_ xx., 118. The lady who perished at Coll'\nAlto, _i.e._ the higher part of Colle de Val d'Elsa, between Siena and\nVolterra--was Sapia; _Purgatorio_, xiii. 100-154.]\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nTHE LOWLAND VILLA--ENGLAND.\n\n\n147. Although, as we have frequently observed, our chief object in these\npapers is, to discover the connection existing between national\narchitecture and character, and therefore is one leading us rather to\nthe investigation of what is, than of what ought to be, we yet consider\nthat the subject would be imperfectly treated, if we did not, at the\nconclusion of the consideration of each particular rank of building,\nendeavor to apply such principles as may have been demonstrated to the\narchitecture of our country, and to discover the _beau ideal_ of English\ncharacter, which should be preserved through all the decorations which\nthe builder may desire, and through every variety which fancy may\nsuggest. There never was, and never can be, a universal _beau ideal_ in\narchitecture, and the arrival at all local models of beauty would be the\ntask of ages; but we can always, in some degree, determine those of our\nown lovely country. We cannot, however, in the present case, pass from\nthe contemplation of the villa of a totally different climate, to the\ninvestigation of what is beautiful here, without the slightest reference\nto styles now or formerly adopted for our own \"villas,\" if such they are\nto be called; and therefore it will be necessary to devote a short time\nto the observance of the peculiarities of such styles, if we possess\nthem; or, if not, of the causes of their absence.\n\n148. We have therefore headed this paper \"The Villa, England;\"\nawakening, without doubt, a different idea in the mind of every one who\nreads the words. Some, accustomed to the appearance of metropolitan\nvillas, will think of brick buildings, with infinite appurtenances of\nblack nicked chimney-pots, and plastered fronts, agreeably varied with\ngraceful cracks, and undulatory shades of pink, brown, and green,\ncommunicated to the cement by smoky showers. Others will imagine large,\nsquare, many-windowed masses of white, set with careful choice of\nsituation exactly where they will spoil the landscape to such a\nconspicuous degree, as to compel the gentlemen traveling on the outside\nof the mail to inquire of the guard, with great eagerness, \"whose place\nthat is;\" and to enable the guard to reply with great distinctness, that\nit belongs to Squire ----, to the infinite gratification of Squire ----,\nand the still more infinite edification of the gentlemen on the outside\nof the mail. Others will remember masses of very red brick, quoined with\nstone; with columnar porticoes, about one-third of the height of the\nbuilding, and two niches, with remarkable looking heads and bag-wigs in\nthem, on each side; and two teapots, with a pocket-handkerchief hanging\nover each (described to the astonished spectator as \"Grecian urns\")\nlocated upon the roof, just under the chimneys. Others will go back to\nthe range of Elizabethan gables; but none will have any idea of a fixed\ncharacter, stamped on a class of national edifices. This is very\nmelancholy, and very discouraging; the more so, as it is not without\ncause.\n\n149. In the first place, Britain unites in itself so many geological\nformations, each giving a peculiar character to the country which it\ncomposes, that there is hardly a district five miles broad, which\npreserves the same features of landscape through its whole width.[24]\nIf, for example, six foreigners were to land severally at Glasgow, at\nAberystwith, at Falmouth, at Brighton, at Yarmouth, and at Newcastle,\nand to confine their investigations to the country within twenty miles\nof them, what different impressions would they receive of British\nlandscape! If, therefore, there be as many forms of edifice as there\nare peculiarities of situation, we can have no national style; and if we\nabandon the idea of a correspondence with situation, we lose the only\ncriterion capable of forming a national style.[25]\n\n[Footnote 24: Length is another thing: we might divide England into\nstrips of country, running southwest and northeast, which would be\ncomposed of the same rock, and therefore would present the same\ncharacter throughout the whole of their length. Almost all our great\nroads cut these transversely, and therefore seldom remain for ten miles\ntogether on the same beds.]\n\n[Footnote 25: It is thus that we find the most perfect schools of\narchitecture have arisen in districts whose character is unchanging.\nLooking to Egypt first, we find a climate inducing a perpetual state of\nheavy feverish excitement, fostered by great magnificence of natural\nphenomena, and increased by the general custom of exposing the head\ncontinually to the sun (Herodotus, bk. III. chap. 12); so that, as in a\ndreaming fever we imagine distorted creatures and countenances moving\nand living in the quiet objects of the chamber, the Egyptian endowed all\nexistence with distorted animation; turned dogs into deities, and leeks\ninto lightning-darters; then gradually invested the blank granite with\nsculptured mystery, designed in superstition, and adored in disease; and\nthen such masses of architecture arose as, in delirium, we feel crushing\ndown upon us with eternal weight, and see extending far into the\nblackness above; huge and shapeless columns of colossal life; immense\nand immeasurable avenues of mountain stone. This was a perfect--that is,\na marked, enduring, and decided school of architecture, induced by an\nunchanging and peculiar character of climate. Then in the purer air, and\namong the more refined energies of Greece, architecture rose into a more\nstudied beauty, equally perfect in its school, because fostered in a\ndistrict not 50 miles square, and in its dependent isles and colonies,\nall of which were under the same air, and partook of the same features\nof landscape. In Rome, it became less perfect, because more imitative\nthan indigenous, and corrupted by the traveling, and conquering, and\nstealing ambition of the Roman; yet still a school of architecture,\nbecause the whole of Italy presented the same peculiarities of scene. So\nwith the Spanish and Moresco schools, and many others; passing over the\nGothic, which, though we hope hereafter to show it to be no exception to\nthe rule, involves too many complicated questions to be now brought\nforward as a proof of it.\n\n[The comparison of Egyptian architecture with delirious visions seems to\nbe an allusion to De Quincey's passage in \"The Pains of Opium\"--the last\npaper in \"the Confessions of an Opium-Eater\"--where, after describing\nPiranesi's _Dreams_, he tells how he fancied he was \"buried for a\nthousand years, in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow\nchambers at the heart of eternal pyramids,\" etc.]]\n\n150. Another cause to be noticed is the peculiar independence of the\nEnglishman's disposition; a feeling which prompts him to suit his own\nhumor, rather than fall in with the prevailing cast of social sentiment,\nor of natural beauty and expression; and which, therefore,--there being\nmuch obstinate originality in his mind,--produces strange varieties of\ndwelling, frequently rendered still more preposterous by his love of\ndisplay; a love universally felt in England, and often absurdly\nindulged. Wealth is worshiped in France as the means of purchasing\npleasure; in Italy, as an instrument of power; in England, as the means\n\"of showing off.\" It would be a very great sacrifice indeed, in an\nEnglishman of the average stamp, to put his villa out of the way, where\nnobody would ever see it, or think of _him_; it is his ambition to hear\nevery one exclaiming, \"What a pretty place! whose can it be?\" And he\ncares very little about the peace which he has disturbed, or the repose\nwhich he has interrupted; though, even while he thus pushes himself into\nthe way, he keeps an air of sulky retirement, of hedgehog independence,\nabout his house, which takes away any idea of sociability or good-humor,\nwhich might otherwise have been suggested by his choice of situation.\n\n151. But, in spite of all these unfortunate circumstances, there are\nsome distinctive features in our English country houses, which are well\nworth a little attention. First, in the approach, we have one component\npart of effect, which may be called peculiarly our own, and which\nrequires much study before it can be managed well,--the avenue. It is\ntrue that we meet with noble lines of timber trees cresting some of the\nlarger bastions of Continental fortified cities; we see interminable\nregiments of mistletoed apple trees flanking the carriage road; and\noccasionally we approach a turreted chateau[26] by a broad way, \"edged\nwith poplar pale.\" But, allowing all this, the legitimate glory of the\nperfect avenue is ours still, as will appear by a little consideration\nof the elements which constitute its beauty.\n\n[Footnote 26: Or a city. Any one who remembers entering Carlsruhe from\nthe north by the two miles of poplar avenue, remembers entering the most\nsoulless of all cities, by the most lifeless of all entrances.]\n\n152. The original idea was given by the opening of the tangled glades in\nour most ancient forests. It is rather a curious circumstance that, in\nthose woods whose decay has been most instrumental in forming the bog\ndistricts of Ireland, the trees have, in general, been planted in\nsymmetrical rows, at distances of about twenty feet apart. If the\narrangement of our later woods be not quite so formal, they at least\npresent frequent openings, carpeted with green sward, and edged with\nvarious foliage, which the architect (for so may the designer of the\navenue be entitled) should do little more than reduce to symmetry and\nplace in position, preserving, as much as possible, the manner and the\nproportions of nature. The avenue, therefore, must not be too long. It\nis quite a mistake to suppose that there is sublimity in a monotonous\nlength of line, unless indeed it be carried to an extent generally\nimpossible, as in the case of the long walk at Windsor. From three to\nfour hundred yards is a length which will display the elevation well,\nand will not become tiresome from continued monotony. The kind of tree\nmust, of course, be regulated by circumstances; but the foliage must be\nunequally disposed, so as to let in passages of light across the path,\nand cause the motion of any object across it to change, like an\nundulating melody, from darkness to light. It should meet at the top, so\nas to cause twilight, but not obscurity; and the idea of a vaulted roof,\nwithout rigidity. The ground should be green, so that the sunlight may\ntell with force wherever it strikes. Now, this kind of rich and shadowy\nvista is found in its perfection only in England: it is an attribute of\ngreen country; it is associated with all our memories of forest freedom,\nof our wood-rangers, and yeomen with the \"doublets of the Lincoln\ngreen;\" with our pride of ancient archers, whose art was fostered in\nsuch long and breezeless glades; with our thoughts of the merry chases\nof our kingly companies, when the dewy antlers sparkled down the\nintertwined paths of the windless woods, at the morning echo of the\nhunter's horn; with all, in fact, that once contributed to give our land\nits ancient name of \"merry\" England; a name which, in this age of steam\nand iron, it will have some difficulty in keeping.\n\n153. This, then, is the first feature we would direct attention to, as\ncharacteristic, in the English villa: and be it remembered, that we are\nnot speaking of the immense lines of foliage which guide the eye to some\nof our English palaces, for those are rather the adjuncts of the park\nthan the approach to the building; but of the more laconic avenue, with\nthe two crested columns and the iron gate at its entrance, leading the\neye, in the space of a hundred yards or so, to the gables of its gray\nmansion. A good instance of this approach may be found at Petersham, by\nfollowing the right side of the Thames for about half a mile from\nRichmond Hill; though the house, which, in this case, is approached by a\nnoble avenue, is much to be reprehended, as a bad mixture of imitation\nof the Italian with corrupt Elizabethan; though it is somewhat\ninstructive, as showing the ridiculous effect of statues out of doors in\na climate like ours.\n\n154. And now that we have pointed out the kind of approach most\npeculiarly English, that approach will guide us to the only style of\nvilla architecture which can be called English,--the Elizabethan, and\nits varieties,--a style fantastic in its details, and capable of being\nsubjected to no rule, but, as we think, well adapted for the scenery in\nwhich it arose. We allude not only to the pure Elizabethan, but even to\nthe strange mixtures of classical ornaments with Gothic forms, which we\nfind prevailing in the sixteenth century. In the most simple form, we\nhave a building extending round three sides of a court, and, in the\nlarger halls, round several interior courts, terminating in sharply\ngabled fronts, with broad oriels, divided into very narrow lights by\nchanneled mullions, without decoration of any kind; the roof relieved by\nprojecting dormer windows, whose lights are generally divided into\nthree, terminating in very flat arches without cusps, the intermediate\nedge of the roof being battlemented. Then we find wreaths of ornament\nintroduced at the base of the oriels;[27] ranges of short columns, the\nbase of one upon the capital of another, running up beside them; the\nbases being very tall, sometimes decorated with knots of flower-work;\nthe columns usually fluted,--wreathed, in richer examples, with\nornament. The entrance is frequently formed by double ranges of those\nshort columns, with intermediate arches, with shell canopies, and rich\ncrests above.[28] This portico is carried up to some height above the\nroof, which is charged with an infinite variety of decorated chimneys.\n\n[Footnote 27: As in a beautiful example in Brasenose College, Oxford.]\n\n[Footnote 28: The portico of the [old] Schools and the inner courts of\nMerton and St. John's Colleges, Oxford; an old house at Charlton, Kent;\nand Burleigh House, will probably occur to the mind of the architect, as\ngood examples of the varieties of this mixed style.]\n\n155. Now, all this is utterly barbarous as architecture; but, with the\nexception of the chimneys, it is not false in taste; for it was\noriginally intended for retired and quiet habitations in our forest\ncountry, not for conspicuous palaces in the streets of the city; and we\nhave shown, in speaking of green country, that the eye is gratified[29]\nwith fantastic details; that it is prepared, by the mingled lights of\nthe natural scenery, for rich and entangled ornament, and would not only\nendure, but demand, irregularity of system in the architecture of man,\nto correspond with the infinite variety of form in the wood architecture\nof nature. Few surprises can be imagined more delightful than the\nbreaking out of one of these rich gables, with its decorated entrance,\namong the dark trunks and twinkling leaves of forest scenery. Such an\neffect is rudely given in fig. 12. We would direct the attention chiefly\nto the following points in the building:--\n\n[Footnote 29: [_i.e._ when the spectator is surrounded by woodland\nscenery. _Vide ante_, Sec. 88.]]\n\n156. First, it is a humorist, an odd, twisted, independent being, with a\ngreat deal of mixed, obstinate, and occasionally absurd originality. It\nhas one or two graceful lines about it, and several harsh and cutting\nones; it is a whole, which would allow of no unison with any other\narchitecture; it is gathered in itself, and would look very ugly indeed,\nif pieces in a purer style of building were added. All this corresponds\nwith points of English character, with its humors, its independency, and\nits horror of being put out of its own way.\n\n157. Again, it is a thoroughly domestic building, homely and\ncottage-like in its prevailing forms, awakening no elevated ideas,\nassuming no nobility of form. It has none of the pride, or the grace of\nbeauty, none of the dignity of delight which we found in the villa of\nItaly; but it is a habitation of everyday life, a protection from\nmomentary inconvenience, covered with stiff efforts at decoration, and\nexactly typical of the mind of its inhabitant: not noble in its taste,\nnot haughty in its recreation, not pure in its perception of beauty; but\ndomestic in its pleasures, fond of matter-of-fact rather than of\nimagination, yet sparkling occasionally with odd wit and grotesque\nassociation. The Italian obtains his beauty, as his recreation, with\nquietness, with few and noble lines, with great seriousness and depth of\nthought, with very rare interruptions to the simple train of feeling.\nBut the Englishman's villa is full of effort: it is a business with him\nto be playful, an infinite labor to be ornamental: he forces his\namusement with fits of contrasted thought, with mingling of minor\ntouches of humor, with a good deal of sulkiness, but with no melancholy;\nand therefore, owing to this last adjunct,[30] the building, in its\noriginal state, cannot be called beautiful, and we ought not to consider\nthe effect of its present antiquity, evidence of which is, as was before\nproved, generally objectionable in a building devoted to pleasure,[31]\nand is only agreeable here, because united with the memory of a departed\npride.\n\n[Footnote 30: Namely the fact that there is no melancholy in the English\nplay-impulse; _v. ante_, Sec. 23.]\n\n[Footnote 31: See Sec. 118 seq.]\n\n158. Again, it is a lifelike building, sparkling in its casements, brisk\nin its air, letting much light in at the walls and roof, low and\ncomfortable-looking in its door. The Italian's dwelling is much walled\nin, letting out no secrets from the inside, dreary and drowsy in its\neffect. Just such is the difference between the minds of the\ninhabitants; the one passing away in deep and dark reverie, the other\nquick and business-like, enjoying its everyday occupations, and active\nin its ordinary engagements.\n\n159. Again, it is a regularly planned, mechanical, well-disciplined\nbuilding; each of its parts answering to its opposite, each of its\nornaments matched with similarity. The Italian (where it has no high\npretense to architectural beauty) is a rambling and irregular edifice,\nvaried with uncorresponding masses: and the mind of the Italian we find\nsimilarly irregular, a thing of various and ungovernable impulse,\nwithout fixed principle of action; the Englishman's, regular and uniform\nin its emotions, steady in its habits, and firm even in its most trivial\ndeterminations.\n\n160. Lastly, the size of the whole is diminutive, compared with the\nvillas of the south, in which the effect was always large and general.\nHere the eye is drawn into the investigation of particular points, and\nminiature details; just as, in comparing the English and Continental\ncottages, we found the one characterized by a minute finish, and the\nother by a massive effect, exactly correspondent with the scale of the\nfeatures and scenery of their respective localities.\n\n161. It appears, then, from a consideration of these several points,\nthat, in our antiquated style of villa architecture, some national\nfeeling may be discovered; but in any buildings now raised there is no\ncharacter whatever: all is ridiculous imitation, and despicable\naffectation; and it is much to be lamented, that now, when a great deal\nof public attention has been directed to architecture on the part of the\npublic, more efforts are not made to turn that attention from mimicking\nSwiss _chalets_, to erecting English houses. We need not devote more\ntime to the investigation of _purely_ domestic English architecture,\nthough we hope to derive much instruction and pleasure from the\ncontemplation of buildings partly adapted for defense, and partly for\nresidence. The introduction of the means of defense is, however, a\ndistinction which we do not wish at present to pass over; and therefore,\nin our next paper, we hope to conclude the subject of the villa, by a\nfew remarks on the style now best adapted for English scenery.\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nTHE ENGLISH VILLA.--PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION.\n\n\n162. It has lately become a custom, among the more enlightened and\nrefined of metropolitan shopkeepers, to advocate the cause of propriety\nin architectural decoration, by ensconcing their shelves, counters, and\nclerks in classical edifices, agreeably ornamented with ingenious\ndevices, typical of the class of articles to which the tradesman\nparticularly desires to direct the public attention. We find our grocers\nenshrined in temples whose columns are of canisters, and whose pinnacles\nare of sugar-loaves. Our shoemakers shape their soles under Gothic\nportals, with pendants of shoes, and canopies of Wellingtons; and our\ncheesemongers will, we doubt not, soon follow the excellent example, by\nraising shops the varied diameters of whose jointed columns, in their\naddress to the eye, shall awaken memories of Staffa, Paestum, and\nPalmyra; and in their address to the tongue, shall arouse exquisite\nassociations of remembered flavor, Dutch, Stilton, and Strachino.\n\n163. Now, this fit of taste on the part of our tradesmen is only a\ncoarse form of a disposition inherent in the human mind. Those objects\nto which the eye has been most frequently accustomed, and among which\nthe intellect has formed its habits of action, and the soul its modes of\nemotion, become agreeable to the thoughts, from their correspondence\nwith their prevailing cast, especially when the business of life has had\nany relation to those objects; for it is in the habitual and necessary\noccupation that the most painless hours of existence are passed:\nwhatever be the nature of that occupation, the memories belonging to it\nwill always be agreeable, and, therefore, the objects awakening such\nmemories will invariably be found beautiful, whatever their character or\nform.\n\n164. It is thus that taste is the child and the slave of memory; and\nbeauty is tested, not by any fixed standard, but by the chances of\nassociation; so that in every domestic building evidence will be found\nof the kind of life through which its owner has passed, in the operation\nof the habits of mind which that life has induced. From the\nsuperannuated coxswain, who plants his old ship's figure-head in his six\nsquare feet of front garden at Bermondsey, to the retired noble, the\nproud portal of whose mansion is surmounted by the broad shield and the\ncrested gryphon, we are all guided, in our purest conceptions, our most\nideal pursuit, of the beautiful, by remembrances of active occupation;\nand by principles derived from industry regulate the fancies of our\nrepose.\n\n165. It would be excessively interesting to follow out the investigation\nof this subject more fully, and to show how the most refined pleasures,\nthe most delicate perceptions, of the creature who has been appointed to\neat bread by the sweat of his brow, are dependent upon, and intimately\nconnected with, his hours of labor. This question, however, has no\nrelation to our immediate object, and we only allude to it, that we may\nbe able to distinguish between the two component parts of individual\ncharacter; the one being the consequence of continuous habits of life\nacting upon natural temperament and disposition, the other being the\n_humor_ of character, consequent upon circumstances altogether\naccidental, taking stern effect upon feelings previously determined by\nthe first part of the character; laying on, as it were, the finishing\ntouches, and occasioning the innumerable prejudices, fancies, and\neccentricities, which, modified in every individual to an infinite\nextent, form the visible veil of the human heart.\n\n166. Now, we have defined the province of the architect to be, that of\nselecting such forms and colors as shall delight the mind, by preparing\nit for the operations to which it is to be subjected in the building.\nNow, no forms, in domestic architecture, can thus prepare it more\ndistinctly than those which correspond closely with the first, that is,\nthe fixed and fundamental, part of character, which is always so uniform\nin its action, as to induce great simplicity in whatever it designs.\nNothing, on the contrary, can be more injurious than the slightest\ninfluence of the _humors_ upon the edifice; for the influence of what is\nfitful in its energy, and petty in its imagination, would destroy all\nthe harmony of parts, all the majesty of the whole; would substitute\nsingularity for beauty, amusement for delight, and surprise for\nveneration. We could name several instances of buildings erected by men\nof the highest talent, and the most perfect general taste, who yet, not\nhaving paid much attention to the first principles of architecture,\npermitted the humor of their disposition to prevail over the majesty of\ntheir intellect, and, instead of building from a fixed design, gratified\nfreak after freak, and fancy after fancy, as they were caught by the\ndream or the desire; mixed mimicries of incongruous reality with\nincorporations of undisciplined ideal; awakened every variety of\ncontending feeling and unconnected memory; consummated confusion of form\nby trickery of detail; and have left barbarism, where half the world\nwill look for loveliness.\n\n167. This is a species of error which it is very difficult for persons\npaying superficial and temporary attention to architecture to avoid:\nhowever just their taste may be in criticism, it will fail in creation.\nIt is only in moments of ease and amusement that they will think of\ntheir villa: they make it a mere plaything, and regard it with a kind of\npetty exultation, which, from its very nature, will give liberty to the\nlight fancy, rather than the deep feeling, of the mind. It is not\nthought necessary to bestow labor of thought, and periods of\ndeliberation, on one of the toys of life; still less to undergo the\nvexation of thwarting wishes, and leaving favorite imaginations,\nrelating to minor points, unfulfilled, for the sake of general effect.\n\n168. This feeling, then, is the first to which we would direct\nattention, as the villa architect's chief enemy: he will find it\nperpetually and provokingly in his way. He is requested, perhaps, by a\nman of great wealth, nay, of established taste in some points, to make a\ndesign for a villa in a lovely situation. The future proprietor carries\nhim upstairs to his study, to give him what he calls his \"ideas and\nmaterials,\" and, in all probability, begins somewhat thus:--\"This, sir,\nis a slight note: I made it on the spot: approach to Villa Reale, near\nPozzuoli. Dancing nymphs, you perceive; cypresses, shell fountain. I\nthink I should like something like this for the approach: classical, you\nperceive, sir; elegant, graceful. Then, sir, this is a sketch, made by\nan American friend of mine: Whee-whaw-Kantamaraw's wigwam, King of\nthe--Cannibal Islands, I think he said, sir. Log, you observe; scalps,\nand boa-constrictor skins: curious. Something like this, sir, would look\nneat, I think, for the front door; don't you? Then, the lower windows,\nI've not quite decided upon; but what would you say to Egyptian, sir? I\nthink I should like my windows Egyptian, with hieroglyphics, sir; storks\nand coffins, and appropriate moldings above: I brought some from\nFountains Abbey the other day. Look here, sir; angels' heads putting\ntheir tongues out, rolled up in cabbage leaves, with a dragon on each\nside riding on a broomstick, and the devil looking on from the mouth of\nan alligator, sir.[32] Odd, I think; interesting. Then the corners may\nbe turned by octagonal towers, like the center one in Kenilworth Castle;\nwith Gothic doors, portcullis, and all, quite perfect; with cross slits\nfor arrows, battlements for musketry, machicolations for boiling lead,\nand a room at the top for drying plums; and the conservatory at the\nbottom, sir, with Virginian creepers up the towers; door supported by\nsphinxes, holding scrapers in their fore paws, and having their tails\nprolonged into warm-water pipes, to keep the plants safe in winter,\netc.\" The architect is, without doubt, a little astonished by these\nideas and combinations; yet he sits calmly down to draw his elevations;\nas if he were a stone-mason, or his employer an architect; and the\nfabric rises to electrify its beholders, and confer immortality on its\nperpetrator.\n\n[Footnote 32: Actually carved on one of the groins of Roslin Chapel.]\n\n[Illustration: Fig. 12. Old English Mansion. 1837.]\n\n169. This is no exaggeration: we have not only listened to speculations\non the probable degree of the future majesty, but contemplated the\nactual illustrious existence, of several such buildings, with sufficient\nbeauty in the management of some of their features to show that an\narchitect had superintended them, and sufficient taste in their interior\neconomy to prove that a refined intellect had projected them; and had\nprojected a Vandalism, only because fancy had been followed instead of\njudgment; with as much _nonchalance_ as is evinced by a perfect poet,\nwho is extemporizing doggerel for a baby; full of brilliant points,\nwhich he cannot help, and jumbled into confusion, for which he does not\ncare.\n\n170. Such are the first difficulties to be encountered in villa designs.\nThey must always continue to occur in some degree, though they might be\nmet with ease by a determination on the part of professional men to give\nno assistance whatever, beyond the mere superintendence of construction,\nunless they be permitted to take the whole exterior design into their\nown hands, merely receiving broad instructions respecting the style (and\nnot attending to them unless they like). They should not make out the\nsmallest detail, unless they were answerable for the whole. In this\ncase, gentlemen architects would be thrown so utterly on their own\nresources, that, unless those resources were adequate, they would be\nobliged to surrender the task into more practiced hands; and, if they\nwere adequate, if the amateur had paid so much attention to the art as\nto be capable of giving the design perfectly, it is probable he would\nnot erect anything strikingly abominable.\n\n171. Such a system (supposing that it could be carried fully into\neffect, and that there were no such animals as sentimental stone-masons\nto give technical assistance) might, at first, seem rather an\nencroachment on the liberty of the subject, inasmuch as it would prevent\npeople from indulging their edificatorial fancies, unless they knew\nsomething about the matter, or, as the sufferers would probably\ncomplain, from doing what they liked with their own. But the mistake\nwould evidently lie in their supposing, as people too frequently do,\nthat the outside of their house _is_ their own, and that they have a\nperfect right therein to make fools of themselves in any manner, and to\nany extent, they may think proper. This is quite true in the case of\ninteriors; every one has an indisputable right to hold himself up as a\nlaughing-stock to the whole circle of his friends and acquaintances, and\nto consult his own private asinine comfort by every piece of absurdity\nwhich can in any degree contribute to the same; but no one has any right\nto exhibit his imbecilities at other people's expense, or to claim the\npublic pity by inflicting public pain. In England, especially, where, as\nwe saw before, the rage for attracting observation is universal, the\noutside of the villa is rendered, by the proprietor's own disposition,\nthe property of those who daily pass by, and whom it hourly affects with\npleasure or pain. For the pain which the eye feels from the violation of\na law to which it has been accustomed, or the mind from the occurrence\nof anything jarring to its finest feelings, is as distinct as that\noccasioned by the interruption of the physical economy, differing only\ninasmuch as it is not permanent; and, therefore, an individual has as\nlittle right to fulfill his own conceptions by disgusting thousands, as,\nwere his body as impenetrable to steel or poison, as his brain to the\neffect of the beautiful or true, he would have to decorate his carriage\nroads with caltrops, or to line his plantations with upas trees.\n\n172. The violation of general feelings would thus be unjust, even were\ntheir consultation productive of continued vexation to the individual:\nbut it is not. To no one is the architecture of the exterior of a\ndwelling-house of so little consequence as to its inhabitant. Its\nmaterial may affect his comfort, and its condition may touch his pride;\nbut, for its architecture, his eye gets accustomed to it in a week, and,\nafter that, Hellenic, Barbaric, or Yankee, are all the same to the\ndomestic feelings, are all lost in the one name of Home. Even the\nconceit of living in a chalet, or a wigwam, or a pagoda, cannot retain\nits influence for six months over the weak minds which alone can feel\nit; and the monotony of existence becomes to them exactly what it would\nhave been had they never inflicted a pang upon the unfortunate\nspectators, whose unaccustomed eyes shrink daily from the impression to\nwhich they have not been rendered callous by custom, or lenient by false\ntaste.\n\n173. If these considerations are just when they allude only to buildings\nin the abstract, how much more when referring to them as materials of\ncomposition, materials of infinite power, to adorn or destroy the\nloveliness of the earth. The nobler scenery of that earth is the\ninheritance of all her inhabitants: it is not merely for the few to whom\nit temporarily belongs, to feed from like swine, or to stable upon like\nhorses, but it has been appointed to be the school of the minds which\nare kingly among their fellows, to excite the highest energies of\nhumanity, to furnish strength to the lordliest intellect, and food for\nthe holiest emotions of the human soul. The presence of life is, indeed,\nnecessary to its beauty, but of life congenial with its character; and\nthat life is not congenial which thrusts presumptuously forward, amidst\nthe calmness of the universe, the confusion of its own petty interests\nand groveling imaginations, and stands up with the insolence of a\nmoment, amid the majesty of all time, to build baby fortifications upon\nthe bones of the world, or to sweep the copse from the corrie, and the\nshadow from the shore, that fools may risk, and gamblers gather, the\nspoil of a thousand summers.\n\n174. It should therefore be remembered by every proprietor of land in\nhill country, that his possessions are the means of a peculiar\neducation, otherwise unattainable, to the artists, and in some degree to\nthe literary men, of his country; that, even in this limited point of\nview, they are a national possession, but much more so when it is\nremembered how many thousands are perpetually receiving from them, not\nmerely a transitory pleasure, but such thrilling perpetuity of pure\nemotion, such lofty subject for scientific speculation, and such deep\nlessons of natural religion, as only the work of a Deity can impress,\nand only the spirit of an immortal can feel: they should remember that\nthe slightest deformity, the most contemptible excrescence, can injure\nthe effect of the noblest natural scenery, as a note of discord can\nannihilate the expression of the purest harmony; that thus it is in the\npower of worms to conceal, to destroy, or to violate, what angels could\nnot restore, create or consecrate; and that the right, which every man\nunquestionably possesses, to be an ass, is extended only, in public, to\nthose who are innocent in idiotism, not to the more malicious clowns,\nwho thrust their degraded motley conspicuously forth amidst the fair\ncolors of earth, and mix their incoherent cries with the melodies of\neternity, break with their inane laugh upon the silence which Creation\nkeeps where Omnipotence passes most visibly, and scrabble over with the\ncharacters of idiocy the pages that have been written by the finger of\nGod.\n\n175. These feelings we would endeavor to impress upon all persons likely\nto have anything to do with embellishing, as it is called, fine natural\nscenery; as they might, in some degree, convince both the architect and\nhis employer of the danger of giving free play to the imagination in\ncases involving intricate questions of feeling and composition, and\nmight persuade the designer of the necessity of looking, not to his own\nacre of land, or to his own peculiar tastes, but to the whole mass of\nforms and combination of impressions with which he is surrounded.\n\n176. Let us suppose, however, that the design is yielded entirely to the\narchitect's discretion. Being a piece of domestic architecture, the\nchief object in its exterior design will be to arouse domestic feelings,\nwhich, as we saw before, it will do most distinctly by corresponding\nwith the first part of character. Yet it is still more necessary that it\nshould correspond with its situation; and hence arises another\ndifficulty, the reconciliation of correspondence with contraries; for\nsuch, it is deeply to be regretted, are too often the individual's mind,\nand the dwelling-place it chooses. The polished courtier brings his\nrefinement and duplicity with him to ape the Arcadian rustic in\nDevonshire; the romantic rhymer takes a plastered habitation, with one\nback window looking into the Green Park; the soft votary of luxury\nendeavors to rise at seven, in some Ultima Thule of frosts and storms;\nand the rich stock-jobber calculates his percentages among the soft\ndingles and woody shores of Westmoreland. When the architect finds this\nto be the case, he must, of course, content himself with suiting his\ndesign to such a mind as ought to be where the intruder's is; for the\nfeelings which are so much at variance with themselves in the choice of\nsituation, will not be found too critical of their domicile, however\nlittle suited to their temper.\n\n177. If possible, however, he should aim at something more; he should\ndraw his employer into general conversation; observe the bent of his\ndisposition, and the habits of his mind; notice every manifestation of\nfixed opinions, and then transfer to his architecture as much of the\nfeeling he has observed as is distinct in its operation. This he should\ndo, not because the general spectator will be aware of the aptness of\nthe building, which, knowing nothing of its inmate, he cannot be; nor to\nplease the individual himself, which it is a chance if any simple design\never will, and who never will find out how well his character has been\nfitted; but because a portrait is always more spirited than a composed\ncountenance; and because this study of human passions will bring a\ndegree of energy, unity, and originality into every one of his designs\n(all of which will necessarily be different), so simple, so domestic,\nand so lifelike, as to strike every spectator with an interest and a\nsympathy, for which he will be utterly unable to account, and to impress\non him a perception of something more ethereal than stone or carving,\nsomewhat similar to that which some will remember having felt\ndisagreeably in their childhood, on looking at any old house\nauthentically haunted. The architect will forget in his study of life\nthe formalities of science, and, while his practiced eye will prevent\nhim from erring in technicalities, he will advance, with the ruling\nfeeling, which, in masses of mind, is nationality, to the conception of\nsomething truly original, yet perfectly pure.\n\n178. He will also find his advantage in having obtained a guide in the\ninvention of decorations of which, as we shall show, we would have many\nmore in English villas than economy at present allows. Candidus[33]\ncomplains, in his Note Book, that Elizabethan architecture is frequently\nadopted, because it is easy, with a pair of scissors, to derive a zigzag\nornament from a doubled piece of paper. But we would fain hope that none\nof our professional architects have so far lost sight of the meaning of\ntheir art, as to believe that roughening stone mathematically is\nbestowing decoration, though we are too sternly convinced that they\nbelieve mankind to be more shortsighted by at least thirty yards than\nthey are; for they think of nothing but general effect in their\nornaments, and lay on their flower-work so carelessly, that a good\nsubstantial captain's biscuit, with the small holes left by the\npenetration of the baker's four fingers, encircling the large one which\ntestifies of the forcible passage of his thumb, would form quite as\nelegant a rosette as hundreds now perpetuated in stone.\n\n[Footnote 33: [A contributor to the \"Architectural Magazine.\"]]\n\n179. Now, there is nothing which requires study so close, or experiment\nso frequent, as the proper designing of ornament. For its use and\nposition some definite rules may be given; but, when the space and\nposition have been determined, the lines of curvature, the breadth,\ndepth, and sharpness of the shadows to be obtained, the junction of the\nparts of a group, and the general expression, will present questions for\nthe solution of which the study of years will sometimes scarcely be\nsufficient;[34] for they depend upon the feeling of the eye and hand,\nand there is nothing like perfection in decoration, nothing which, in\nall probability, might not, by farther consideration, be improved. Now,\nin cases in which the outline and larger masses are determined by\nsituation, the architect will frequently find it necessary to fall\nback upon his decorations, as the only means of obtaining character; and\nthat which before was an unmeaning lump of jagged freestone, will become\na part of expression, an accessory of beautiful design, varied in its\nform, and delicate in its effect. Then, instead of shrinking from his\nbits of ornament, as from things which will give him trouble to invent,\nand will answer no other purpose than that of occupying what would\notherwise have looked blank, the designer will view them as an efficient\n_corps de reserve_, to be brought up when the eye comes to close\nquarters with the edifice, to maintain and deepen the impression it has\npreviously received. Much more time will be spent in the conception,\nmuch more labor in the execution, of such meaning ornaments, but both\nwill be well spent and well rewarded.\n\n[Footnote 34: For example, we would allow one of the modern builders of\nGothic chapels a month of invention, and a botanic garden to work from,\nwith perfect certainty that he would not, at the expiration of the time,\nbe able to present us with one design of leafage equal in beauty to\nhundreds we could point out in the capitals and niches of Melrose and\nRoslin.]\n\n180. Perhaps our meaning may be made more clear by Fig. 13 A, which is\nthat of a window found in a domestic building of mixed and corrupt\narchitecture, at Munich (which we give now, because we shall have\noccasion to allude to it hereafter). Its absurd breadth of molding, so\ndisproportionate to its cornice, renders it excessively ugly, but\ncapable of great variety of effect. It forms one of a range of four,\nturning an angle, whose moldings join each other, their double breadth\nbeing the whole separation of the apertures, which are something more\nthan double squares. Now by alteration of the decoration, and depth of\nshadow, we have B and C. These three windows differ entirely in their\nfeeling and manner, and are broad examples of such distinctions of style\nas might be adopted severally in the habitations of the man of\nimagination, the man of intellect and the man of feeling.[35] If our\nalterations have been properly made, there will be no difficulty in\ndistinguishing between their expressions, which we shall therefore leave\nto conjecture. The character of A depends upon the softness with which\nthe light is caught upon its ornaments, which should not have a single\nhard line in them; and on the gradual, unequal, but intense, depth of\nits shadows. B should have all its forms undefined, and passing into one\nanother, the touches of the chisel light, a grotesque face or feature\noccurring in parts, the shadows pale, but broad[36]; and the boldest\npart of the carving kept in shadow rather than light. The third should\nbe hard in its lines, strong in its shades, and quiet in its ornament.\n\n[Footnote 35: [Though not in this order. C is the intellectual window;\nB, the imaginative one.]]\n\n[Footnote 36: It is too much the custom to consider a design as composed\nof a certain number of hard lines, instead of a certain number of\nshadows of various depth and dimension. Though these shadows change\ntheir position in the course of the day, they are relatively always the\nsame. They have most variety under a strong light without sun, most\nexpression with the sun. A little observation of the infinite variety of\nshade which the sun is capable of casting, as it touches projections of\ndifferent curve and character, will enable the designer to be certain of\nhis effects. We shall have occasion to allude to this subject again.\n[See _Seven Lamps of Architecture_, III. 13, 23.]]\n\n[Illustration: Fig. 13. Windows.]\n\n181. These hints will be sufficient to explain our meaning, and we have\nnot space to do more, as the object of these papers is rather to observe\nthan to advise. Besides, in questions of expression so intricate, it is\nalmost impossible to advance fixed principles; every mind will have\nperceptions of its own, which will guide its speculations, every hand,\nand eye, and peculiar feeling, varying even from year to year. We have\nonly started the subject of correspondence with individual character,\nbecause we think that imaginative minds might take up the idea with some\nsuccess, as furnishing them with a guide in the variation of their\ndesigns, more certain than mere experiment on unmeaning forms, or than\nringing indiscriminate changes on component parts of established beauty.\nTo the reverie, rather than the investigation, to the dream, rather than\nthe deliberation, of the architect, we recommend it, as a branch of art\nin which instinct will do more than precept, and inspiration than\ntechnicality. The correspondence of our villa architecture with our\nnatural scenery may be determined with far greater accuracy, and will\nrequire careful investigation.\n\nWe had hoped to have concluded the Villa in this paper; but the\nimportance of domestic architecture at the present day, when people want\nhouses more than fortresses, safes more than keeps, and sculleries more\nthan dungeons, is sufficient apology for delay.\n\nOXFORD, _August, 1838._\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nTHE BRITISH VILLA.--PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION.\n\n_The Cultivated, or Blue Country and the Wooded, or Green Country._\n\n\n182. In the papers hitherto devoted to the investigation of villa\narchitecture, we have contemplated the beauties of what may be\nconsidered as its model, in its original and natural territory; and we\nhave noticed the difficulties to be encountered in the just erection of\nvillas in England. It remains only to lay down the general principles of\ncomposition, which in such difficulties may, in some degree, serve as a\nguide. Into more than general principles it is not consistent with our\nplan to enter. One obstacle, which was more particularly noticed, was,\nas it may be remembered, the variety of the geological formations of the\ncountry. This will compel us to use the divisions of landscape formerly\nadopted in speaking of the cottage, and to investigate severally the\nkind of domestic architecture required by each.\n\n183. First. Blue or cultivated country, which is to be considered as\nincluding those suburban districts, in the neighborhood of populous\ncities, which, though more frequently black than blue, possess the\nactivity, industry, and life, which we before noticed as one of the\ncharacteristics of blue country. We shall not, however, allude to\nsuburban villas at present; first, because they are in country\npossessing nothing which can be spoiled by anything; and, secondly,\nbecause their close association renders them subject to laws which,\nbeing altogether different from those by which we are to judge of the\nbeauty of solitary villas, we shall have to develop in the consideration\nof street effects.\n\n184. Passing over the suburb, then, we have to distinguish between the\n_simple_ blue country, which is composed only of rich cultivated\nchampaign, relieved in parts by low undulations, monotonous and\nuninteresting as a whole, though cheerful in its character, and\nbeautiful in details of lanes and meadow paths; and the _picturesque_\nblue country, lying at the foot of high hill ranges, intersected by\ntheir outworks, broken here and there into bits of crag and dingle\nscenery; perpetually presenting prospects of exquisite distant beauty,\nand possessing in its valley and river scenery, fine detached specimens\nof the natural \"green country.\" This distinction we did not make in\nspeaking of the cottage; the effect of which, owing to its size, can\nextend only over a limited space; and this space, if in picturesque blue\ncountry, must be either part of its monotonous cultivation, when it is\nto be considered as belonging to the simple blue country, or part of its\ndingle scenery, when it becomes green country; and it would not be just,\nto suit a cottage, actually placed in one color, to the general effect\nof another color, with which it could have nothing to do. But the effect\nof the villa extends very often over a considerable space, and becomes\npart of the large features of the district; so that the whole character\nand expression of the visible landscape must be considered, and thus the\ndistinction between the two kinds of blue country becomes absolutely\nnecessary. Of the first, or simple, we have already adduced, as an\nexample, the greater part of the South of England. Of the second, or\npicturesque, the cultivated parts of the North and East Ridings of\nYorkshire, generally Shropshire, and the north of Lancashire, and\nCumberland, beyond Caldbeck Fells, are good examples; perhaps better\nthan all, the country for twelve miles north, and thirty south, east,\nand west, of Stirling.\n\n\n_A. The Simple Blue Country._\n\n185. Now, the matter-of-fact business-like activity of simple blue\ncountry has been already alluded to. This attribute renders in it a\nplain palpable brick dwelling-house allowable; though a thing which, in\nevery country but the simple blue, compels every spectator of any\nfeeling to send up aspirations, that builders who, like those of Babel,\nhave brick for stone, may be put, like those of Babel, to confusion.\nHere, however, it is not only allowable, but even agreeable, for the\nfollowing reasons:--\n\n186. Its cleanness and freshness of color, admitting of little dampness\nor staining, firm in its consistence, not moldering like stone, and\ntherefore inducing no conviction of antiquity or decay, presents rather\nthe appearance of such comfort as is contrived for the enjoyment of\ntemporary wealth, than of such solidity as is raised for the inheritance\nof unfluctuating power. It is thus admirably suited for that country\nwhere all is change, and all activity; where the working and\nmoney-making members of the community are perpetually succeeding and\noverpowering each other; enjoying, each in his turn, the reward of his\nindustry; yielding up the field, the pasture, and the mine, to his\nsuccessor, and leaving no more memory behind him, no farther evidence of\nhis individual existence, than is left by a working bee, in the honey\nfor which we thank his class, forgetting the individual. The simple blue\ncountry may, in fact, be considered the dining-table of the nation; from\nwhich it provides for its immediate necessities, at which it feels only\nits present existence, and in which it requires, not a piece of\nfurniture adapted only to remind it of past refection, but a polished,\nclean, and convenient minister to its immediate wishes. No habitation,\ntherefore, in this country, should look old: it should give an\nimpression of present prosperity, of swift motion and high energy of\nlife; too rapid in its successive operation to attain greatness, or\nallow of decay, in its works. This is the first cause which, in this\ncountry, renders brick allowable.\n\n187. Again, wherever the soil breaks out in simple blue country, whether\nin the river shore, or the broken roadside bank, or the plowed field, in\nnine cases out of ten it is excessively warm in its color, being either\ngravel or clay, the black vegetable soil never remaining free of\nvegetation. The warm tone of these beds of soil is an admirable relief\nto the blue of the distances, which we have taken as the distinctive\nfeature of the country, tending to produce the perfect light without\nwhich no landscape can be complete. Therefore the red of the brick is\nprevented from glaring upon the eye, by its falling in with similar\ncolors in the ground, and contrasting finely with the general tone of\nthe distance. This is another instance of the material which nature most\nreadily furnishes being the right one. In almost all blue country, we\nhave only to turn out a few spadefuls of loose soil, and we come to the\nbed of clay, which is the best material for the building; whereas we\nshould have to travel hundreds of miles, or to dig thousands of feet, to\nget the stone which nature does not want, and therefore has not given.\n\n188. Another excellence in brick is its perfect air of English\nrespectability. It is utterly impossible for an edifice altogether of\nbrick to look affected or absurd: it may look rude, it may look vulgar,\nit may look disgusting, in a wrong place; but it cannot look foolish,\nfor it is incapable of pretension. We may suppose its master a brute, or\nan ignoramus, but we can never suppose him a coxcomb: a bear he may be,\na fop he cannot be; and, if we find him out of his place, we feel that\nit is owing to error, not to impudence; to self-ignorance, not to\nself-conceit; to the want, not the assumption of feeling. It is thus\nthat brick is peculiarly English in its effect: for we are brutes in\nmany things, and we are ignoramuses in many things, and we are destitute\nof feeling in many things, but we are _not_ coxcombs. It is only by the\nutmost effort, that some of our most highly gifted junior gentlemen can\nattain such distinction of title; and even then the honor sits ill upon\nthem: they are but awkward coxcombs. Affectation[37] never was, and\nnever will be, a part of English character; we have too much national\npride, too much consciousness of our own dignity and power, too much\nestablished self-satisfaction, to allow us to become ridiculous by\nimitative efforts; and, as it is only by endeavoring to appear what he\nis not, that a man ever can become so, properly speaking, our\ntrue-witted Continental neighbors, who shrink from John Bull as a brute,\nnever laugh at him as a fool. \"Il est bete, il n'est pas pourtant sot.\"\n\n[Footnote 37: The nation, indeed, possesses one or two interesting\nindividuals, whose affectation is, as we have seen, strikingly\nmanifested in their lake villas: but every rule has its exceptions; and,\neven on these gifted personages, the affectation sits so very awkwardly,\nso like a velvet bonnet on a plowman's carroty hair, that it is\nevidently a late acquisition. Thus, one proprietor of land on\nWindermere, who has built unto himself a castellated mansion with round\ntowers, and a Swiss cottage for a stable, has yet, with that admiration\nof the \"neat but not gaudy,\" which is commonly reported to have\ninfluenced the devil when he painted his tail pea-green, painted the\nrocks at the back of his house pink, that they may look clean. This is a\nlittle outcrop of English feeling in the midst of the assumed romance.]\n\n189. The brick house admirably corresponds with this part of English\ncharacter; for, unable as it is to be beautiful, or graceful, or\ndignified, it is equally unable to be absurd. There is a proud\nindependence about it, which seems conscious of its entire and perfect\napplicability to those uses for which it was built, and full of a\ngood-natured intention to render every one who seeks shelter within its\nwalls excessively comfortable; it therefore feels awkward in no company;\nand, wherever it intrudes its good-humored red face, stares plaster and\nmarble out of countenance with an insensible audacity, which we drive\nout of such refined company, as we would a clown from a drawing-room,\nbut which we nevertheless seek in its own place, as we would seek the\nconversation of the clown in his own turnip-field, if he were sensible\nin the main.\n\n190. Lastly. Brick is admirably adapted for the climate of England, and\nfor the frequent manufacturing nuisances of English blue country: for\nthe smoke, which makes marble look like charcoal, and stucco like mud,\nonly renders brick less glaring in its color; and the inclement climate,\nwhich makes the composition front look as if its architect had been\namusing himself by throwing buckets of green water down from the roof,\nand before which the granite base of Stirling Castle is moldering into\nsand as impotent as ever was ribbed by ripple, wreaks its rage in vain\nupon the bits of baked clay, leaving them strong, and dry, and\nstainless, warm and comfortable in their effect, even when neglect has\npermitted the moss and wall-flower to creep into their crannies, and\nmellow into something like beauty that which is always comfort. Damp,\nwhich fills many stones as it would a sponge, is defied by the brick;\nand the warmth of every gleam of sunshine is caught by it, and stored up\nfor future expenditure; so that, both actually and in its effect, it is\npeculiarly suited for a climate whose changes are in general from bad to\nworse, and from worse to bad.\n\n191. These then are the principal apologies which the brick\ndwelling-house has to offer for its ugliness. They will, however, only\nstand it in stead in the simple blue country; and, even there, only when\nthe following points are observed.\n\nFirst. The brick should neither be of the white, nor the very dark red,\nkind. The white is worse than useless as a color: its cold, raw, sandy\nneutral has neither warmth enough to relieve, nor gray enough to\nharmonize with, any natural tones; it does not please the eye by warmth,\nin shade; it hurts it, by dry heat in sun; it has none of the advantages\nof effect which brick may have, to compensate for the vulgarity which it\nmust have, and is altogether to be abhorred. The very bright red, again,\nis one of the ugliest warm colors that art ever stumbled upon: it is\nnever mellowed by damps or anything else, and spoils everything near it\nby its intolerable and inevitable glare. The moderately dark brick, of a\nneutral red, is to be chosen, and this, after a year or two, will be\nfarther softened in its color by atmospheric influence, and will possess\nall the advantages we have enumerated. It is almost unnecessary to point\nout its fitness for a damp situation, not only as the best material for\nsecuring the comfort of the inhabitant, but because it will the sooner\ncontract a certain degree of softness of tone, occasioned by microscopic\nvegetation, which will leave no more brick-red than is agreeable to the\nfeelings where the atmosphere is chill.\n\n192. Secondly. Even this kind of red is a very powerful color; and as,\nin combination with the other primitive colors, very little of it will\ncomplete the light, so, very little will answer every purpose in\nlandscape composition, and every addition, above that little, will be\ndisagreeable. Brick, therefore, never should be used in large groups of\nbuildings, where those groups are to form part of landscape scenery: two\nor three houses, partly shaded with trees, are all that can be admitted\nat once. There is no object more villainously destructive of natural\nbeauty, than a large town, of very red brick, with very scarlet tiling,\nvery tall chimneys, and very few trees; while there are few objects that\nharmonize more agreeably with the feeling of English ordinary landscape,\nthan the large, old, solitary, brick manor house, with its group of dark\ncedars on the lawn in front, and the tall wrought-iron gates opening\ndown the avenue of approach.\n\n193. Thirdly. No stone quoining, or presence of any contrasting color,\nshould be admitted. Quoins in general (though, by the by, they are\nprettily managed in the old Tolbooth of Glasgow, and some other antique\nbuildings in Scotland), are only excusable as giving an appearance of\nstrength; while their zigzag monotony, when rendered conspicuous by\ndifference of color, is altogether detestable. White cornices, niches,\nand the other superfluous introductions in stone and plaster, which some\narchitects seem to think ornamental, only mock what they cannot mend,\ntake away the whole expression of the edifice, render the brick-red\nglaring and harsh, and become themselves ridiculous in isolation.\nBesides, as a general principle, contrasts of extensive color are to be\navoided in all buildings, and especially in positive and unmanageable\ntints. It is difficult to imagine whence the custom of putting stone\nornaments into brick buildings could have arisen; unless it be an\nimitation of the Italian custom of mixing marble with stucco, which\naffords it no sanction, as the marble is only distinguishable from the\ngeneral material by the sharpness of the carved edges. The Dutch seem to\nhave been the originators of the custom; and, by the by, if we remember\nright, in one of the very finest pieces of coloring now extant, a\nlandscape by Rubens (in the gallery at Munich, we think), the artist\nseems to have sanctioned the barbarism, by introducing a brick edifice,\nwith white stone quoining. But the truth is that he selected the\nsubject, partly under the influence of domestic feelings, the place\nbeing, as it is thought, his own habitation, and partly as a piece of\npractice, presenting such excessive difficulties of color, as he, the\nlord of color, who alone could overcome them, would peculiarly delight\nin overcoming; and the harmony with which he has combined tints of the\nmost daring force, and sharpest apparent contrast, in the edgy building,\nand opposed them to an uninteresting distance of excessive azure (simple\nblue country, observe), is one of the chief wonders of the painting: so\nthat this masterpiece can no more furnish an apology for the continuance\nof a practice which, though it gives some liveliness of character to the\nwarehouses of Amsterdam, is fit only for a place whose foundations are\nmud, and whose inhabitants are partially animated cheeses,--than\nCaravaggio's custom of painting blackguards should introduce an ambition\namong mankind in general of becoming fit subjects for his pencil. We\nshall have occasion again to allude to this subject, in speaking of\nDutch street effects.\n\n194. Fourthly. It will generally be found to agree best with the\nbusiness-like air of the blue country, if the house be excessively\nsimple, and apparently altogether the minister of utility; but, where it\nis to be extensive, or tall, a few decorations about the upper windows\nare desirable. These should be quiet and severe in their lines, and cut\nboldly in the brick itself. Some of the minor streets in the King of\nSardinia's capital are altogether of brick, very richly charged with\ncarving, with excellent effect, and furnish a very good model. Of course\nno delicate ornament can be obtained, and no classical lines can be\nallowed; for we should be horrified by seeing that in brick which we\nhave been accustomed to see in marble. The architect must be left to his\nown taste for laying on, sparingly and carefully, a few dispositions of\nwell proportioned line, which are all that can ever be required.\n\n195. These broad principles are all that need be attended to in simple\nblue country: anything will look well in it which is not affected; and\nthe architect, who keeps comfort and utility steadily in view, and runs\noff into no expatiations of fancy, need never be afraid here of falling\ninto error.\n\n\n_B. The Picturesque Blue Country._\n\n196. But the case is different with the picturesque blue country.[38]\nHere, owing to the causes mentioned in the notes at p. 71, we have some\nof the most elevated bits of landscape character, which the country,\nwhatever it may be, can afford. Its first and most distinctive\npeculiarity is its grace; it is all undulation and variety of line, one\ncurve passing into another with the most exquisite softness, rolling\naway into faint and far outlines of various depth and decision, yet none\nhard or harsh; and in all probability, rounded off in the near ground\ninto massy forms of partially wooded hill, shaded downwards into winding\ndingles or cliffy ravines, each form melting imperceptibly into the\nnext, without an edge or angle.\n\n[Footnote 38: In leaving simple blue country, we hope it need hardly be\nsaid that we leave bricks at once and forever. Nothing can excuse them\nout of their proper territory.]\n\n197. Its next character is mystery. It is a country peculiarly\ndistinguished by its possessing features of great sublimity in the\ndistance, without giving any hint in the foreground of their actual\nnature. A range of mountain, seen from a mountain peak, may have\nsublimity, but not the mystery with which it is invested, when seen\nrising over the farthest surge of misty blue, where everything near is\nsoft and smiling, totally separated in nature from the consolidated\nclouds of the horizon. The picturesque blue country is sure, from the\nnature of the ground, to present some distance of this kind, so as never\nto be without a high and ethereal mystery.\n\n198. The third and last distinctive attribute is sensuality. This is a\nstartling word, and requires some explanation. In the first place, every\nline is voluptuous, floating, and wavy in its form; deep, rich, and\nexquisitely soft in its color; drowsy in its effect; like slow wild\nmusic; letting the eye repose on it, as on a wreath of cloud, without\none feature of harshness to hurt, or of contrast to awaken. In the\nsecond place, the cultivation, which, in the simple blue country, has\nthe forced formality of growth which evidently is to supply the\nnecessities of man, here seems to leap into the spontaneous luxuriance\nof life, which is fitted to minister to his pleasures. The surface of\nthe earth exults with animation, especially tending to the gratification\nof the senses; and, without the artificialness which reminds man of the\nnecessity of his own labor, without the opposing influences which call\nfor his resistance, without the vast energies that remind him of his\nimpotence, without the sublimity that can call his noblest thoughts into\naction, yet, with every perfection that can tempt him to indolence of\nenjoyment, and with such abundant bestowal of natural gifts, as might\nseem to prevent that indolence from being its own punishment, the earth\nappears to have become a garden of delight, wherein the sweep of the\nbright hills, without chasm or crag, the flow of the bending rivers,\nwithout rock or rapid, and the fruitfulness of the fair earth, without\ncare or labor on the part of its inhabitants, appeal to the most\npleasant passions of eye and sense, calling for no effort of body, and\nimpressing no fear on the mind. In hill country we have a struggle to\nmaintain with the elements; in simple blue, we have not the luxuriance\nof delight: here, and here only, all nature combines to breathe over us\na lulling slumber, through which life degenerates into sensation.\n\n199. These considerations are sufficient to explain what we mean by the\nepithet \"sensuality.\" Now, taking these three distinctive attributes,\nthe mysterious, the graceful, and the voluptuous, what is the whole\ncharacter? Very nearly--the Greek: for these attributes, common to all\npicturesque blue country, are modified in the degree of their presence\nby every climate. In England they are all low in their tone; but as we\ngo southward, the voluptuousness becomes deeper in feeling as the colors\nof the earth and the heaven become purer and more passionate, and \"the\npurple of ocean deepest of dye;\" the mystery becomes mightier, for the\ngreater and more universal energy of the beautiful permits its features\nto come nearer, and to rise into the sublime, without causing fear. It\nis thus that we get the essence of the Greek feeling, as it was embodied\nin their finest imaginations, as it showed itself in the works of their\nsculptors and their poets, in which sensation was made almost equal with\nthought, and deified by its nobility of association; at once voluptuous,\nrefined, dreamily mysterious, infinitely beautiful. Hence, it appears\nthat the spirit of this blue country is essentially Greek; though, in\nEngland and in other northern localities, that spirit is possessed by it\nin a diminished and degraded degree. It is also the natural dominion of\nthe villa, possessing all the attributes which attracted the Romans,\nwhen, in their hours of idleness, they lifted the light arches along the\nechoing promontories of Tiber. It is especially suited to the expression\nof the edifice of pleasure; and, therefore, is most capable of being\nadorned by it.\n\n200. The attention of every one about to raise himself a villa of any\nkind should, therefore, be directed to this kind of country; first, as\nthat in which he will not be felt to be an intruder; secondly, as that\nwhich will, in all probability, afford him the greatest degree of\ncontinuous pleasure, when his eye has become accustomed to the features\nof the locality. To the human mind, as on the average constituted, the\nfeatures of hill scenery will, by repetition, become tiresome, and of\nwood scenery, monotonous; while the simple blue can possess little\ninterest of any kind. Powerful intellect will generally take perpetual\ndelight in hill residence; but the general mind soon feels itself\noppressed with a peculiar melancholy and weariness, which it is ashamed\nto own; and we hear our romantic gentlemen begin to call out about the\nwant of society, while, if the animals were fit to live where they have\nforced themselves, they would never want more society than that of a\ngray stone, or of a clear pool of gushing water. On the other hand,\nthere are few minds so degraded as not to feel greater pleasure in the\npicturesque blue than in any other country. Its distance has generally\ngrandeur enough to meet their moods of aspiration; its near aspect is\nthat of a more human interest than that of hill country, and harmonizes\nmore truly with the domestic feelings which are common to all mankind;\nso that, on the whole, it will be found to maintain its freshness of\nbeauty to the habituated eye, in a greater degree than any other\nscenery.\n\n201. As it thus persuades us to inhabit it, it becomes a point of honor\nnot to make the attractiveness of its beauty its destruction; especially\nas, being the natural dominion of the villa, it affords great\nopportunity for the architect to exhibit variety of design.\n\nIts spirit has been proved to be Greek; and therefore, though that\nspirit is slightly manifested in Britain, and though every good\narchitect is shy of importation, villas on Greek and Roman models are\nadmissible here. Still, as in all blue country there is much activity of\nlife, the principle of utility should be kept in view, and the building\nshould have as much simplicity as can be united with perfect\ngracefulness of line. It appears from the principles of composition\nalluded to in speaking of the Italian villa, that in undulating country\nthe forms should be square and massy; and, where the segments of curves\nare small, the buildings should be low and flat, while they may be\nprevented from appearing cumbrous by some well-managed irregularity of\ndesign, which will be agreeable to the inhabitant as well as to the\nspectator; enabling him to change the aspect and size of his chamber, as\ntemperature or employment may render such change desirable, without\nbeing foiled in his design, by finding the apartments of one wing\nmatched, foot to foot, by those of the other.\n\n202. For the color, it has been shown that white or pale tints are\nagreeable in all blue country: but there must be warmth in it, and a\ngreat deal too,--gray being comfortless and useless with a cold\ndistance; but it must not be raw or glaring.[39] The roof and chimneys\nshould be kept out of sight as much as possible; and therefore the one\nvery flat, and the other very plain. We ought to revive the Greek custom\nof roofing with thin slabs of coarse marble, cut into the form of tiles.\nHowever, where the architect finds he has a very cool distance, and few\ntrees about the building, and where it stands so high as to preclude the\npossibility of its being looked down upon, he will, if he be courageous,\nuse a very flat roof of the dark Italian tile. The eaves, which are all\nthat should be seen, will be peculiarly graceful; and the sharp contrast\nof color (for this tiling can only be admitted with white walls) may be\naltogether avoided, by letting them cast a strong shadow, and by running\nthe walls up into a range of low garret windows, to break the horizontal\nline of the roof. He will thus obtain a bit of very strong color, which\nwill impart a general glow of cheerfulness to the building, and which,\nif he manages it rightly, will not be glaring nor intrusive. It is to\nbe observed, however, that he can only do this with villas of the most\nhumble order, and that he will seldom find his employer possessed of so\nmuch common sense as to put up with a tile roof. When this is the case,\nthe flat slabs of the upper limestone (ragstone) are usually better than\nslate.\n\n[Footnote 39: The epithet \"raw,\" by the by, is vague, and needs\ndefinition. Every tint is raw which is perfectly opaque, and has not all\nthe three primitive colors in its composition. Thus, black is always\nraw, because it has no color; white never, because it has all colors. No\ntint can be raw which is not opaque; and opacity may be taken away,\neither by actual depth and transparency, as in the sky; by luster and\ntexture, as in the case of silk and velvet, or by variety of shade as in\nforest verdure. Two instances will be sufficient to prove the truth of\nthis. Brick, when first fired, is always raw; but when it has been a\nlittle weathered, it acquires a slight blue tint, assisted by the gray\nof the mortar: incipient vegetation affords it the yellow. It thus\nobtains an admixture of the three colors, and is raw no longer. An old\nwoman's red cloak, though glaring, is never raw; for it must of\nnecessity have folded shades: those shades are of a rich gray; no gray\ncan exist without yellow and blue. We have then three colors, and no\nrawness. It must be observed however, that when any one of the colors is\ngiven in so slight a degree that it can be overpowered by certain\neffects of light, the united color, when opaque, will be raw. Thus many\nflesh-colors are raw; because, though they must have a little blue in\ntheir composition, it is too little to be efficiently visible in a\nstrong light.]\n\n203. For the rest, it is always to be kept in view, that the prevailing\ncharacter of the whole is to be that of graceful simplicity;\ndistinguished from the simplicity of the Italian edifice, by being that\nof utility instead of that of pride.[40] Consequently the building must\n_not_ be Gothic or Elizabethan: it may be as commonplace as the\nproprietor likes, provided its proportions be good; but nothing can ever\nexcuse one acute angle, or one decorated pinnacle,--both being direct\ninterruption of the repose with which the eye is indulged by the\nundulations of the surrounding scenery. Tower and fortress outlines are\nindeed agreeable, for their fine grouping and roundness; but we do not\nallude to them, because nothing can be more absurd than the humor\nprevailing at the present day among many of our peaceable old gentlemen,\nwho never smelt powder in their lives, to eat their morning muffin in a\nsavage-looking round tower, and admit quiet old ladies to a tea-party\nunder the range of twenty-six cannon, which--it is lucky for the\nchina--are all wooden ones,--as they are, in all probability, accurately\nand awfully pointed into the drawing-room windows.\n\n[Footnote 40: There must always be a difficulty in building in\npicturesque blue country in England; for the English character is\nopposed to that of the country: it is neither graceful, nor mysterious,\nnor voluptuous; therefore, what we cede to the country, we take from the\nnationality, and _vice versa_.]\n\nSo much then for our British blue country, to which it was necessary to\ndevote some time, as occupying a considerable portion of the island, and\nbeing peculiarly well adapted for villa residences.\n\n\n_C. The Woody or Green Country._\n\n204. The woody, or green country, which is next in order, was spoken of\nbefore, and was shown to be especially our own. The Elizabethan was\npointed out as the style peculiarly belonging to it; and farther\ncriticism of that style was deferred until we came to the consideration\nof domestic buildings provided with the means of defense. We have\ntherefore at present only to offer a few remarks on the principles to be\nobserved in the erection of Elizabethan villas at the present day.\n\n205. First. The building must be either quite chaste, or excessively\nrich in decoration. Every inch of ornament short of a certain quantity\nwill render the whole effect poor and ridiculous; while the pure\nperpendicular lines of this architecture will always look well if left\nentirely alone. The architect therefore, when limited as to expense,\nshould content himself with making his oriels project boldly, channeling\ntheir mullions richly, and, in general, rendering his vertical lines\ndelicate and beautiful in their workmanship; but, if his estimate be\nunlimited, he should lay on his ornament richly, taking care never to\nconfuse the eye.\n\nThose parts to which, of necessity, observation is especially directed,\nmust be finished so as to bear a close scrutiny, that the eye may rest\non them with satisfaction: but their finish must not be of a character\nwhich would have attracted the eye by itself, without being placed in a\nconspicuous situation; for, if it were, the united attraction of form\nand detail would confine the contemplation altogether to the parts so\ndistinguished, and render it impossible for the mind to receive any\nimpression of general effect.\n\nConsequently, the parts that project, and are to bear a strong light,\nmust be chiseled with infinite delicacy; so that the ornament, though it\nwould have remained unobserved had the eye not been guided to it, when\nobserved, may be of distinguished beauty and power; but those parts\nwhich are to be flat and in shade should be marked with great sharpness\nand boldness, that the impression may be equalized.\n\nWhen, for instance, we have to do with oriels, to which attention is\nimmediately attracted by their projection, we may run wreaths of the\nfinest flower-work up the mullions, charge the terminations with\nshields, and quarter them richly; but we must join the window to the\nwall, where its shadow falls, by means of more deep and decided\ndecoration.\n\n206. Secondly. In the choice and design of his ornaments, the architect\nshould endeavor to be grotesque rather than graceful (though little bits\nof soft flower-work here and there will relieve the eye): but he must\nnot imagine he can be grotesque by carving faces with holes for eyes and\nknobs for noses; on the contrary, whenever he mimics grotesque life,\nthere should be wit and humor in every feature, fun and frolic in every\nattitude; every distortion should be anatomical, and every monster a\nstudied combination. This is a question, however, relating more nearly\nto Gothic architecture and therefore we shall not enter into it at\npresent.[41]\n\n[Footnote 41: [See _Stones of Venice_, vol. III. chap. iii.]]\n\n207. Thirdly. The gables must on no account be jagged into a succession\nof right angles, as if people were to be perpetually engaged in trotting\nup one side and down the other. This custom, though sanctioned by\nauthority, has very little apology to offer for itself, based on any\nprinciple of composition. In street effect indeed it is occasionally\nuseful; and where the verticals below are unbroken by ornament, may be\nused even in the detached Elizabethan, but not when decoration has been\npermitted below. They should then be carried up in curved lines,\nalternating with two angles, or three at the most, without pinnacles or\nhipknobs. A hollow parapet is far better than a battlement, in the\nintermediate spaces; the latter indeed is never allowable, except when\nthe building has some appearance of being intended for defense, and\ntherefore is generally barbarous in the villa; while the parapet admits\nof great variety of effect.\n\n208. Lastly. Though the grotesque of Elizabethan architecture is\nadapted for wood country, the grotesque of the clipped garden, which\nfrequently accompanies it, is not. The custom of clipping trees into\nfantastic forms is always to be reprehended: first, because it never can\nproduce the true grotesque, for the material is not passive, and,\ntherefore, a perpetual sense of restraint is induced, while the great\nprinciple of the grotesque is action; again, because we have a distinct\nperception of two natures, the one neutralizing the other; for the\nvegetable organization is too palpable to let the animal form suggest\nits true idea; again, because the great beauty of all foliage is the\nenergy of life and action, of which it loses the appearance by formal\nclipping; and again, because the hands of the gardener will never\nproduce anything really spirited or graceful. Much, however, need not be\nsaid on this subject; for the taste of the public does not now prompt\nthem to such fettering of fair freedom, and we should be as sorry to see\nthe characteristic vestiges of it, which still remain in a few gardens,\nlost altogether, as to see the thing again becoming common.\n\n209. The garden of the Elizabethan villa, then, should be laid out with\na few simple terraces near the house, so as to unite it well with the\nground; lines of balustrade along the edges, guided away into the\nfoliage of the taller trees of the garden, with the shadows falling at\nintervals. The balusters should be square rather than round, with the\nangles outward; and if the balustrade looks unfinished at the corners,\nit may be surmounted by a grotesque bit of sculpture, of any kind; but\nit must be very strong and deep in its carved lines, and must not be\nlarge; and all graceful statues are to be avoided, for the reasons\nmentioned in speaking of the Italian villa: neither is the terraced part\nof the garden to extend to any distance from the house, nor to have deep\nflights of steps, for they are sure to get mossy and slippery, if not\nsuperintended with troublesome care; and the rest of the garden should\nhave more trees than flowers in it. A flower-garden is an ugly thing,\neven when best managed: it is an assembly of unfortunate beings,\npampered and bloated above their natural size, stewed and heated into\ndiseased growth; corrupted by evil communication into speckled and\ninharmonious colors; torn from the soil which they loved, and of which\nthey were the spirit and the glory, to glare away their term of\ntormented life among the mixed and incongruous essences of each other,\nin earth that they know not, and in air that is poison to them.\n\n210. The florist may delight in this: the true lover of flowers never\nwill. He who has taken lessons from nature, who has observed the real\npurpose and operation of flowers; how they flush forth from the\nbrightness of the earth's being, as the melody rises up from among the\nmoved strings of the instrument; how the wildness of their pale colors\npasses over her, like the evidence of a various emotion; how the quick\nfire of their life and their delight glows along the green banks, where\nthe dew falls the thickest, and the mists of incense pass slowly through\nthe twilight of the leaves, and the intertwined roots make the earth\ntremble with strange joy at the feeling of their motion; he who has\nwatched this will never take away the beauty of their being to mix into\nmeretricious glare, or feed into an existence of disease. And the\nflower-garden is as ugly in effect as it is unnatural in feeling: it\nnever will harmonize with anything, and if people will have it, should\nbe kept out of sight till they get into it.\n\n211. But, in laying out the garden which is to assist the effect of the\nbuilding, we must observe, and exclusively use, the natural combinations\nof flowers.[42] Now, as far as we are aware, bluish purple is the only\nflower color which Nature ever uses in masses of distant effect; this,\nhowever, she does in the case of most heathers, with the Rhododendron\nferrugineum, and, less extensively, with the colder color of the wood\nhyacinth. Accordingly, the large rhododendron may be used to almost any\nextent, in masses; the pale varieties of the rose more sparingly; and,\non the turf, the wild violet and pansy should be sown by chance, so that\nthey may grow in undulations of color, and should be relieved by a few\nprimroses. All dahlias, tulips, ranunculi, and, in general, what are\ncalled florist's flowers, should be avoided like garlic.\n\n[Footnote 42: Every one who is about to lay out a limited extent of\ngarden, in which he wishes to introduce many flowers, should read and\nattentively study, first Shelley, and next Shakspeare. The latter indeed\ninduces the most beautiful connections between thought and flower that\ncan be found in the whole range of European literature; but he very\noften uses the symbolical effect of the flower, which it can only have\non the educated mind, instead of the natural and true effect of the\nflower, which it must have, more or less, upon every mind. Thus, when\nOphelia, presenting her wild flowers, says, \"There's rosemary, that's\nfor remembrance; pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's\nfor thoughts:\" the infinite \"beauty of the passage depends entirely upon\nthe arbitrary meaning attached to the flowers. But, when Shelley speaks\nof\n\n                        \"The lily of the vale,\n    Whom youth makes so fair, and passion so pale,\n    That the light of her tremulous bells is seen\n    Through their pavilion of tender green,\"\n\nhe is etherealizing an impression which the mind naturally receives from\nthe flower. Consequently, as it is only by their natural influence that\nflowers can address the mind through the eye, we must read Shelley, to\nlearn how to use flowers, and Shakspeare, to learn to love them. In both\nwriters we find the wild flower possessing soul as well as life, and\nmingling its influence most intimately, like an untaught melody, with\nthe deepest and most secret streams of human emotion.]\n\n212. Perhaps we should apologize for introducing this in the\n_Architectural Magazine_; but it is not out of place: the garden is\nalmost a necessary adjunct of the Elizabethan villa, and all garden\narchitecture is utterly useless unless it be assisted by the botanical\neffect.\n\nThese, then, are a few of the more important principles of architecture,\nwhich are to be kept in view in the blue and in the green country. The\nwild, or gray, country is never selected, in Britain, as the site of a\nvilla; and, therefore, it only remains for us to offer a few remarks on\na subject as difficult as it is interesting and important, the\narchitecture of the villa in British hill, or brown, country.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nTHE BRITISH VILLA.--PRINCIPLES OF COMPOSITION.\n\n_D. Hill, or Brown Country._\n\n\"Vivite contenti casulis et collibus istis.\"--Juvenal [xiv. 179.]\n\n\n213. In the Boulevard des Italiens, just at the turning into the Rue de\nla Paix (in Paris), there stand a few dusky and withered trees, beside a\nkind of dry ditch, paved at the bottom, into which a carriage can with\nsome difficulty descend, and which affords access (not in an unusual\nmanner) to the ground floor of a large and dreary-looking house, whose\npassages are dark and confined, whose rooms are limited in size, and\nwhose windows command an interesting view of the dusky trees before\nmentioned.\n\nThis is the town residence of one of the Italian noblemen, whose country\nhouse has already been figured as a beautiful example of the villas of\nthe Lago di Como. That villa, however, though in one of the loveliest\nsituations that hill, and wave, and heaven ever combined to adorn, and\nthough itself one of the most delicious habitations that luxury ever\nprojected or wealth procured, is very rarely honored by the presence of\nits master; while attractions of a very different nature retain him,\nwinter after winter, in the dark chambers of the Boulevard des Italiens.\n\n214. This appears singular to the casual traveler, who darts down from\nthe dust and heat of the French capital to the light and glory of the\nItalian lakes, and finds the tall marble chambers and orange groves, in\nwhich he thinks, were he possessed of them, he could luxuriate forever,\nleft desolate and neglected by their real owner; but, were he to try\nsuch a residence for a single twelvemonth, we believe his wonder would\nhave greatly diminished at the end of the time. For the mind of the\nnobleman in question does not differ from that of the average of men;\ninasmuch as it is a well-known fact that a series of sublime\nimpressions, continued indefinitely, gradually pall upon the\nimagination, deaden its fineness of feeling, and in the end induce a\ngloomy and morbid state of mind, a reaction of a peculiarly melancholy\ncharacter, because consequent, not upon the absence of that which once\ncaused excitement, but upon the failure of its power.[43] This is not\nthe case with all men; but with those over whom the sublimity of an\nunchanging scene can retain its power forever, we have nothing to do;\nfor they know better than any architect can, how to choose their scene,\nand how to add to its effect; we have only to impress upon them the\npropriety of thinking before they build, and of keeping their humors\nunder the control of their judgment.\n\n[Footnote 43: [Compare _Modern Painters_. vol. III. chap. x. Sec. 15.]]\n\n215. It is not of them, but of the man of average intellect, that we are\nthinking throughout all these papers; and upon him it cannot be too\nstrongly impressed, that there are very few points in a hill country at\nall adapted for a permanent residence. There is a kind of instinct,\nindeed, by which men become aware of this, and shrink from the sterner\nfeatures of hill scenery into the parts possessing a human interest; and\nthus we find the north side of the Lake Leman, from Vevay to Geneva,\nwhich is about as monotonous a bit of vine-country as any in Europe,\nstudded with villas; while the south side, which is as exquisite a piece\nof scenery as is to be found in all Switzerland, possesses, we think,\ntwo. The instinct in this case is true; but we frequently find it in\nerror. Thus, the Lake of Como is the resort of half Italy, while the\nLago Maggiore possesses scarcely one villa of importance, besides those\non the Borromean Islands. Yet the Lago Maggiore is far better adapted\nfor producing and sustaining a pleasurable impression, than that of\nComo.\n\n216. The first thing, then, which the architect has to do in hill\ncountry is to bring his employer down from heroics to common sense; to\nteach him that, although it might be very well for a man like Pliny,[44]\nwhose whole spirit and life was wrapt up in that of Nature, to set\nhimself down under the splash of a cascade 400 feet high, such escapades\nare not becoming in English gentlemen; and that it is necessary, for his\nown satisfaction, as well as that of others, that he should keep in the\nmost quiet and least pretending corners of the landscape which he has\nchosen.\n\n[Footnote 44: [This passage seems to suggest that the Villa Pliniana on\nComo was built by Pliny. It was, however, the work of an antiquarian\nnobleman of the Renaissance, and merely named after the great\nnaturalist, who was born, perhaps, at Como, and mentions an ebbing\nspring on this site.]]\n\n217. Having got his employer well under control, he has two points to\nconsider. First, where he will spoil least; and, secondly, where he will\ngain most.\n\nNow he may spoil a landscape in two ways: either by destroying an\nassociation connected with it, or a beauty inherent in it. With the\nfirst barbarism we have nothing to do; for it is one which would not be\npermitted on a large scale; and even if it were, could not be\nperpetrated by any man of the slightest education. No one, having any\npretensions to be called a human being, would build himself a house on\nthe meadow of the Ruetli, or by the farm of La Haye Sainte, or on the\nlonely isle on Loch Katrine. Of the injustice of the second barbarism we\nhave spoken already; and it is the object of this paper to show how it\nmay be avoided, as well as to develop the principles by which we may be\nguided in the second question; that of ascertaining how much permanent\npleasure will be received from the contemplation of a given scene.\n\n218. It is very fortunate that the result of these several\ninvestigations will generally be found the same. The residence which in\nthe end is found altogether delightful, will be found to have been\nplaced where it has committed no injury; and therefore the best way of\nconsulting our own convenience in the end is, to consult the feelings\nof the spectator in the beginning.[45] Now, the first grand rule for the\nchoice of situation is, never to build a villa where the ground is not\nrichly productive. It is not enough that it should be capable of\nproducing a crop of scanty oats or turnips in a fine season; it must be\nrich and luxuriant, and glowing with vegetative power of one kind or\nanother.[46] For the very chiefest[47] part of the character of the\nedifice of pleasure is, and must be, its perfect ease, its appearance of\nfelicitous repose. This it can never have where the nature and\nexpression of the land near it reminds us of the necessity of labor, and\nwhere the earth is niggardly of all that constitutes its beauty and our\npleasure; this it can only have where the presence of man seems the\nnatural consequence of an ample provision for his enjoyment, not the\ncontinuous struggle of suffering existence with a rude heaven and rugged\nsoil. There is nobility in such a struggle, but not when it is\nmaintained by the inhabitant of the villa, in whom it is unnatural, and\ntherefore injurious in its effect. The narrow cottage on the desolate\nmoor, or the stalwart hospice on the crest of the Alps, each leaves an\nennobling impression of energy and endurance; but the possessor of the\nvilla should call, not upon our admiration, but upon our sympathy; and\nhis function is to deepen the impression of the beauty and the fullness\nof creation, not to exhibit the majesty of man; to show, in the\nintercourse of earth and her children, not how her severity may be\nmocked by their heroism, but how her bounty may be honored in their\nenjoyment.\n\n[Footnote 45: For instance, one proprietor terrifies the landscape all\nround him, within a range of three miles, by the conspicuous position of\nhis habitation; and is punished by finding that, from whatever quarter\nthe wind may blow, it sends in some of his plate-glass. Another spoils a\npretty bit of crag by building below it, and has two or three tons of\nstone dropped through his roof, the first frosty night. Another occupies\nthe turfy slope of some soft lake promontory, and has his cook washed\naway by the first flood. We do not remember ever having seen a\ndwelling-house destroying the effect of a landscape, of which,\nconsidered merely as a habitation, we should wish to be the possessor.]\n\n[Footnote 46: We are not thinking of the effect upon the human frame of\nthe air which is favorable to vegetation. Chemically considered, the\nbracing breeze of the more sterile soil is the most conducive to health,\nand is practically so, when the frame is not perpetually exposed to it;\nbut the keenness which checks the growth of the plant is, in all\nprobability, trying, to say the least, to the constitution of a\nresident.]\n\n[Footnote 47: We hope the English language may long retain this corrupt\nbut energetic superlative.]\n\n219. This position, being once granted, will save us a great deal of\ntrouble; for it will put out of our way, as totally unfit for villa\nresidence, nine-tenths of all mountain scenery; beginning with such\nbleak and stormy bits of hillside as that which was metamorphosed into\nsomething like a forest by the author of \"Waverley;\" laying an equal\nveto on all the severe landscapes of such districts of minor mountains\nas the Scotch Highlands and North Wales; and finishing by setting aside\nall the higher sublimity of Alp and Apennine. What, then, has it left\nus? The gentle slope of the lake shore, and the spreading parts of the\nquiet valley in almost all scenery; and the shores of the Cumberland\nlakes in our own, distinguished as they are by a richness of soil,\nwhich, though generally manifested only in an exquisite softness of\npasture and roundness of undulation, is sufficiently evident to place\nthem out of the sweeping range of this veto.\n\n220. Now, as we have only to do with Britain at present, we shall direct\nparticular attention to the Cumberland lakes, as they are the only\nmountain district which, taken generally, is adapted for the villa\nresidence, and as every piece of scenery, which in other districts is so\nadapted, resembles them in character and tone.\n\nWe noticed, in speaking of the Westmoreland cottage, the feeling of\nhumility with which we are impressed during a mountain ramble. Now, it\nis nearly impossible for a villa of large size, however placed, not to\ndisturb and interrupt this necessary and beautiful impression,\nparticularly where the scenery is on a very small scale. This\ndisadvantage may be obviated in some degree, as we shall see, by\nsimplicity of architecture; but another, dependent on a question of\nproportion, is inevitable.\n\n221. When an object, in which magnitude is a desirable attribute, leaves\nan impression, on a practiced eye, of less magnitude than it really\npossesses, we should place objects beside it, of whose magnitude we can\nsatisfy ourselves, of larger size than that which we are accustomed to;\nfor, by finding these large objects in precisely the proportion to the\ngrand object, to which we _are_ accustomed, while we know their actual\nsize to be one to which we are _not_ accustomed, we become aware of the\ntrue magnitude of the principal feature. But where the object leaves a\ntrue impression of its size on the practiced eye, we shall do harm by\nrendering minor objects either larger or smaller than they usually are.\nWhere the object leaves an impression of greater magnitude than it\nreally possesses, we must render the minor objects smaller than they\nusually are, to prevent our being undeceived.\n\n222. Now, a mountain of 15,000 feet high always looks lower than it\nreally is; therefore the larger the buildings near it are rendered, the\nbetter. Thus, in speaking of the Swiss cottage, it was observed that a\nbuilding of the size of St. Peter's in its place, would exhibit the size\nof the mountains more truly and strikingly. A mountain 7000 feet high\nstrikes its impression with great truth; we are deceived on neither\nside; therefore the building near it should be of the average size; and\nthus the villas of the Lago di Como, being among hills from 6000 to 8000\nfeet high, are well proportioned, being neither colossal nor diminutive:\nbut a mountain 3000 feet high always looks higher than it really\nis;[48] therefore the buildings near it should be smaller than the\naverage. And this is what is meant by the proportion of objects; namely,\nrendering them of such relative size as shall produce the greatest\npossible impression of those attributes which are most desirable in\nboth. It is not the true, but the desirable impression which is to be\nconveyed; and it must not be in one, but in both: the building must not\nbe overwhelmed by the mass of the mountain, nor the precipice mocked by\nthe elevation of the cottage. (Proportion of color is a question of\nquite a different nature, dependent merely on admixture and\ncombination).\n\n[Footnote 48: This position, as well as the two preceding, is important,\nand in need of confirmation. It has often been observed, that, when the\neye is altogether unpracticed in estimating elevation, it believes every\npoint to be lower than it really is; but this does not militate against\nthe proposition, for it is also well known, that the higher the point,\nthe greater the deception. But when the eye is thoroughly practiced in\nmountain measurement, although the judgment, arguing from technical\nknowledge, gives a true result, the impression on the feelings is always\nat variance with it, except in hills of the middle height. We are\nperpetually astonished, in our own country, by the sublime impression\nleft by such hills as Skiddaw, or Cader Idris, or Ben Venue; perpetually\nvexed, in Switzerland, by finding that, setting aside circumstances of\nform and color, the abstract impression of elevation is (except in some\nmoments of peculiar effect, worth a king's ransom) inferior to the\ntruth. We were standing the other day on the slope of the Brevent, above\nthe Prieure of Chamouni, with a companion, well practiced in climbing\nHighland hills, but a stranger among the Alps. Pointing out a rock above\nthe Glacier des Bossons, we requested an opinion of its height. \"I\nshould think,\" was the reply, \"I could climb it in two steps; but I am\ntoo well used to hills to be taken in in that way; it is at least 40\nfeet.\" The real height was 470 feet. This deception is attributable to\nseveral causes (independently of the clearness of the medium through\nwhich the object is seen), which it would be out of place to discuss\nhere, but the chief of which is the natural tendency of the feelings\nalways to believe objects subtending the same angle to be of the same\nheight. We say the feelings, not the eye; for the practiced eye never\nbetrays its possessor, though the due and corresponding mental\nimpression is not received.]\n\n223. For these reasons, buildings of a very large size are decidedly\ndestructive of effect among the English lakes: first, because apparent\naltitudes are much diminished by them; and, secondly, because, whatever\nposition they may be placed in, instead of combining with scenery, they\noccupy and overwhelm it; for all scenery is divided into pieces, each of\nwhich has a near bit of beauty, a promontory of lichened crag, or a\nsmooth swarded knoll, or something of the kind, to begin with. Wherever\nthe large villa comes, it takes up one of these beginnings of landscape\naltogether; and the parts of crag or wood, which ought to combine with\nit, become subservient to it, and lost in its general effect; that is,\nordinarily, in a general effect of ugliness. This should never be the\ncase: however intrinsically beautiful the edifice may be, it should\nassist, but not supersede; join, but not eclipse; appear, but not\nintrude.\n\n224. The general rule by which we are to determine the size is, to\nselect the largest mass which will not overwhelm any object of fine\nform, within two hundred yards of it; and if it does not do this, we may\nbe quite sure it is not too large for the distant features: for it is\none of Nature's most beautiful adaptations, that she is never out of\nproportion with herself; that is, the minor details of scenery of the\nfirst class bear exactly the proportion to the same species of detail in\nscenery of the second class, that the large features of the first bear\nto the large features of the second. Every mineralogist knows that the\nquartz of the St. Gothard is as much larger in its crystal than the\nquartz of Snowdon, as the peak of the one mountain overtops the peak of\nthe other; and that the crystals of the Andes are larger than\neither.[49] Every artist knows that the bowlders of an Alpine\nforeground, and the leaps of an Alpine stream, are as much larger than\nthe bowlders, and as much bolder than the leaps, of a Cumberland\nforeground and torrent, as the Jungfrau is higher than Skiddaw.\nTherefore, if we take care of the near effect in any country, we need\nnever be afraid of the distant.\n\n[Footnote 49: This is rather a bold assertion; and we should be sorry to\nmaintain the fact as universal; but the crystals of _almost_ all the\nrarer minerals are larger in the larger mountain; and that altogether\nindependently of the period of elevation, which, in the case of Mont\nBlanc, is later than that of our own Mendips.]\n\n225. For these reasons, the cottage villa, rather than the mansion, is\nto be preferred among our hills: it has been preferred in many\ninstances, and in too many, with an unfortunate result; for the cottage\nvilla is precisely that which affords the greatest scope for practical\nabsurdity. Symmetry, proportion, and some degree of simplicity, are\nusually kept in view in the large building; but, in the smaller, the\narchitect considers himself licensed to try all sorts of experiments,\nand jumbles together pieces of imitation, taken at random from his\nnote-book, as carelessly as a bad chemist mixing elements, from which he\nmay by accident obtain something new, though the chances are ten to one\nthat he obtains something useless. The chemist, however, is more\ninnocent than the architect; for the one throws his trash out of the\nwindow, if the compound fail; while the other always thinks his conceit\ntoo good to be lost. The great one cause of all the errors in this\nbranch of architecture is, the principle of imitation, at once the most\nbaneful and the most unintellectual, yet perhaps the most natural, that\nthe human mind can encourage or act upon.[50] Let it once be thoroughly\nrooted out, and the cottage villa will become a beautiful and\ninteresting element of our landscape.\n\n[Footnote 50: In Sec. 166 we noticed the kind of error most common in\namateur designs, and we traced that error to its great first cause, the\nassumption of the humor, instead of the true character, for a guide; but\nwe did not sufficiently specify the mode in which that first cause\noperated, by prompting to imitation. By imitation we do not mean\naccurate copying, neither do we mean working under the influence of the\nfeelings by which we may suppose the originators of a given model to\nhave been actuated; but we mean the intermediate step of endeavoring to\ncombine old materials in a novel manner. True copying may be disdained\nby architects, but it should not be disdained by nations; for when the\nfeelings of the time in which certain styles had their origin have\npassed away, any examples of the same style will invariably be failures,\nunless they be copies. It is utter absurdity to talk of building Greek\nedifices now; no man ever will, or ever can, who does not believe in the\nGreek mythology; and, precisely by so much as he diverges from the\ntechnicality of strict copyism, he will err. But we ought to have pieces\nof Greek architecture, as we have reprints of the most valuable records,\nand it is better to build a new Parthenon than to set up the old one.\nLet the dust and the desolation of the Acropolis be undisturbed forever;\nlet them be left to be the school of our moral feelings, not of our\nmechanical perceptions; the line and rule of the prying carpenter should\nnot come into the quiet and holy places of the earth. Elsewhere, we may\nbuild marble models for the education of the national mind and eye; but\nit is useless to think of adapting the architecture of the Greek to the\npurposes of the Frank; it never has been done, and never will be. We\ndelight, indeed, in observing the rise of such a building as La\nMadeleine: beautiful, because accurately copied; useful, as teaching the\neye of every passer-by. But we must not think of its purpose; it is\nwholly unadapted for Christian worship; and were it as bad Greek as our\nNational Gallery, it would be equally unfit.\n\nThe mistake of our architects in general is, that they fancy they are\nspeaking good English by speaking bad Greek. We wish, therefore, that\ncopying were more in vogue than it is. But imitation, the endeavor to be\nGothic, or Tyrolese, or Venetian, without the slightest grain of Gothic\nor Venetian feeling; the futile effort to splash a building into age, or\ndaub it into dignity, to zigzag it into sanctity, or slit it into\nferocity, when its shell is neither ancient nor dignified, and its\nspirit neither priestly nor baronial,--this is the degrading vice of the\nage; fostered, as if man's reason were but a step between the brains of\na kitten and a monkey, in the mixed love of despicable excitement and\nmiserable mimicry.\n\nIf the English have no imagination, they should not scorn to be\ncommonplace; or rather they should remember that poverty cannot be\ndisguised by beggarly borrowing, that it may be ennobled by calm\nindependence. Our national architecture never will improve until our\npopulation are generally convinced that in this art, as in all others,\nthey cannot seem what they cannot be. The scarlet coat or the\nturned-down collar, which the obsequious portrait-painter puts on the\nshoulders and off the necks of his savage or insane customers, never can\nmake the 'prentice look military, or the idiot poetical; and the\narchitectural appurtenances of Norman embrasure or Veronaic balcony must\nbe equally ineffective, until they can turn shopkeepers into barons, and\nschoolgirls into Juliets. Let the national mind be elevated in its\ncharacter, and it will naturally become pure in its conceptions; let it\nbe simple in its desires, and it will be beautiful in its ideas; let it\nbe modest in feeling, and it will not be insolent in stone. For\narchitect and for employer, there can be but one rule; to be natural in\nall that they do, and to look for the beauty of the material creation as\nthey would for that of the human form, not in the chanceful and changing\ndisposition of artificial decoration, but in the manifestation of the\npure and animating spirit which keeps it from the coldness of the grave.\n[With this remarkable foreshadowing of Mr. Ruskin's Art-teaching compare\n_Seven Lamps_ and _Lectures on Architecture and Painting_,\nthroughout.]]\n\n226. So much for size. The question of position need not detain us long,\nas the principles advanced in Sec. 104 are true generally, with one\nexception. Beautiful and calm the situation must always be, but--in\nEngland--not conspicuous. In Italy, the dwelling of the descendants of\nthose whose former life has bestowed on every scene the greater part of\nthe majesty which it possesses, ought to have a dignity inherent in it,\nwhich would be shamed by shrinking back from the sight of men, and\nmajesty enough to prevent such non-retirement from becoming intrusive;\nbut the spirit of the English landscape is simple, and pastoral and\nmild, devoid, also, of high associations (for in the Highlands and Wales\nalmost every spot which has the pride of memory is unfit for villa\nresidence); and, therefore, all conspicuous appearance of its more\nwealthy inhabitants becomes ostentation, not dignity; impudence, not\ncondescension. Their dwellings ought to be just evident, and no more, as\nforming part of the gentle animation and present prosperity which is the\nbeauty of cultivated ground. And this partial concealment may be\neffected without any sacrifice of the prospect which the proprietor will\ninsist upon commanding from his windows, and with great accession to his\npermanent enjoyment.\n\n227. For, first, the only prospect which is really desirable or\ndelightful, is that from the window of the breakfast-room. This is\nrather a bold position, but it will appear evident on a little\nconsideration. It is pleasant enough to have a pretty little bit visible\nfrom the bedrooms; but, after all, it only makes gentlemen cut\nthemselves in shaving, and ladies never think of anything beneath the\nsun when they are dressing. Then, in the dining-room, windows are\nabsolutely useless, because dinner is always uncomfortable by daylight,\nand the weight of furniture effect which adapts the room for the\ngastronomic rites, renders it detestable as a sitting-room. In the\nlibrary, people should have something else to do, than looking out of\nthe windows; in the drawing-room, the uncomfortable stillness of the\nquarter of an hour before dinner, may, indeed, be alleviated by having\nsomething to converse about at the windows: but it is very shameful to\nspoil a prospect of any kind, by looking at it when we are not ourselves\nin a state of corporal comfort and mental good-humor, which nobody can\nbe after the labor of the day, and before he has been fed. But the\nbreakfast-room, where we meet the first light of the dewy day, the first\nbreath of the morning air, the first glance of gentle eyes; to which we\ndescend in the very spring and elasticity of mental renovation and\nbodily energy, in the gathering up of our spirit for the new day, in\nthe flush of our awakening from the darkness and the mystery of faint\nand inactive dreaming, in the resurrection from our daily grave, in the\nfirst tremulous sensation of the beauty of our being, in the most\nglorious perception of the lightning of our life; there, indeed, our\nexpatiation of spirit, when it meets the pulse of outward sound and joy,\nthe voice of bird and breeze and billow, _does_ demand some power of\nliberty, some space for its going forth into the morning, some freedom\nof intercourse with the lovely and limitless energy of creature and\ncreation.\n\n228. The breakfast-room must have a prospect, and an extensive one; the\nhot roll and hyson are indiscussable except under such sweet\ncircumstances. But he must be an awkward architect who cannot afford an\nopening to one window without throwing the whole mass of the building\nopen to public view; particularly as, in the second place, the essence\nof a good window view is the breaking out of the distant features in\nlittle well-composed _morceaux_, not the general glare of a mass of one\ntone. Have we a line of lake? the silver water must glance out here and\nthere among the trunks of near trees, just enough to show where it\nflows; then break into an open swell of water, just where it is widest,\nor where the shore is prettiest. Have we mountains? their peaks must\nappear over foliage or through it, the highest and boldest catching the\neye conspicuously, yet not seen from base to summit, as if we wanted to\nmeasure them. Such a prospect as this is always compatible with as much\nconcealment as we choose. In all these pieces of management, the\narchitect's chief enemy is the vanity of his employer, who will always\nwant to see more than he ought to see, and than he will have pleasure in\nseeing, without reflecting how the spectators pay for his peeping.\n\n229. So much, then, for position. We have now only to settle the\nquestions of form and color, and we shall then have closed the most\ntiresome investigation which we shall be called upon to enter into;\ninasmuch as the principles which we may arrive at in considering the\narchitecture of defense,[51] though we hope they may be useful in the\nabstract, will demand no application to native landscape, in which,\nhappily, no defense is now required; and those relating to sacred\nedifices will, we also hope, be susceptible of more interest than can\npossibly be excited by the most degraded branch of the whole art of\narchitecture, one hardly worthy of being included under the name--that,\nnamely, with which we have lately been occupied, whose ostensible object\nis the mere provision of shelter and comfort for the despicable shell\nwithin whose darkness and corruption that purity of perception to which\nall high art is addressed is, during its immaturity, confined.\n\n[Footnote 51: [Referring again to the intended sequel.]]\n\n230. There are two modes in which any mental or material effect may be\nincreased--by contrast, or by assimilation. Supposing that we have a\ncertain number of features or existences under a given influence; then,\nby subjecting another feature to the same influence, we increase the\nuniversality, and therefore the effect, of that influence; but by\nintroducing another feature, _not_ under the same influence, we render\nthe subjection of the other features more palpable, and therefore more\neffective. For example, let the influence be one of shade, to which a\ncertain number of objects are subjected. We add another feature,\nsubjected to the same influence, and we increase the _general\nimpression_ of shade; we add the same feature, _not_ subjected to this\ninfluence, and we have deepened the _effect_ of shade.\n\nNow, the principles by which we are to be guided in the selection of one\nor other of these means are of great importance, and must be developed\nbefore we can conclude the investigation of villa architecture.\n\n231. The impression produced by a given effect or influence depends upon\nits degree and its duration. Degree always means the proportionate\nenergy exerted. Duration is either into time, or into space, or into\nboth. The duration of color is in space alone, forming what is commonly\ncalled extent. The duration of sound is in space and time; the space\nbeing in the size of the waves of air, which give depth to the tone. The\nduration of mental emotion is in time alone. Now in all influences, as\nis the degree, so is the impression; as is the duration, so is the\neffect of the impression; that is, its permanent operation upon the\nfeelings, or the violence with which it takes possession of our own\nfaculties and senses, as opposed to the abstract impression of its\nexistence, without such operation on our own essence.\n\nFor example, the natural tendency of darkness or shade is to induce fear\nor melancholy. Now, as the degree of the shade, so is the abstract\nimpression of the existence of shade; but as the duration of shade, so\nis the fear or melancholy excited by it.\n\nConsequently, when we wish to increase the abstract impression of the\npower of any influence over objects with which we have no connection, we\nmust increase degree; but, when we wish the impression to produce a\npermanent effect upon ourselves, we must increase duration.\n\nNow, degree is always increased by contrast, and duration by\nassimilation. A few instances of this will be sufficient.\n\n232. Blue is called a cold color, because it induces a feeling of\ncoolness to the eye, and is much used by nature in her cold effects.\n\nSupposing that we have painted a storm scene, in desolate country, with\na single miserable cottage somewhere in front; that we have made the\natmosphere and the distance cold and blue, and wish to heighten the\ncomfortless impression.\n\nThere is an old rag hanging out of the window: shall it be red or blue?\nIf it be red, the piece of warm color will contrast strongly with the\natmosphere; will render its blueness and chilliness immensely more\napparent; will increase the _degree_ of both, and, therefore, the\nabstract impression of the existence of cold. But, if it be blue, it\nwill bring the iciness of the distance up into the foreground; will fill\nthe whole visible space with comfortless cold; will take away every\nrelief from the desolation; will increase the _duration_ of the\ninfluence, and, consequently, will extend its operation into the mind\nand feelings of the spectator, who will shiver as he looks.\n\nNow, if we are making a _picture_, we shall not hesitate a moment: in\ngoes the red; for the artist, while he wishes to render the actual\nimpression of the presence of cold in the landscape as strong as\npossible, does not wish that chilliness to pass over into, or affect,\nthe spectator, but endeavors to make the combination of color as\ndelightful to his eye and feelings as possible.[52] But, if we are\npainting a _scene_ for theatrical representation, where deception is\naimed at, we shall be as decided in our proceeding on the opposite\nprinciple: in goes the blue; for we wish the idea of cold to pass over\ninto the spectator, and make him so uncomfortable as to permit his fancy\nto place him distinctly in the place we desire, in the actual scene.\n\n[Footnote 52: This difference of principle is one leading distinction\nbetween the artist, properly so called, and the scene, diorama, or\npanorama painter.]\n\n233. Again, Shakspeare has been blamed by some few critical asses for\nthe raillery of Mercutio, and the humor of the nurse, in \"Romeo and\nJuliet;\" for the fool in \"Lear;\" for the porter in \"Macbeth;\" the\ngrave-diggers in \"Hamlet,\" etc.; because, it is said, these bits\ninterrupt the tragic feeling. No such thing; they enhance it to an\nincalculable extent; they deepen its _degree_, though they diminish its\nduration. And what is the result? that the impression of the agony of\nthe individuals brought before us is far stronger than it could\notherwise have been, and our sympathies are more forcibly awakened;\nwhile, had the contrast been wanting, the impression of pain would have\ncome over into ourselves, our selfish feeling, instead of our sympathy,\nwould have been awakened; the conception of the grief of others\ndiminished; and the tragedy would have made us very uncomfortable, but\nnever have melted us to tears or excited us to indignation. When he,\nwhose merry and satirical laugh rung in our ears the moment before,\nfaints before us, with \"a plague o' both your houses, they have made\nworms' meat of me,\" the acuteness of our feeling is excessive: but, had\nwe not heard the laugh before, there would have been a dull weight of\nmelancholy impression, which would have been painful, not affecting.\n\n234. Hence, we see the grand importance of the choice of our means of\nenhancing effect, and we derive the simple rule for that choice, namely,\nthat, when we wish to increase abstract impression, or to call upon the\nsympathy of the spectator, we are to use contrast; but, when we wish to\nextend the operation of the impression, or to awaken the selfish\nfeelings, we are to use assimilation.\n\nThis rule, however, becomes complicated, where the feature of contrast\nis not altogether passive; that is, where we wish to give a conception\nof any qualities inherent in that feature, as well as in what it\nrelieves; and, besides, it is not always easy to know whether it will be\nbest to increase the abstract idea, or its operation. In most cases,\nenergy, the degree of influence, is beauty; and, in many, the duration\nof influence is monotony. In others, duration is sublimity, and energy\npainful: in a few, energy and duration are attainable and delightful\ntogether.\n\n235. It is impossible to give rules for judgment in every case; but the\nfollowing points must always be observed:--First, when we use contrast,\nit must be natural and likely to occur. Thus the contrast in tragedy is\nthe natural consequence of the character of human existence; it is what\nwe see and feel every day of our lives. When a contrast is unnatural, it\ndestroys the effect it should enhance.\n\nCanning called on a French refugee in 1794. The conversation naturally\nturned on the execution of the Queen, then a recent event. Overcome by\nhis feelings, the Parisian threw himself upon the ground, exclaiming, in\nan agony of tears, \"La bonne reine! la pauvre reine!\" Presently he\nsprang up, exclaiming, \"Cependant, Monsieur, il faut vous faire voir mon\npetit chien danser.\" This contrast, though natural in a Parisian, was\nunnatural in the nature of things, and therefore injurious.\n\n236. Secondly, when the general influence, instead of being external, is\nan attribute or energy of the thing itself, so as to bestow on it a\npermanent character, the contrast which is obtained by the absence of\nthat character is injurious, and becomes what is called an interruption\nof the unity. Thus, the raw and colorless tone of the Swiss cottage,\nnoticed in Sec. 42, is an injurious contrast to the richness of the\nlandscape, which is an inherent and necessary energy in surrounding\nobjects. So, the character of Italian landscape is curvilinear;\ntherefore, the outline of the buildings entering into its composition\nmust be arranged on curvilinear principles, as investigated in Sec. 144.\n\n237. Thirdly. But, if the pervading character can be obtained in the\nsingle object by different means, the contrast will be delightful. Thus,\nthe elevation of character which the hill districts of Italy possess by\nthe magnificence of their forms, is transmitted to the villa by its\ndignity of detail and simplicity of outline; and the rectangular\ninterruption to the curve of picturesque blue country, partaking of the\nnature of that which it interrupts, is a contrast giving relief and\ninterest, while any Elizabethan acute angles, on the contrary, would\nhave been a contrast obtained by the absence of the pervading energy of\nthe universal curvilinear character, and therefore improper.\n\n238. Fourthly, when the general energy, instead of pervading\nsimultaneously the multitude of objects, as with one spirit, is\nindependently possessed and manifested by every individual object, the\nresult is repetition, not unity; and contrast is not merely agreeable,\nbut necessary. Thus, a number of objects, forming the line of beauty, is\npervaded by one simple energy; but if that energy is separately\nmanifested in each, the result is painful monotony. Parallel right\nlines, without grouping, are always liable to this objection; and,\ntherefore, a distant view of a flat country is never beautiful unless\nits horizontals are lost in richness of vegetation, as in Lombardy, or\nbroken with masses of forest, or with distant hills. If none of these\ninterruptions take place, there is immediate monotony, and no\nintroduction can be more delightful than such a tower in the distance as\nStrasburg, or, indeed, than any architectural combination of verticals.\nPeterborough is a beautiful instance of such an adaptation. It is\nalways, then, to be remembered that repetition is not assimilation.\n\n239. Fifthly, when any attribute is necessarily beautiful, that is,\nbeautiful in every place and circumstance, we need hardly say that the\ncontrast consisting in its absence is painful. It is only when beauty is\nlocal or accidental that opposition may be employed.\n\nSixthly. The _edge_ of all contrasts, so to speak, should be as soft as\nis consistent with decisive effect. We mean, that a gradual change is\nbetter than instantaneous transfiguration; for, though always less\neffective, it is more agreeable. But this must be left very much to the\njudgment.\n\nSeventhly. We must be very careful in ascertaining whether any given\ncontrast is obtained by freedom from external, or absence of internal,\nenergy, for it is often a difficult point to decide. Thus, the peace of\nthe Alpine valley might, at first, seem to be a contrast caused by the\nwant of the character of strength and sublimity manifested in the hills;\nbut it is really caused by the freedom from the general and external\ninfluence of violence and desolation.\n\n240. These, then, are principles applicable to all arts, without a\nsingle exception, and of particular importance in painting and\narchitecture.[53] It will sometimes be found that one rule comes in the\nway of another; in which case, the most important is, of course, to be\nobeyed; but, in general, they will afford us an easy means of arriving\nat certain results, when, before, our conjectures must have been vague\nand unsatisfactory.\n\n[Footnote 53: [For further discussion of which, see _Elements of\nDrawing_, Letter III.]]\n\nWe may now proceed to determine the most proper _form_ for the mountain\nvilla of England.\n\n241. We must first observe the prevailing lines of the near hills: if\nthey are vertical, there will most assuredly be monotony, for the\nvertical lines of crag are never grouped, and accordingly, by our fourth\nrule, the prevailing lines of our edifice must be horizontal. On the\nLake of Thun the tendency of the hills is vertical; this tendency is\nrepeated by the buildings,[54] and the composition becomes thoroughly\nbad; but on the Lake of Como we have the same vertical tendency in the\nhills, while the grand lines of the buildings are horizontal, and the\ncomposition is good. But, if the prevailing lines of the near hills be\ncurved (and they will be either curved or vertical), we must not\ninterrupt their character, for the energy is then pervading, not\nindividual; and, therefore, our edifice must be rectangular.\n\n[Footnote 54: [In their turrets and pinnacles, as shown by a poor\nwood-cut in the magazine, not worth reproduction.]]\n\nIn both cases, therefore, the grand outline of the villa is the same;\nbut in one we have it set off by contrast, in the other by assimilation;\nand we must work out in the architecture of each edifice the principle\non which we have begun. Commencing with that in which we are to work by\ncontrast: the vertical crags must be the result of violence, and the\ninfluence of destruction, of distortion, of torture, to speak strongly,\nmust be evident in their every line. We free the building from this\ninfluence, and give it repose, gracefulness, and ease; and we have a\ncontrast of feeling as well as of line, by which the desirable\nattributes are rendered evident in both objects, while the _duration_ of\nneither energy being allowed, there can be no disagreeable effect upon\nthe spectator, who will not shrink from the terror of the crags, nor\nfeel a want of excitement in the gentleness of the building.\n\n242. Secondly, Solitude is powerful and evident in its effect on the\ndistant hills; therefore the effect of the villa should be joyous and\nlife-like (not flippant, however, but serene); and, by rendering it so,\nwe shall enhance the sublimity of the distance, as we showed in speaking\nof the Westmoreland cottage; and, therefore, we may introduce a number\nof windows with good effect, provided that they are kept in horizontal\nlines, and do not disturb the repose which we have shown to be\nnecessary.\n\nThese three points of contrast will be quite enough: there is no other\nexternal influence from which we can free the building, and the\npervading energy must be communicated to it, or it will not harmonize\nwith our feelings; therefore, before proceeding, we had better determine\nhow this contrast is to be carried out in detail.\n\n243. Our lines are to be horizontal; then the roof must be as flat as\npossible. We need not think of snow, because, however much we may slope\nthe roof, it will not slip off from the material, which, here, is the\nonly proper one; and the roof of the cottage is always very flat, which\nit would not be if there were any inconvenience attending such a form.\nBut, for the sake of the second contrast, we are to have gracefulness\nand ease, as well as horizontality. Then we must break the line of the\nroof into different elevations, yet not making the difference great, or\nwe shall have visible verticals. And this must not be done at random.\n\n[Illustration: Fig. 14. Leading lines of Villa-composition.]\n\n244. Take a flat line of beauty, _a d_, fig. 14, for the length of the\nedifice. Strike _a b_ horizontally from _a_, _c d_ from _d_; let fall\nthe verticals, make _c f_ equal _m n_, the maximum; and draw _h f_. The\ncurve should be so far continued as that _h f_ shall be to _c d_ as _c\nd_ to _a b_. Then we are sure of a beautifully proportioned form. Much\nvariety may be introduced by using different curves; joining parabolas\nwith cycloids, etc.; but the use of curves is always the best mode of\nobtaining good forms.[55]\n\n[Footnote 55: [Compare _Modern Painters_, vol. IV. chap. xvii. Sec. 49, and\n_Elements of Drawing_, Letter III.]]\n\nFurther ease may be obtained by added combinations. For instance, strike\nanother curve (_a q b_) through the flat line _a b_; bisect the maximum\n_v p_, draw the horizontal _r s_, (observing to make the largest maximum\nof this curve towards the smallest maximum of the great curve, to\nrestore the balance), join _r q_, _s b_, and we have another\nmodification of the same beautiful form. This may be done in either side\nof the building, but not in both.\n\n245. Then, if the flat roof be still found monotonous, it may be\ninterrupted by garret windows, which must not be gabled, but turned with\nthe curve _a b_, whatever that may be. This will give instant humility\nto the building, and take away any vestiges of Italian character which\nmight hang about it, and which would be wholly out of place.\n\nThe windows may have tolerably broad architraves, but no cornices; an\nornament both haughty and classical in its effect, and, on both\naccounts, improper here. They should be in level lines, but grouped at\nunequal distances, or they will have a formal and artificial air,\nunsuited to the irregularity and freedom around them. Some few of them\nmay be arched, however, with the curve _a b_, the mingling of the curve\nand the square being very graceful. There should not be more than two\ntiers and the garrets, or the building will be too high.\n\nSo much for the general outline of the villa, in which we are to work by\ncontrast. Let us pass over to that in which we are to work by\nassimilation, before speaking of the material and color which should be\ncommon to both.\n\n246. The grand outline must be designed on exactly the same principles;\nfor the curvilinear proportions, which were opposition before, will now\nbe assimilation. Of course, we do not mean to say that every villa in a\nhill country should have the form _a b c d_; we should be tired to death\nif they had: but we bring forward that form as an example of the\nagreeable result of the principles on which we should always work, but\nwhose result should be the same in no two cases. A modification of that\nform, however, will frequently be found useful; for, under the\ndepression _h f_, we may have a hall of entrance and of exercise, which\nis a requisite of extreme importance in hill districts, where it rains\nthree hours out of four all the year round; and under _c d_ we may have\nthe kitchen, servants' rooms, and coachhouse, leaving the large division\nquiet and comfortable.\n\n247. Then, as in the curved country there is no such distortion as that\nbefore noticed, no such evidence of violent agency, we need not be so\ncareful about the appearance of perfect peace; we may be a little more\ndignified and a little more classical. The windows may be symmetrically\narranged; and, if there be a blue and undulating distance, the upper\ntier may even have cornices; narrower architraves are to be used; the\ngarrets may be taken from the roof, and their inmates may be\naccommodated in the other side of the house; but we must take care, in\ndoing this, not to become Greek. The material, as we shall see\npresently, will assist us in keeping unclassical; and not a vestige of\ncolumn or capital must appear in any part of the edifice. All should be\npure, but all should be English; and there should be here, as elsewhere,\nmuch of the utilitarian about the whole, suited to the cultivated\ncountry in which it is placed.\n\n248. It will never do to be speculative or imaginative in our details,\non the supposition that the tendency of fine scenery is to make\neverybody imaginative and enthusiastic. Enthusiasm has no business with\nTurkey carpets or easy-chairs; and the very preparation of comfort for\nthe body, which the existence of the villa supposes, is inconsistent\nwith the supposition of any excitement of mind: and this is another\nreason for keeping the domestic building in richly productive country.\nNature has set aside her sublime bits for us to feel and think in; she\nhas pointed out her productive bits for us to sleep and eat in; and, if\nwe sleep and eat amongst the sublimity, we are brutal; if we poetize\namongst the cultivation, we are absurd. There are the time and place for\neach state of existence, and we should not jumble that which Nature has\nseparated. She has addressed herself, in one part, wholly to the mind;\nthere is nothing for us to eat but bilberries, nothing to rest upon but\nrock, and we have no business to concoct picnics, and bring cheese, and\nale, and sandwiches, in baskets, to gratify our beastly natures, where\nNature never intended us to eat (if she had, we needn't have brought the\nbaskets). In the other part, she has provided for our necessities; and\nwe are very absurd, if we make ourselves fantastic, instead of\ncomfortable. Therefore, all that we ought to do in the hill villa is, to\nadapt it for the habitation of a man of the highest faculties of\nperception and feeling; but only for the habitation of his hours of\ncommon sense, not of enthusiasm; it must be his dwelling as a man, not\nas a spirit; as a thing liable to decay, not as an eternal energy; as a\nperishable, not as an immortal.\n\n249. Keeping, then, in view these distinctions of form between the two\nvillas, the remaining considerations relate equally to both. We have\nseveral times alluded to the extreme richness and variety of hill\nforeground, as an internal energy to which there must be no contrast.\nRawness of color is to be especially avoided, but so, also, is poverty\nof effect. It will, therefore, add much to the beauty of the building,\nif in any conspicuous and harsh angle, or shadowy molding, we introduce\na wreath of carved leafwork,--in stone, of course. This sounds startling\nand expensive; but we are not thinking of expense: what ought to be, not\nwhat can be afforded, is the question. Besides, when all expense in\nshamming castles, building pinnacles, and all other fantasticisms has\nbeen shown to be injurious, that which otherwise would have been wasted\nin plaster battlements, to do harm, may surely be devoted to stone\nleafage, to do good. Now, if there be too much, or too conspicuous,\nornament, it will destroy simplicity and humility, and everything which\nwe have been endeavoring to get; therefore, the architect must be\ncareful, and had better have immediate recourse to that natural beauty\nwith which he is now endeavoring to assimilate.\n\n250. When Nature determines on decorating a piece of projecting rock,\nshe begins with the bold projecting surface, to which the eye is\nnaturally drawn by its form, and (observe how closely she works by the\nprinciples which were before investigated) she finishes this with\nlichens and mingled colors, to a degree of delicacy, which makes us feel\nthat we never can look close enough; but she puts in not a single mass\nof form to attract the eye, more than the grand outline renders\nnecessary. But, where the rock joins the ground, where the shadow falls,\nand the eye is not attracted, she puts in bold forms of ornament, large\nleaves and grass, bunches of moss and heather, strong in their\nprojection, and deep in their color. Therefore, the architect must act\non precisely the same principle: his outward surfaces he may leave the\nwind and weather to finish in their own way; but he cannot allow Nature\nto put grass and weeds into the shadows; _ergo_, he must do it himself;\nand, whenever the eye loses itself in shade, wherever there is a dark\nand sharp corner, there, if he can, he should introduce a wreath of\nflower-work. The carving will be preserved from the weather by this very\npropriety of situation: it would have moldered away, had it been exposed\nto the full drift of the rain, but will remain safe in the crevices\nwhere it is required; and, also, it will not injure the general effect,\nbut will lie concealed until we approach, and then rise up, as it were,\nout of the darkness, to its duty; bestowing on the dwellings that finish\nof effect which is manifested around them, and gratifying the natural\nrequirements of the mind for the same richness in the execution of the\ndesigns of men, which it has found on a near approach lavished so\nabundantly, in a distant view subdued so beautifully into the large\neffect of the designs of Nature.\n\n251. Of the ornament itself, it is to be observed that it is not to be\nwhat is properly called architectural _decoration_ (that which is\n\"decorous,\" becoming, or suitable to), namely, the combination of minor\nforms, which repeat the lines, and partake of the essence of the grand\ndesign, and carry out its meaning and life into its every member; but it\nis to be true sculpture; the presenting of a pure ideality of form to\nthe eye, which may give perfect conception, without the assistance of\ncolor: it is to be the stone image of vegetation, not botanically\naccurate, indeed, but sufficiently near to permit us to be sure of the\nintended flower or leaf. Not a single line of any other kind of ornament\nshould be admitted, and there should be more leafage than flower-work,\nas it is the more easy in its flow and outline. Deep relief need not be\nattempted, but the edges of the leafage should be clearly and delicately\ndefined. The cabbage, the vine, and the ivy are the best and most\nbeautiful leaves: oak is a little too stiff, otherwise good. Particular\nattention ought to be paid to the ease of the stems and tendrils; such\ncare will always be repaid. And it is to be especially observed, that\nthe carving is not to be arranged in garlands or knots, or any other\nformalities, as in Gothic work; but the stalks are to rise out of the\nstone, as if they were rooted in it, and to fling themselves down where\nthey are wanted, disappearing again in light sprays, as if they were\nstill growing.\n\n252. All this will require care in designing; but, as we have said\nbefore, we can always do without decoration; but, if we have it, it\n_must_ be well done. It is not of the slightest use to economize; every\nfarthing improperly saved does a shilling's worth of damage; and that is\ngetting a bargain the wrong way. When one branch or group balances\nanother, they _must_ be different in composition. The same group may be\nintroduced several times in different parts, but not when there is\ncorrespondence, or the effect will be unnatural; and it can hardly be\ntoo often repeated, that the _ornament_ must be kept out of the general\neffect, must be invisible to all but the near observer, and, even to\nhim, must not become a necessary part of the design, but must be\nsparingly and cautiously applied, so as to appear to have been thrown in\nby chance here and there, as Nature would have thrown in a bunch of\nherbage, affording adornment without concealment, and relief without\ninterruption.\n\n253. So much for form. The question of color has already been discussed\nat some length, in speaking of the cottage; but it is to be noticed,\nthat the villa, from the nature of its situation, gets the higher hills\nback into a distance which is three or four times more blue than any\npiece of scenery entering into combination with the cottage; so that\nmore warmth of color is allowable in the building, as well as greater\ncheerfulness of effect. It should not look like stone, as the cottage\nshould, but should tell as a building on the mind as well as the eye.\nWhite, therefore, is frequently allowable in small quantities,\nparticularly on the border of a large and softly shored lake, like\nWindermere and the foot of Loch Lomond; but cream-color, and\nputty-color, and the other varieties of plaster-color are inexcusable.\nIf more warmth is required by the situation than the sun will give on\nwhite, the building should be darkened at once. A warm rich gray is\nalways beautiful in any place and under any circumstance; and, in fact,\nunless the proprietor likes to be kept damp like a traveling codfish, by\ntrees about his house and close to it (which, if it be white, he must\nhave, to prevent glare), such a gray is the only color which will be\nbeautiful, or even innocent. The difficulty is to obtain it; and this\nnaturally leads to the question of material.\n\n254. If the color is to be white, we can have no ornament, for the\nshadows would make it far too conspicuous, and we should get only\ntawdriness. The simple forms may be executed in anything that will stand\nwet; and the roof, in all cases, should be of the coarse slate of the\ncountry, as rudely put on as possible. They must be kept clear of moss\nand conspicuous vegetation, or there will be an improper appearance of\ndecay; but the more lichenous the better, and the rougher the slate the\nsooner it is colored. If the color is to be gray, we may use the gray\nprimitive limestone, which is not ragged on the edges, without preparing\nthe blocks too smoothly; or the more compact and pale-colored slate,\nwhich is frequently done in Westmoreland; and execute the ornaments in\nany very coarse dark marble. Greenstone is an excellent rock, and has a\nfine surface, but it is unmanageable. The grayer granites may often be\nused with good effect, as well as the coarse porphyries, when the gray\nis to be particularly warm. An outward surface of a loose block may be\noften turned to good account in turning an angle; as the colors which it\nhas contracted by its natural exposure will remain on it without\ninducing damp. It is always to be remembered, that he who prefers\nneatness to beauty, and who would have sharp angles and clean surfaces,\nin preference to curved outlines and lichenous color, has no business to\nlive among hills.\n\n255. Such, then, are the principal points to be kept in view in the\nedifice itself. Of the mode of uniting it with the near features of\nfoliage and ground, it would be utterly useless to speak: it is a\nquestion of infinite variety, and involving the whole theory of\ncomposition, so that it would take up volumes to develop principles\nsufficient to guide us to the result which the feeling of the practiced\neye would arrive at in a moment. The inequalities of the ground, the\ncharacter and color of those inequalities, the nature of the air, the\nexposure, and the consequent fall of the light, the quantity and form of\nnear and distant foliage, all have their effect on the design, and\nshould have their influence on the designer, inducing, as they do, a\nperfect change of circumstance in every locality. Only one general rule\ncan be given, and that we repeat. The house must _not_ be a noun\nsubstantive, it must not stand by itself, it must be part and parcel of\na proportioned whole: it must not even be seen all at once; and he who\nsees one end should feel that, from the given data, he can arrive at no\nconclusion respecting the other, yet be impressed with a feeling of a\nuniversal energy, pervading with its beauty of unanimity all life and\nall inanimation, all forms of stillness or motion, all presence of\nsilence or of sound.\n\n256. Thus, then, we have reviewed the most interesting examples of\nexisting villa architecture, and we have applied the principles derived\nfrom those examples to the landscape of our own country. Throughout, we\nhave endeavored to direct attention to the spirit, rather than to the\nletter, of all law, and to exhibit the beauty of that principle which is\nembodied in the line with which we have headed this concluding paper; of\nbeing satisfied with national and natural forms, and not endeavoring to\nintroduce the imaginations, or imitate the customs, of foreign nations,\nor of former times. All imitation has its origin in vanity, and vanity\nis the bane of architecture. And, as we take leave of them, we would,\nonce for all, remind our English sons of Sempronius \"qui villas\nattollunt marmore novas,\" _novas_ in the full sense of the word,--and\nwho are setting all English feeling and all natural principles at\ndefiance, that it is only the _bourgeois gentilhomme_ who will wear his\ndressing-gown upside down, \"parceque toutes les personnes de qualite\nportent les fleurs en en-bas.\"\n\nOXFORD, _October, 1838._","title":"The Poetry of Architecture: Or, the Architecture of the Nations of Europe Considered in its Association with Natural Scenery and National Character","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":59839}