{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35898/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35898","id":"gutenberg_35898","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35898","summary":null,"tags":["Architecture","Category: Architecture","Category: Art","Category: Philosophy & Ethics"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE IX.--(_Frontispiece_--Vol. V.)\n  TRACERY FROM THE CAMPANILE OF GIOTTO AT FLORENCE.]\n\n\n\n  Illustrated Cabinet Edition\n\n\n  The Seven Lamps of Architecture\n  Lectures on Architecture and Painting\n  The Study of Architecture\n\n  by John Ruskin\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n  Boston\n  Dana Estes & Company\n  Publishers\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nSEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE.\n\n                                                  PAGE\n  PREFACE                                            5\n  INTRODUCTION                                       9\n  CHAPTER I.\n    THE LAMP OF SACRIFICE                           15\n  CHAPTER II.\n    THE LAMP OF TRUTH                               34\n  CHAPTER III.\n    THE LAMP OF POWER                               69\n  CHAPTER IV.\n    THE LAMP OF BEAUTY                             100\n  CHAPTER V.\n    THE LAMP OF LIFE                               142\n  CHAPTER VI.\n    THE LAMP OF MEMORY                             167\n  CHAPTER VII.\n    THE LAMP OF OBEDIENCE                          188\n  NOTES                                            203\n\n\nLECTURES ON ARCHITECTURE AND PAINTING\n\n  PREFACE                                          213\n  LECTURE I.                                       217\n  LECTURE II.                                      248\n    ADDENDA to Lectures I. and II.                 270\n  LECTURE III. Turner and his Works                287\n  LECTURE IV.  Pre-Raphaelitism                    311\n    ADDENDA to Lecture IV.                         334\n\n\nTHE STUDY OF ARCHITECTURE.\n\n  AN INQUIRY INTO THE STUDY OF ARCHITECTURE        339\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n\nSEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE\n\n  PLATE                                                           PAGE\n     I. ORNAMENTS FROM ROUEN, ST. LO, AND VENICE                    33\n    II. PART OF THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. LO, NORMANDY                   55\n   III. TRACERIES FROM CAEN, BAYEUX, ROUEN AND BEAVAIS              60\n    IV. INTERSECTIONAL MOULDINGS                                    66\n     V. CAPITAL FROM THE LOWER ARCADE OF THE DOGE'S PALACE, VENICE  88\n    VI. ARCH FROM THE FACADE OF THE CHURCH OF SAN MICHELE AT LUCCA  90\n   VII. PIERCED ORNAMENTS FROM LISIEUX, BAYEUX, VERONA, AND PADUA   93\n  VIII. WINDOW FROM THE CA' FOSCARI, VENICE                         95\n    IX. TRACERY FROM THE CAMPANILE OF GIOTTO,\n            AT FLORENCE.                               _Frontispiece._\n     X. TRACERIES AND MOULDINGS FROM ROUEN AND SALISBURY           122\n    XI. BALCONY IN THE CAMPO, ST. BENEDETTO, VENICE                131\n   XII. FRAGMENTS FROM ABBEVILLE, LUCCA, VENICE AND PISA           149\n  XIII. PORTIONS OF AN ARCADE ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE\n            CATHEDRAL OF FERRARA                                   161\n   XIV. SCULPTURES FROM THE CATHEDRAL OF ROUEN                     165\n\n\nLECTURES ON ARCHITECTURE AND PAINTING\n\n  Plate I. FIGS. 1, 3 AND 5. ILLUSTRATIVE DIAGRAMS                 219\n    \"  II.   \"   2. WINDOW IN OAKHAM CASTLE                        221\n    \" III.   \"   4 AND 6. SPRAY OF ASH-TREE, AND IMPROVEMENT\n                            OF THE SAME ON GREEK PRINCIPLES        226\n    \"  IV.   \"   7. WINDOW IN DUMBLANE CATHEDRAL                   231\n    \"   V.   \"   8. MEDIAEVAL TURRET                                235\n    \"  VI.   \"   9 AND 10. LOMBARDIC TOWERS                        238\n    \" VII.   \"  11 AND 12. SPIRES AT CONTANCES AND ROUEN           240\n    \" VIII.  \"  13 AND 14. ILLUSTRATIVE DIAGRAMS                   253\n    \"  IX.   \"  15. SCULPTURE AT LYONS                             254\n    \"   X.   \"  16. NICHE AT AMIENS                                255\n    \"  XI.   \"  17 AND 18. TigER'S HEAD, AND IMPROVEMENT OF\n                             THE SAME ON GREEK PRINCIPLES          258\n    \" XII.   \"  19. GARRET WINDOW IN HOTEL DE BOURGTHEROUDE        265\n    \" XIII.  \"  20 AND 21. TREES, AS DRAWN IN THE THIRTEENTH\n                             CENTURY                               294\n    \" XIV.   \"  22. ROCKS, AS DRAWN BY THE SCHOOL OF LEONARDO\n                             DA VINCI                              296\n    \"  XV.   \"  23. BOUGHS OF TREES, AFTER TITIAN                  298\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThe memoranda which form the basis of the following Essay have been\nthrown together during the preparation of one of the sections of the\nthird volume of \"Modern Painters.\"[A] I once thought of giving them a\nmore expanded form; but their utility, such as it may be, would probably\nbe diminished by farther delay in their publication, more than it would\nbe increased by greater care in their arrangement. Obtained in every\ncase by personal observation, there may be among them some details\nvaluable even to the experienced architect; but with respect to the\nopinions founded upon them I must be prepared to bear the charge of\nimpertinence which can hardly but attach to the writer who assumes a\ndogmatical tone in speaking of an art he has never practised. There are,\nhowever, cases in which men feel too keenly to be silent, and perhaps\ntoo strongly to be wrong; I have been forced into this impertinence; and\nhave suffered too much from the destruction or neglect of the\narchitecture I best loved, and from the erection of that which I cannot\nlove, to reason cautiously respecting the modesty of my opposition to\nthe principles which have induced the scorn of the one, or directed the\ndesign of the other. And I have been the less careful to modify the\nconfidence of my statements of principles, because in the midst of the\nopposition and uncertainty of our architectural systems, it seems to me\nthat there is something grateful in any _positive_ opinion, though in\nmany points wrong, as even weeds are useful that grow on a bank of sand.\n\n    [A] The inordinate delay in the appearance of that supplementary\n    volume has, indeed, been chiefly owing to the necessity under which\n    the writer felt himself, of obtaining as many memoranda as possible\n    of mediaeval buildings in Italy and Normandy, now in process of\n    destruction, before that destruction should be consummated by the\n    Restorer or Revolutionist. His whole time has been lately occupied\n    in taking drawings from one side of buildings, of which masons were\n    knocking down the other; nor can he yet pledge himself to any time\n    for the publication of the conclusion of \"Modern Painters;\" he can\n    only promise that its delay shall not be owing to any indolence on\n    his part.\n\nEvery apology is, however, due to the reader, for the hasty and\nimperfect execution of the plates. Having much more serious work in\nhand, and desiring merely to render them illustrative of my meaning, I\nhave sometimes very completely failed even of that humble aim; and the\ntext, being generally written before the illustration was completed,\nsometimes naively describes as sublime or beautiful, features which the\nplate represents by a blot. I shall be grateful if the reader will in\nsuch cases refer the expressions of praise to the Architecture, and not\nto the illustration.\n\nSo far, however, as their coarseness and rudeness admit, the plates are\nvaluable; being either copies of memoranda made upon the spot, or\n(Plates IX. and XI.) enlarged and adapted from Daguerreotypes, taken\nunder my own superintendence. Unfortunately, the great distance from the\nground of the window which is the subject of Plate IX. renders even the\nDaguerreotype indistinct; and I cannot answer for the accuracy of any of\nthe mosaic details, more especially of those which surround the window,\nand which I rather imagine, in the original, to be sculptured in relief.\nThe general proportions are, however, studiously preserved; the spirals\nof the shafts are counted, and the effect of the whole is as near that\nof the thing itself, as is necessary for the purposes of illustration\nfor which the plate is given. For the accuracy of the rest I can answer,\neven to the cracks in the stones, and the number of them; and though the\nlooseness of the drawing, and the picturesque character which is\nnecessarily given by an endeavor to draw old buildings as they actually\nappear, may perhaps diminish their credit for architectural veracity,\nthey will do so unjustly.\n\nThe system of lettering adopted in the few instances in which sections\nhave been given, appears somewhat obscure in the references, but it is\nconvenient upon the whole. The line which marks the direction of any\nsection is noted, if the section be symmetrical, by a single letter; and\nthe section itself by the same letter with a line over it, a.--[=a]. But\nif the section be unsymmetrical, its direction is noted by two letters,\na. a. a_2 at its extremities; and the actual section by the same letters\nwith lines over them, [=a]. [=a]. [=a]_2, at the corresponding\nextremities.\n\nThe reader will perhaps be surprised by the small number of buildings to\nwhich reference has been made. But it is to be remembered that the\nfollowing chapters pretend only to be a statement of principles,\nillustrated each by one or two examples, not an essay on European\narchitecture; and those examples I have generally taken either from the\nbuildings which I love best, or from the schools of architecture which,\nit appeared to me, have been less carefully described than they\ndeserved. I could as fully, though not with the accuracy and certainty\nderived from personal observation, have illustrated the principles\nsubsequently advanced, from the architecture of Egypt, India, or Spain,\nas from that to which the reader will find his attention chiefly\ndirected, the Italian Romanesque and Gothic. But my affections, as well\nas my experience, led me to that line of richly varied and magnificently\nintellectual schools, which reaches, like a high watershed of Christian\narchitecture, from the Adriatic to the Northumbrian seas, bordered by\nthe impure schools of Spain on the one hand, and of Germany on the\nother: and as culminating points and centres of this chain, I have\nconsidered, first, the cities of the Val d'Arno, as representing the\nItalian Romanesque and pure Italian Gothic; Venice and Verona as\nrepresenting the Italian Gothic colored by Byzantine elements; and\nRouen, with the associated Norman cities, Caen, Bayeux, and Coutances,\nas representing the entire range of Northern architecture from the\nRomanesque to Flamboyant.\n\nI could have wished to have given more examples from our early English\nGothic; but I have always found it impossible to work in the cold\ninteriors of our cathedrals, while the daily services, lamps, and\nfumigation of those upon the Continent, render them perfectly safe.\nIn the course of last summer I undertook a pilgrimage to the English\nShrines, and began with Salisbury, where the consequence of a few days'\nwork was a state of weakened health, which I may be permitted to name\namong the causes of the slightness and imperfection of the present\nEssay.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY.\n\n\nSome years ago, in conversation with an artist whose works, perhaps,\nalone, in the present day, unite perfection of drawing with resplendence\nof color, the writer made some inquiry respecting the general means by\nwhich this latter quality was most easily to be attained. The reply was\nas concise as it was comprehensive--\"Know what you have to do, and do\nit\"--comprehensive, not only as regarded the branch of art to which it\ntemporarily applied, but as expressing the great principle of success in\nevery direction of human effort; for I believe that failure is less\nfrequently attributable to either insufficiency of means or impatience\nof labor, than to a confused understanding of the thing actually to be\ndone; and therefore, while it is properly a subject of ridicule, and\nsometimes of blame, that men propose to themselves a perfection of any\nkind, which reason, temperately consulted, might have shown to be\nimpossible with the means at their command, it is a more dangerous error\nto permit the consideration of means to interfere with our conception,\nor, as is not impossible, even hinder our acknowledgment of goodness and\nperfection in themselves. And this is the more cautiously to be\nremembered; because, while a man's sense and conscience, aided by\nRevelation, are always enough, if earnestly directed, to enable him to\ndiscover what is right, neither his sense, nor conscience, nor feeling,\nare ever enough, because they are not intended, to determine for him\nwhat is possible. He knows neither his own strength nor that of his\nfellows, neither the exact dependence to be placed on his allies nor\nresistance to be expected from his opponents. These are questions\nrespecting which passion may warp his conclusions, and ignorance must\nlimit them; but it is his own fault if either interfere with the\napprehension of duty, or the acknowledgment of right. And, as far as I\nhave taken cognizance of the causes of the many failures to which the\nefforts of intelligent men are liable, more especially in matters\npolitical, they seem to me more largely to spring from this single error\nthan from all others, that the inquiry into the doubtful, and in some\nsort inexplicable, relations of capability, chance, resistance, and\ninconvenience, invariably precedes, even if it do not altogether\nsupersede, the determination of what is absolutely desirable and just.\nNor is it any wonder that sometimes the too cold calculation of our\npowers should reconcile us too easily to our shortcomings, and even lead\nus into the fatal error of supposing that our conjectural utmost is in\nitself well, or, in other words, that the necessity of offences renders\nthem inoffensive.\n\nWhat is true of human polity seems to me not less so of the\ndistinctively political art of Architecture. I have long felt convinced\nof the necessity, in order to its progress, of some determined effort to\nextricate from the confused mass of partial traditions and dogmata with\nwhich it has become encumbered during imperfect or restricted practice,\nthose large principles of right which are applicable to every stage and\nstyle of it. Uniting the technical and imaginative elements as\nessentially as humanity does soul and body, it shows the same infirmly\nbalanced liability to the prevalence of the lower part over the higher,\nto the interference of the constructive, with the purity and simplicity\nof the reflective, element. This tendency, like every other form of\nmaterialism, is increasing with the advance of the age; and the only\nlaws which resist it, based upon partial precedents, and already\nregarded with disrespect as decrepit, if not with defiance as\ntyrannical, are evidently inapplicable to the new forms and functions of\nthe art, which the necessities of the day demand. How many these\nnecessities may become, cannot be conjectured; they rise, strange and\nimpatient, out of every modern shadow of change. How far it may be\npossible to meet them without a sacrifice of the essential characters of\narchitectural art, cannot be determined by specific calculation or\nobservance. There is no law, no principle, based on past practice,\nwhich may not be overthrown in a moment, by the arising of a new\ncondition, or the invention of a new material; and the most rational, if\nnot the only, mode of averting the danger of an utter dissolution of all\nthat is systematic and consistent in our practice, or of ancient\nauthority in our judgment, is to cease for a little while, our endeavors\nto deal with the multiplying host of particular abuses, restraints, or\nrequirements; and endeavor to determine, as the guides of every effort,\nsome constant, general, and irrefragable laws of right--laws, which\nbased upon man's nature, not upon his knowledge, may possess so far the\nunchangeableness of the one, as that neither the increase nor\nimperfection of the other may be able to assault or invalidate them.\n\nThere are, perhaps, no such laws peculiar to any one art. Their range\nnecessarily includes the entire horizon of man's action. But they have\nmodified forms and operations belonging to each of his pursuits, and the\nextent of their authority cannot surely be considered as a diminution of\nits weight. Those peculiar aspects of them which belong to the first of\nthe arts, I have endeavored to trace in the following pages; and since,\nif truly stated, they must necessarily be, not only safeguards against\nevery form of error, but sources of every measure of success, I do not\nthink that I claim too much for them in calling them the Lamps of\nArchitecture, nor that it is indolence, in endeavoring to ascertain the\ntrue nature and nobility of their fire, to refuse to enter into any\ncurious or special questioning of the innumerable hindrances by which\ntheir light has been too often distorted or overpowered.\n\nHad this farther examination been attempted, the work would have become\ncertainly more invidious, and perhaps less useful, as liable to errors\nwhich are avoided by the present simplicity of its plan. Simple though\nit be, its extent is too great to admit of any adequate accomplishment,\nunless by a devotion of time which the writer did not feel justified in\nwithdrawing from branches of inquiry in which the prosecution of works\nalready undertaken has engaged him. Both arrangements and nomenclature\nare those of convenience rather than of system; the one is arbitrary and\nthe other illogical: nor is it pretended that all, or even the greater\nnumber of, the principles necessary to the well-being of the art, are\nincluded in the inquiry. Many, however, of considerable importance will\nbe found to develope themselves incidentally from those more specially\nbrought forward.\n\nGraver apology is necessary for an apparently graver fault. It has been\njust said, that there is no branch of human work whose constant laws\nhave not close analogy with those which govern every other mode of man's\nexertion. But, more than this, exactly as we reduce to greater\nsimplicity and surety any one group of these practical laws, we shall\nfind them passing the mere condition of connection or analogy, and\nbecoming the actual expression of some ultimate nerve or fibre of the\nmighty laws which govern the moral world. However mean or inconsiderable\nthe act, there is something in the well doing of it, which has\nfellowship with the noblest forms of manly virtue; and the truth,\ndecision, and temperance, which we reverently regard as honorable\nconditions of the spiritual being, have a representative or derivative\ninfluence over the works of the hand, the movements of the frame, and\nthe action of the intellect.\n\nAnd as thus every action, down even to the drawing of a line or\nutterance of a syllable, is capable of a peculiar dignity in the manner\nof it, which we sometimes express by saying it is truly done (as a line\nor tone is true), so also it is capable of dignity still higher in the\nmotive of it. For there is no action so slight, nor so mean, but it may\nbe done to a great purpose, and ennobled therefore; nor is any purpose\nso great but that slight actions may help it, and may be so done as to\nhelp it much, most especially that chief of all purposes, the pleasing\nof God. Hence George Herbert--\n\n  \"A servant with this clause\n    Makes drudgery divine;\n  Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws,\n    Makes that and the action fine.\"\n\nTherefore, in the pressing or recommending of any act or manner of\nacting, we have choice of two separate lines of argument: one based on\nrepresentation of the expediency or inherent value of the work, which is\noften small, and always disputable; the other based on proofs of its\nrelations to the higher orders of human virtue, and of its\nacceptableness, so far as it goes, to Him who is the origin of virtue.\nThe former is commonly the more persuasive method, the latter assuredly\nthe more conclusive; only it is liable to give offence, as if there were\nirreverence in adducing considerations so weighty in treating subjects\nof small temporal importance. I believe, however, that no error is more\nthoughtless than this. We treat God with irreverence by banishing Him\nfrom our thoughts, not by referring to His will on slight occasions. His\nis not the finite authority or intelligence which cannot be troubled\nwith small things. There is nothing so small but that we may honor God\nby asking His guidance of it, or insult Him by taking it into our own\nhands; and what is true of the Deity is equally true of His Revelation.\nWe use it most reverently when most habitually: our insolence is in ever\nacting without reference to it, our true honoring of it is in its\nuniversal application. I have been blamed for the familiar introduction\nof its sacred words. I am grieved to have given pain by so doing; but my\nexcuse must be my wish that those words were made the ground of every\nargument and the test of every action. We have them not often enough on\nour lips, nor deeply enough in our memories, nor loyally enough in our\nlives. The snow, the vapor, and the stormy wind fulfil His word. Are our\nacts and thoughts lighter and wilder than these--that we should forget\nit?\n\nI have therefore ventured, at the risk of giving to some passages the\nappearance of irreverence, to take the higher line of argument wherever\nit appeared clearly traceable: and this, I would ask the reader\nespecially to observe, not merely because I think it the best mode of\nreaching ultimate truth, still less because I think the subject of more\nimportance than many others; but because every subject should surely, at\na period like the present, be taken up in this spirit, or not at all.\nThe aspect of the years that approach us is as solemn as it is full of\nmystery; and the weight of evil against which we have to contend, is\nincreasing like the letting out of water. It is no time for the idleness\nof metaphysics, or the entertainment of the arts. The blasphemies of the\nearth are sounding louder, and its miseries heaped heavier every day;\nand if, in the midst of the exertion which every good man is called upon\nto put forth for their repression or relief, it is lawful to ask for a\nthought, for a moment, for a lifting of the finger, in any direction but\nthat of the immediate and overwhelming need, it is at least incumbent\nupon us to approach the questions in which we would engage him, in the\nspirit which has become the habit of his mind, and in the hope that\nneither his zeal nor his usefulness may be checked by the withdrawal of\nan hour which has shown him how even those things which seemed\nmechanical, indifferent, or contemptible, depend for their perfection\nupon the acknowledgment of the sacred principles of faith, truth, and\nobedience, for which it has become the occupation of his life to\ncontend.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE LAMP OF SACRIFICE.\n\n\nI. Architecture is the art which so disposes and adorns the edifices\nraised by man for whatsoever uses, that the sight of them contributes to\nhis mental health, power and pleasure.\n\nIt is very necessary, in the outset of all inquiry, to distinguish\ncarefully between Architecture and Building.\n\nTo build, literally to confirm, is by common understanding to put\ntogether and adjust the several pieces of any edifice or receptacle of a\nconsiderable size. Thus we have church building, house building, ship\nbuilding, and coach building. That one edifice stands, another floats,\nand another is suspended on iron springs, makes no difference in the\nnature of the art, if so it may be called, of building or edification.\nThe persons who profess that art, are severally builders,\necclesiastical, naval, or of whatever other name their work may justify;\nbut building does not become architecture merely by the stability of\nwhat it erects; and it is no more architecture which raises a church, or\nwhich fits it to receive and contain with comfort a required number of\npersons occupied in certain religious offices, than it is architecture\nwhich makes a carriage commodious or a ship swift. I do not, of course,\nmean that the word is not often, or even may not be legitimately,\napplied in such a sense (as we speak of naval architecture); but in that\nsense architecture ceases to be one of the fine arts, and it is\ntherefore better not to run the risk, by loose nomenclature, of the\nconfusion which would arise, and has often arisen, from extending\nprinciples which belong altogether to building, into the sphere of\narchitecture proper.\n\nLet us, therefore, at once confine the name to that art which, taking up\nand admitting, as conditions of its working, the necessities and common\nuses of the building, impresses on its form certain characters venerable\nor beautiful, but otherwise unnecessary. Thus, I suppose, no one would\ncall the laws architectural which determine the height of a breastwork\nor the position of a bastion. But if to the stone facing of that bastion\nbe added an unnecessary feature, as a cable moulding, _that_ is\nArchitecture. It would be similarly unreasonable to call battlements or\nmachicolations architectural features, so long as they consist only of\nan advanced gallery supported on projecting masses, with open intervals\nbeneath for offence. But if these projecting masses be carved beneath\ninto rounded courses, which are useless, and if the headings of the\nintervals be arched and trefoiled, which is useless, _that_ is\nArchitecture. It may not be always easy to draw the line so sharply and\nsimply, because there are few buildings which have not some pretence or\ncolor of being architectural; neither can there be any architecture\nwhich is not based on building, nor any good architecture which is not\nbased on good building; but it is perfectly easy and very necessary to\nkeep the ideas distinct, and to understand fully that Architecture\nconcerns itself only with those characters of an edifice which are above\nand beyond its common use. I say common; because a building raised to\nthe honor of God, or in memory of men, has surely a use to which its\narchitectural adornment fits it; but not a use which limits, by any\ninevitable necessities, its plan or details.\n\nII. Architecture proper, then, naturally arranges itself under five\nheads:--\n\n  Devotional; including all buildings raised for God's service or honor.\n\n  Memorial; including both monuments and tombs.\n\n  Civil; including every edifice raised by nations or societies, for\n        purposes of common business or pleasure.\n\n  Military; including all private and public architecture of defence.\n\n  Domestic; including every rank and kind of dwelling-place.\n\nNow, of the principles which I would endeavor to develope, while all\nmust be, as I have said, applicable to every stage and style of the art,\nsome, and especially those which are exciting rather than directing,\nhave necessarily fuller reference to one kind of building than another;\nand among these I would place first that spirit which, having influence\nin all, has nevertheless such especial reference to devotional and\nmemorial architecture--the spirit which offers for such work precious\nthings simply because they are precious; not as being necessary to the\nbuilding, but as an offering, surrendering, and sacrifice of what is to\nourselves desirable. It seems to me, not only that this feeling is in\nmost cases wholly wanting in those who forward the devotional buildings\nof the present day; but that it would even be regarded as an ignorant,\ndangerous, or perhaps criminal principle by many among us. I have not\nspace to enter into dispute of all the various objections which may be\nurged against it--they are many and spacious; but I may, perhaps, ask\nthe reader's patience while I set down those simple reasons which cause\nme to believe it a good and just feeling, and as well-pleasing to God\nand honorable in men, as it is beyond all dispute necessary to the\nproduction of any great work in the kind with which we are at present\nconcerned.\n\nIII. Now, first, to define this Lamp, or Spirit of Sacrifice, clearly. I\nhave said that it prompts us to the offering of precious things merely\nbecause they are precious, not because they are useful or necessary. It\nis a spirit, for instance, which of two marbles, equally beautiful,\napplicable and durable, would choose the more costly because it was so,\nand of two kinds of decoration, equally effective, would choose the more\nelaborate because it was so, in order that it might in the same compass\npresent more cost and more thought. It is therefore most unreasoning and\nenthusiastic, and perhaps best negatively defined, as the opposite of\nthe prevalent feeling of modern times, which desires to produce the\nlargest results at the least cost.\n\nOf this feeling, then, there are two distinct forms: the first, the wish\nto exercise self-denial for the sake of self-discipline merely, a wish\nacted upon in the abandonment of things loved or desired, there being no\ndirect call or purpose to be answered by so doing; and the second, the\ndesire to honor or please some one else by the costliness of the\nsacrifice. The practice is, in the first case, either private or public;\nbut most frequently, and perhaps most properly, private; while, in the\nlatter case, the act is commonly, and with greatest advantage, public.\nNow, it cannot but at first appear futile to assert the expediency of\nself-denial for its own sake, when, for so many sakes, it is every day\nnecessary to a far greater degree than any of us practise it. But I\nbelieve it is just because we do not enough acknowledge or contemplate\nit as a good in itself, that we are apt to fail in its duties when they\nbecome imperative, and to calculate, with some partiality, whether the\ngood proposed to others measures or warrants the amount of grievance to\nourselves, instead of accepting with gladness the opportunity of\nsacrifice as a personal advantage. Be this as it may, it is not\nnecessary to insist upon the matter here; since there are always higher\nand more useful channels of self-sacrifice, for those who choose to\npractise it, than any connected with the arts.\n\nWhile in its second branch, that which is especially concerned with the\narts, the justice of the feeling is still more doubtful; it depends on\nour answer to the broad question, Can the Deity be indeed honored by the\npresentation to Him of any material objects of value, or by any\ndirection of zeal or wisdom which is not immediately beneficial to men?\n\nFor, observe, it is not now the question whether the fairness and\nmajesty of a building may or may not answer any moral purpose; it is not\nthe _result_ of labor in any sort of which we are speaking, but the bare\nand mere costliness--the substance and labor and time themselves: are\nthese, we ask, independently of their result, acceptable offerings to\nGod, and considered by Him as doing Him honor? So long as we refer this\nquestion to the decision of feeling, or of conscience, or of reason\nmerely, it will be contradictorily or imperfectly answered; it admits of\nentire answer only when we have met another and a far different\nquestion, whether the Bible be indeed one book or two, and whether the\ncharacter of God revealed in the Old Testament be other than His\ncharacter revealed in the New.\n\nIV. Now, it is a most secure truth, that, although the particular\nordinances divinely appointed for special purposes at any given period\nof man's history, may be by the same divine authority abrogated at\nanother, it is impossible that any character of God, appealed to or\ndescribed in any ordinance past or present, can ever be changed, or\nunderstood as changed, by the abrogation of that ordinance. God is one\nand the same, and is pleased or displeased by the same things for ever,\nalthough one part of His pleasure may be expressed at one time rather\nthan another, and although the mode in which His pleasure is to be\nconsulted may be by Him graciously modified to the circumstances of men.\nThus, for instance, it was necessary that, in order to the understanding\nby man of the scheme of Redemption, that scheme should be foreshown from\nthe beginning by the type of bloody sacrifice. But God had no more\npleasure in such sacrifice in the time of Moses than He has now; He\nnever accepted as a propitiation for sin any sacrifice but the single\none in prospective; and that we may not entertain any shadow of doubt on\nthis subject, the worthlessness of all other sacrifice than this is\nproclaimed at the very time when typical sacrifice was most imperatively\ndemanded. God was a spirit, and could be worshipped only in spirit and\nin truth, as singly and exclusively when every day brought its claim of\ntypical and material service or offering, as now when He asks for none\nbut that of the heart.\n\nSo, therefore, it is a most safe and sure principle that, if in the\nmanner of performing any rite at any time, circumstances can be traced\nwhich we are either told, or may legitimately conclude, _pleased_ God at\nthat time, those same circumstances will please Him at all times, in the\nperformance of all rites or offices to which they may be attached in\nlike manner; unless it has been afterwards revealed that, for some\nspecial purpose, it is now His will that such circumstances should be\nwithdrawn. And this argument will have all the more force if it can be\nshown that such conditions were not essential to the completeness of\nthe rite in its human uses and bearings, and only were added to it as\nbeing in _themselves_ pleasing to God.\n\nV. Now, was it necessary to the completeness, as a type, of the\nLevitical sacrifice, or to its utility as an explanation of divine\npurposes, that it should cost anything to the person in whose behalf it\nwas offered? On the contrary, the sacrifice which it foreshowed was to\nbe God's free gift; and the cost of, or difficulty of obtaining, the\nsacrificial type, could only render that type in a measure obscure, and\nless expressive of the offering which God would in the end provide for\nall men. Yet this costliness was _generally_ a condition of the\nacceptableness of the sacrifice. \"Neither will I offer unto the Lord my\nGod of that which doth cost me nothing.\"[B] That costliness, therefore,\nmust be an acceptable condition in all human offerings at all times; for\nif it was pleasing to God once, it must please Him always, unless\ndirectly forbidden by Him afterwards, which it has never been.\n\n    [B] 2 Sam. xxiv. 24. Deut. xvi. 16, 17.\n\nAgain, was it necessary to the typical perfection of the Levitical\noffering, that it should be the best of the flock? Doubtless the\nspotlessness of the sacrifice renders it more expressive to the\nChristian mind; but was it because so expressive that it was actually,\nand in so many words, demanded by God? Not at all. It was demanded by\nHim expressly on the same grounds on which an earthly governor would\ndemand it, as a testimony of respect. \"Offer it now unto thy\ngovernor.\"[C] And the less valuable offering was rejected, not because\nit did not image Christ, nor fulfil the purposes of sacrifice, but\nbecause it indicated a feeling that would grudge the best of its\npossessions to Him who gave them; and because it was a bold dishonoring\nof God in the sight of man. Whence it may be infallibly concluded, that\nin whatever offerings we may now see reason to present unto God (I say\nnot what these may be), a condition of their acceptableness will be now,\nas it was then, that they should be the best of their kind.\n\n    [C] Mal. i. 8.\n\nVI. But farther, was it necessary to the carrying out of the Mosaical\nsystem, that there should be either art or splendor in the form or\nservices of the tabernacle or temple? Was it necessary to the\nperfection of any one of their typical offices, that there should be\nthat hanging of blue, and purple, and scarlet? those taches of brass and\nsockets of silver? that working in cedar and overlaying with gold? One\nthing at least is evident: there was a deep and awful danger in it; a\ndanger that the God whom they so worshipped, might be associated in the\nminds of the serfs of Egypt with the gods to whom they had seen similar\ngifts offered and similar honors paid. The probability, in our times, of\nfellowship with the feelings of the idolatrous Romanist is absolutely as\nnothing compared with the danger to the Israelite of a sympathy with the\nidolatrous Egyptian;[1] no speculative, no unproved danger; but proved\nfatally by their fall during a month's abandonment to their own will; a\nfall into the most servile idolatry; yet marked by such offerings to\ntheir idol as their leader was, in the close sequel, instructed to bid\nthem offer to God. This danger was imminent, perpetual, and of the most\nawful kind: it was the one against which God made provision, not only by\ncommandments, by threatenings, by promises, the most urgent, repeated,\nand impressive; but by temporary ordinances of a severity so terrible as\nalmost to dim for a time, in the eyes of His people, His attribute of\nmercy. The principal object of every instituted law of that Theocracy,\nof every judgment sent forth in its vindication, was to mark to the\npeople His hatred of idolatry; a hatred written under their advancing\nsteps, in the blood of the Canaanite, and more sternly still in the\ndarkness of their own desolation, when the children and the sucklings\nswooned in the streets of Jerusalem, and the lion tracked his prey in\nthe dust of Samaria.[D] Yet against this mortal danger provision was not\nmade in one way (to man's thoughts the simplest, the most natural, the\nmost effective), by withdrawing from the worship of the Divine Being\nwhatever could delight the sense, or shape the imagination, or limit the\nidea of Deity to place. This one way God refused, demanding for Himself\nsuch honors, and accepting for Himself such local dwelling, as had been\npaid and dedicated to idol gods by heathen worshippers; and for what\nreason? Was the glory of the tabernacle necessary to set forth or image\nHis divine glory to the minds of His people? What! purple or scarlet\nnecessary to the people who had seen the great river of Egypt run\nscarlet to the sea, under His condemnation? What! golden lamp and cherub\nnecessary for those who had seen the fires of heaven falling like a\nmantle on Mount Sinai, and its golden courts opened to receive their\nmortal lawgiver? What! silver clasp and fillet necessary when they had\nseen the silver waves of the Red Sea clasp in their arched hollows the\ncorpses of the horse and his rider? Nay--not so. There was but one\nreason, and that an eternal one; that as the covenant that He made with\nmen was accompanied with some external sign of its continuance, and of\nHis remembrance of it, so the acceptance of that covenant might be\nmarked and signified by use, in some external sign of their love and\nobedience, and surrender of themselves and theirs to His will; and that\ntheir gratitude to Him, and continual remembrance of Him, might have at\nonce their expression and their enduring testimony in the presentation\nto Him, not only of the firstlings of the herd and fold, not only of the\nfruits of the earth and the tithe of time, but of all treasures of\nwisdom and beauty; of the thought that invents, and the hand that\nlabors; of wealth of wood, and weight of stone; of the strength of iron,\nand of the light of gold.\n\n    [D] Lam. ii. 11. 2 Kings xvii. 25.\n\nAnd let us not now lose sight of this broad and unabrogated principle--I\nmight say, incapable of being abrogated, so long as men shall receive\nearthly gifts from God. Of all that they have His tithe must be rendered\nto Him, or in so far and in so much He is forgotten: of the skill and of\nthe treasure, of the strength and of the mind, of the time and of the\ntoil, offering must be made reverently; and if there be any difference\nbetween the Levitical and the Christian offering, it is that the latter\nmay be just so much the wider in its range as it is less typical in its\nmeaning, as it is thankful instead of sacrificial. There can be no\nexcuse accepted because the Deity does not now visibly dwell in His\ntemple; if He is invisible it is only through our failing faith: nor any\nexcuse because other calls are more immediate or more sacred; this\nought to be done, and not the other left undone. Yet this objection, as\nfrequent as feeble, must be more specifically answered.\n\nVII. It has been said--it ought always to be said, for it is true--that\na better and more honorable offering is made to our Master in ministry\nto the poor, in extending the knowledge of His name, in the practice of\nthe virtues by which that name is hallowed, than in material presents to\nHis temple. Assuredly it is so: woe to all who think that any other kind\nor manner of offering may in any wise take the place of these! Do the\npeople need place to pray, and calls to hear His word? Then it is no\ntime for smoothing pillars or carving pulpits; let us have enough first\nof walls and roofs. Do the people need teaching from house to house, and\nbread from day to day? Then they are deacons and ministers we want, not\narchitects. I insist on this, I plead for this; but let us examine\nourselves, and see if this be indeed the reason for our backwardness in\nthe lesser work. The question is not between God's house and His poor:\nit is not between God's house and His Gospel. It is between God's house\nand ours. Have we no tesselated colors on our floors? no frescoed\nfancies on our roofs? no niched statuary in our corridors? no gilded\nfurniture in our chambers? no costly stones in our cabinets? Has even\nthe tithe of these been offered? They are, or they ought to be, the\nsigns that enough has been devoted to the great purposes of human\nstewardship, and that there remains to us what we can spend in luxury;\nbut there is a greater and prouder luxury than this selfish one--that of\nbringing a portion of such things as these into sacred service, and\npresenting them for a memorial[E] that our pleasure as well as our toil\nhas been hallowed by the remembrance of Him who gave both the strength\nand the reward. And until this has been done, I do not see how such\npossessions can be retained in happiness. I do not understand the\nfeeling which would arch our own gates and pave our own thresholds, and\nleave the church with its narrow door and foot-worn sill; the feeling\nwhich enriches our own chambers with all manner of costliness, and\nendures the bare wall and mean compass of the temple. There is seldom\neven so severe a choice to be made, seldom so much self-denial to be\nexercised. There are isolated cases, in which men's happiness and mental\nactivity depend upon a certain degree of luxury in their houses; but\nthen this is true luxury, felt and tasted, and profited by. In the\nplurality of instances nothing of the kind is attempted, nor can be\nenjoyed; men's average resources cannot reach it; and that which they\n_can_ reach, gives them no pleasure, and might be spared. It will be\nseen, in the course of the following chapters, that I am no advocate for\nmeanness of private habitation. I would fain introduce into it all\nmagnificence, care, and beauty, where they are possible; but I would not\nhave that useless expense in unnoticed fineries or formalities;\ncornicings of ceilings and graining of doors, and fringing of curtains,\nand thousands such; things which have become foolishly and apathetically\nhabitual--things on whose common appliance hang whole trades, to which\nthere never yet belonged the blessing of giving one ray of real\npleasure, or becoming of the remotest or most contemptible use--things\nwhich cause half the expense of life, and destroy more than half its\ncomfort, manliness, respectability, freshness, and facility. I speak\nfrom experience: I know what it is to live in a cottage with a deal\nfloor and roof, and a hearth of mica slate; and I know it to be in many\nrespects healthier and happier than living between a Turkey carpet and\ngilded ceiling, beside a steel grate and polished fender. I do not say\nthat such things have not their place and propriety; but I say this,\nemphatically, that the tenth part of the expense which is sacrificed in\ndomestic vanities, if not absolutely and meaninglessly lost in domestic\ndiscomforts, and incumbrances, would, if collectively offered and wisely\nemployed, build a marble church for every town in England; such a church\nas it should be a joy and a blessing even to pass near in our daily ways\nand walks, and as it would bring the light into the eyes to see from\nafar, lifting its fair height above the purple crowd of humble roofs.\n\n    [E] Num. xxxi. 54. Psa. lxxvi. 11.\n\nVIII. I have said for every town: I do not want a marble church for\nevery village; nay, I do not want marble churches at all for their own\nsake, but for the sake of the spirit that would build them. The church\nhas no need of any visible splendors; her power is independent of them,\nher purity is in some degree opposed to them. The simplicity of a\npastoral sanctuary is lovelier than the majesty of an urban temple; and\nit may be more than questioned whether, to the people, such majesty has\never been the source of any increase of effective piety; but to the\nbuilders it has been, and must ever be. It is not the church we want,\nbut the sacrifice; not the emotion of admiration, but the act of\nadoration: not the gift, but the giving.[2] And see how much more\ncharity the full understanding of this might admit, among classes of men\nof naturally opposite feelings; and how much more nobleness in the work.\nThere is no need to offend by importunate, self-proclaiming splendor.\nYour gift may be given in an unpresuming way. Cut one or two shafts out\nof a porphyry whose preciousness those only would know who would desire\nit to be so used; add another month's labor to the undercutting of a few\ncapitals, whose delicacy will not be seen nor loved by one beholder of\nten thousand; see that the simplest masonry of the edifice be perfect\nand substantial; and to those who regard such things, their witness will\nbe clear and impressive; to those who regard them not, all will at least\nbe inoffensive. But do not think the feeling itself a folly, or the act\nitself useless. Of what use was that dearly-bought water of the well of\nBethlehem with which the King of Israel slaked the dust of Adullam?--yet\nwas not thus better than if he had drunk it? Of what use was that\npassionate act of Christian sacrifice, against which, first uttered by\nthe false tongue, the very objection we would now conquer took a sullen\ntone for ever?[F] So also let us not ask of what use our offering is to\nthe church: it is at least better for _us_ than if it had been retained\nfor ourselves. It may be better for others also: there is, at any rate,\na chance of this; though we must always fearfully and widely shun the\nthought that the magnificence of the temple can materially add to the\nefficiency of the worship or to the power of the ministry. Whatever we\ndo, or whatever we offer, let it not interfere with the simplicity of\nthe one, or abate, as if replacing, the zeal of the other. That is the\nabuse and fallacy of Romanism, by which the true spirit of Christian\noffering is directly contradicted. The treatment of the Papists' temple\nis eminently exhibitory; it is surface work throughout; and the danger\nand evil of their church decoration lie, not in its reality--not in the\ntrue wealth and art of it, of which the lower people are never\ncognizant--but in its tinsel and glitter, in the gilding of the shrine\nand painting of the image, in embroidery of dingy robes and crowding of\nimitated gems; all this being frequently thrust forward to the\nconcealment of what is really good or great in their buildings.[3] Of an\noffering of gratitude which is neither to be exhibited nor rewarded,\nwhich is neither to win praise nor purchase salvation, the Romanist (as\nsuch) has no conception.\n\n    [F] John xii. 5.\n\nIX. While, however, I would especially deprecate the imputation of any\nother acceptableness or usefulness to the gift itself than that which it\nreceives from the spirit of its presentation, it may be well to observe,\nthat there is a lower advantage which never fails to accompany a dutiful\nobservance of any right abstract principle. While the first fruits of\nhis possessions were required from the Israelite as a testimony of\nfidelity, the payment of those first fruits was nevertheless rewarded,\nand that connectedly and specifically, by the increase of those\npossessions. Wealth, and length of days, and peace, were the promised\nand experienced rewards of his offering, though they were not to be the\nobjects of it. The tithe paid into the storehouse was the expressed\ncondition of the blessing which there should not be room enough to\nreceive. And it will be thus always: God never forgets any work or labor\nof love; and whatever it may be of which the first and best proportions\nor powers have been presented to Him, he will multiply and increase\nsevenfold. Therefore, though it may not be necessarily the interest of\nreligion to admit the service of the arts, the arts will never flourish\nuntil they have been primarily devoted to that service--devoted, both by\narchitect and employer; by the one in scrupulous, earnest, affectionate\ndesign; by the other in expenditure at least more frank, at least less\ncalculating, than that which he would admit in the indulgence of his own\nprivate feelings. Let this principle be but once fairly acknowledged\namong us; and however it may be chilled and repressed in practice,\nhowever feeble may be its real influence, however the sacredness of it\nmay be diminished by counter-workings of vanity and self-interest, yet\nits mere acknowledgment would bring a reward; and with our present\naccumulation of means and of intellect, there would be such an impulse\nand vitality given to art as it has not felt since the thirteenth\ncentury. And I do not assert this as other than a national consequence:\nI should, indeed, expect a larger measure of every great and spiritual\nfaculty to be always given where those faculties had been wisely and\nreligiously employed; but the impulse to which I refer, would be,\nhumanly speaking, certain; and would naturally result from obedience to\nthe two great conditions enforced by the Spirit of Sacrifice, first,\nthat we should in everything do our best; and, secondly, that we should\nconsider increase of apparent labor as an increase of beauty in the\nbuilding. A few practical deductions from these two conditions, and I\nhave done.\n\nX. For the first: it is alone enough to secure success, and it is for\nwant of observing it that we continually fail. We are none of us so good\narchitects as to be able to work habitually beneath our strength; and\nyet there is not a building that I know of, lately raised, wherein it is\nnot sufficiently evident that neither architect nor builder has done his\nbest. It is the especial characteristic of modern work. All old work\nnearly has been hard work. It may be the hard work of children, of\nbarbarians, of rustics; but it is always their utmost. Ours has as\nconstantly the look of money's worth, of a stopping short wherever and\nwhenever we can, of a lazy compliance with low conditions; never of a\nfair putting forth of our strength. Let us have done with this kind of\nwork at once: cast off every temptation to it: do not let us degrade\nourselves voluntarily, and then mutter and mourn over our short comings;\nlet us confess our poverty or our parsimony, but not belie our human\nintellect. It is not even a question of how _much_ we are to do, but of\nhow it is to be done; it is not a question of doing more, but of doing\nbetter. Do not let us boss our roofs with wretched, half-worked,\nblunt-edged rosettes; do not let us flank our gates with rigid\nimitations of mediaeval statuary. Such things are mere insults to common\nsense, and only unfit us for feeling the nobility of their prototypes.\nWe have so much, suppose, to be spent in decoration; let us go to the\nFlaxman of his time, whoever he may be, and bid him carve for us a\nsingle statue, frieze or capital, or as many as we can afford,\ncompelling upon him the one condition, that they shall be the best he\ncan do; place them where they will be of the most value, and be content.\nOur other capitals may be mere blocks, and our other niches empty. No\nmatter: better our work unfinished than all bad. It may be that we do\nnot desire ornament of so high an order; choose, then, a less developed\nstyle, also, if you will, rougher material; the law which we are\nenforcing requires only that what we pretend to do and to give, shall\nboth be the best of their kind; choose, therefore, the Norman hatchet\nwork, instead of the Flaxman frieze and statue, but let it be the best\nhatchet work; and if you cannot afford marble, use Caen stone, but from\nthe best bed; and if not stone, brick, but the best brick; preferring\nalways what is good of a lower order of work or material, to what is bad\nof a higher; for this is not only the way to improve every kind of work,\nand to put every kind of material to better use; but it is more honest\nand unpretending, and is in harmony with other just, upright, and manly\nprinciples, whose range we shall have presently to take into\nconsideration.\n\nXI. The other condition which we had to notice, was the value of the\nappearance of labor upon architecture. I have spoken of this before;[G]\nand it is, indeed, one of the most frequent sources of pleasure which\nbelong to the art, always, however, within certain somewhat remarkable\nlimits. For it does not at first appear easily to be explained why\nlabor, as represented by materials of value, should, without sense of\nwrong or error, bear being wasted; while the waste of actual\nworkmanship is always painful, so soon as it is apparent. But so it is,\nthat, while precious materials may, with a certain profusion and\nnegligence, be employed for the magnificence of what is seldom seen, the\nwork of man cannot be carelessly and idly bestowed, without an immediate\nsense of wrong; as if the strength of the living creature were never\nintended by its Maker to be sacrificed in vain, though it is well for us\nsometimes to part with what we esteem precious of substance, as showing\nthat in such a service it becomes but dross and dust. And in the nice\nbalance between the straitening of effort or enthusiasm on the one hand,\nand vainly casting it away upon the other, there are more questions than\ncan be met by any but very just and watchful feeling. In general it is\nless the mere loss of labor that offends us, than the lack of judgment\nimplied by such loss; so that if men confessedly work for work's sake,\nand it does not appear that they are ignorant where or how to make their\nlabor tell, we shall not be grossly offended. On the contrary, we shall\nbe pleased if the work be lost in carrying out a principle, or in\navoiding a deception. It, indeed, is a law properly belonging to another\npart of our subject, but it may be allowably stated here, that,\nwhenever, by the construction of a building, some parts of it are hidden\nfrom the eye which are the continuation of others bearing some\nconsistent ornament, it is not well that the ornament should cease in\nthe parts concealed; credit is given for it, and it should not be\ndeceptively withdrawn: as, for instance, in the sculpture of the backs\nof the statues of a temple pediment; never, perhaps, to be seen, but yet\nnot lawfully to be left unfinished. And so in the working out of\nornaments in dark concealed places, in which it is best to err on the\nside of completion; and in the carrying round of string courses, and\nother such continuous work; not but that they may stop sometimes, on the\npoint of going into some palpably impenetrable recess, but then let them\nstop boldly and markedly, on some distinct terminal ornament, and never\nbe supposed to exist where they do not. The arches of the towers which\nflank the transepts of Rouen Cathedral have rosette ornaments on their\nspandrils, on the three visible sides; none on the side towards the\nroof. The right of this is rather a nice point for question.\n\n    [G] Mod. Painters, Part I. Sec. 1, Chap. 3.\n\nXII. Visibility, however, we must remember, depends, not only on\nsituation, but on distance; and there is no way in which work is more\npainfully and unwisely lost than in its over delicacy on parts distant\nfrom the eye. Here, again, the principle of honesty must govern our\ntreatment: we must not work any kind of ornament which is, perhaps, to\ncover the whole building (or at least to occur on all parts of it)\ndelicately where it is near the eye, and rudely where it is removed from\nit. That is trickery and dishonesty. Consider, first, what kinds of\nornaments will tell in the distance and what near, and so distribute\nthem, keeping such as by their nature are delicate, down near the eye,\nand throwing the bold and rough kinds of work to the top; and if there\nbe any kind which is to be both near and far off, take care that it be\nas boldly and rudely wrought where it is well seen as where it is\ndistant, so that the spectator may know exactly what it is, and what it\nis worth. Thus chequered patterns, and in general such ornaments as\ncommon workmen can execute, may extend over the whole building; but\nbas-reliefs, and fine niches and capitals, should be kept down, and the\ncommon sense of this will always give a building dignity, even though\nthere be some abruptness or awkwardness, in the resulting arrangements.\nThus at San Zeno at Verona, the bas-reliefs, full of incident and\ninterest are confined to a parallelogram of the front, reaching to the\nheight of the capitals of the columns of the porch. Above these, we find\na simple though most lovely, little arcade; and above that, only blank\nwall, with square face shafts. The whole effect is tenfold grander and\nbetter than if the entire facade had been covered with bad work, and may\nserve for an example of the way to place little where we cannot afford\nmuch. So, again, the transept gates of Rouen[H] are covered with\ndelicate bas-reliefs (of which I shall speak at greater length\npresently) up to about once and a half a man's height; and above that\ncome the usual and more visible statues and niches. So in the campanile\nat Florence, the circuit of bas-reliefs is on its lowest story; above\nthat come its statues; and above them all its pattern mosaic, and\ntwisted columns, exquisitely finished, like all Italian work of the\ntime, but still, in the eye of the Florentine, rough and commonplace by\ncomparison with the bas-reliefs. So generally the most delicate niche\nwork and best mouldings of the French Gothic are in gates and low\nwindows well within sight; although, it being the very spirit of that\nstyle to trust to its exuberance for effect, there is occasionally a\nburst upwards and blossoming unrestrainably to the sky, as in the\npediment of the west front of Rouen, and in the recess of the rose\nwindow behind it, where there are some most elaborate flower-mouldings,\nall but invisible from below, and only adding a general enrichment to\nthe deep shadows that relieve the shafts of the advanced pediment. It is\nobservable, however, that this very work is bad flamboyant, and has\ncorrupt renaissance characters in its detail as well as use; while in\nthe earlier and grander north and south gates, there is a very noble\nproportioning of the work to the distance, the niches and statues which\ncrown the northern one, at a height of about one hundred feet from the\nground, being alike colossal and simple; visibly so from below, so as to\ninduce no deception, and yet honestly and well-finished above, and all\nthat they are expected to be; the features very beautiful, full of\nexpression, and as delicately wrought as any work of the period.\n\n    [H] Henceforward, for the sake of convenience, when I name any\n    cathedral town in this manner, let me be understood to speak of its\n    cathedral church.\n\nXIII. It is to be remembered, however, that while the ornaments in every\nfine ancient building, without exception so far as I am aware, are most\ndelicate at the base, they are often in greater effective _quantity_ on\nthe upper parts. In high towers this is perfectly natural and right, the\nsolidity of the foundation being as necessary as the division and\npenetration of the superstructure; hence the lighter work and richly\npierced crowns of late Gothic towers. The campanile of Giotto at\nFlorence, already alluded to, is an exquisite instance of the union of\nthe two principles, delicate bas-reliefs adorning its massy foundation,\nwhile the open tracery of the upper windows attracts the eye by its\nslender intricacy, and a rich cornice crowns the whole. In such truly\nfine cases of this disposition the upper work is effective by its\nquantity and intricacy only, as the lower portions by delicacy; so also\nin the Tour de Beurre at Rouen, where, however, the detail is massy\nthroughout, subdividing into rich meshes as it ascends. In the bodies of\nbuildings the principle is less safe, but its discussion is not\nconnected with our present subject.\n\nXIV. Finally, work may be wasted by being too good for its material, or\ntoo fine to bear exposure; and this, generally a characteristic of late,\nespecially of renaissance, work, is perhaps the worst fault of all. I do\nnot know anything more painful or pitiful than the kind of ivory carving\nwith which the Certosa of Pavia, and part of the Colleone sepulchral\nchapel at Bergamo, and other such buildings, are incrusted, of which it\nis not possible so much as to think without exhaustion; and a heavy\nsense of the misery it would be, to be forced to look at it at all. And\nthis is not from the quantity of it, nor because it is bad work--much of\nit is inventive and able; but because it looks as if it were only fit to\nbe put in inlaid cabinets and velveted caskets, and as if it could not\nbear one drifting shower or gnawing frost. We are afraid for it, anxious\nabout it, and tormented by it; and we feel that a massy shaft and a bold\nshadow would be worth it all. Nevertheless, even in cases like these,\nmuch depends on the accomplishment of the great ends of decoration. If\nthe ornament does its duty--if it _is_ ornament, and its points of shade\nand light tell in the general effect, we shall not be offended by\nfinding that the sculptor in his fulness of fancy has chosen to give\nmuch more than these mere points of light, and has composed them of\ngroups of figures. But if the ornament does not answer its purpose, if\nit have no distant, no truly decorative power; if generally seen it be a\nmere incrustation and meaningless roughness, we shall only be chagrined\nby finding when we look close, that the incrustation has cost years of\nlabor and has millions of figures and histories in it and would be\nthe better of being seen through a Stanhope lens. Hence the greatness of\nthe northern Gothic as contrasted with the latest Italian. It reaches\nnearly the same extreme of detail; but it never loses sight of its\narchitectural purpose, never fails in its decorative power; not a\nleaflet in it but speaks, and speaks far off, too; and so long as this\nbe the case, there is no limit to the luxuriance in which such work may\nlegitimately and nobly be bestowed.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE I.--(Page 33--Vol. V)\n  ORNAMENTS FROM ROUEN, ST. LO, AND VENICE.]\n\nXV. No limit: it is one of the affectations of architects to speak of\novercharged ornament. Ornament cannot be overcharged if it be good, and\nis always overcharged when it is bad. I have given, on the opposite page\n(fig. 1), one of the smallest niches of the central gate of Rouen. That\ngate I suppose to be the most exquisite piece of pure flamboyant work\nexisting; for though I have spoken of the upper portions, especially the\nreceding window, as degenerate, the gate itself is of a purer period,\nand has hardly any renaissance taint. There are four strings of these\nniches (each with two figures beneath it) round the porch, from the\nground to the top of the arch, with three intermediate rows of larger\nniches, far more elaborate; besides the six principal canopies of each\nouter pier. The total number of the subordinate niches alone, each\nworked like that in the plate, and each with a different pattern of\ntraceries in each compartment, is one hundred and seventy-six.[4] Yet in\nall this ornament there is not one cusp, one finial that is useless--not\na stroke of the chisel is in vain; the grace and luxuriance of it all\nare visible--sensible rather--even to the uninquiring eye; and all its\nminuteness does not diminish the majesty, while it increases the\nmystery, of the noble and unbroken vault. It is not less the boast of\nsome styles that they can bear ornament, than of others that they can do\nwithout it; but we do not often enough reflect that those very styles,\nof so haughty simplicity, owe part of their pleasurableness to contrast,\nand would be wearisome if universal. They are but the rests and\nmonotones of the art; it is to its far happier, far higher, exaltation\nthat we owe those fair fronts of variegated mosaic, charged with wild\nfancies and dark hosts of imagery, thicker and quainter than ever\nfilled the depth of midsummer dream; those vaulted gates, trellised with\nclose leaves; those window-labyrinths of twisted tracery and starry\nlight; those misty masses of multitudinous pinnacle and diademed tower;\nthe only witnesses, perhaps that remain to us of the faith and fear of\nnations. All else for which the builders sacrificed, has passed\naway--all their living interests, and aims, and achievements. We know\nnot for what they labored, and we see no evidence of their reward.\nVictory, wealth, authority, happiness--all have departed, though bought\nby many a bitter sacrifice. But of them, and their life, and their toil\nupon the earth, one reward, one evidence, is left to us in those gray\nheaps of deep-wrought stone. They have taken with them to the grave\ntheir powers, their honors, and their errors; but they have left us\ntheir adoration.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE LAMP OF TRUTH.\n\n\nI. There is a marked likeness between the virtues of man and the\nenlightenment of the globe he inhabits--the same diminishing gradation\nin vigor up to the limits of their domains, the same essential\nseparation from their contraries--the same twilight at the meeting of\nthe two: a something wider belt than the line where the world rolls into\nnight, that strange twilight of the virtues; that dusky debateable land,\nwherein zeal becomes impatience, and temperance becomes severity, and\njustice becomes cruelty, and faith superstition, and each and all vanish\ninto gloom.\n\nNevertheless, with the greater number of them, though their dimness\nincreases gradually, we may mark the moment of their sunset; and,\nhappily, may turn the shadow back by the way by which it had gone down:\nbut for one, the line of the horizon is irregular and undefined; and\nthis, too, the very equator and girdle of them all--Truth; that only one\nof which there are no degrees, but breaks and rents continually; that\npillar of the earth, yet a cloudy pillar; that golden and narrow line,\nwhich the very powers and virtues that lean upon it bend, which policy\nand prudence conceal, which kindness and courtesy modify, which courage\novershadows with his shield, imagination covers with her wings, and\ncharity dims with her tears. How difficult must the maintenance of that\nauthority be, which, while it has to restrain the hostility of all the\nworst principles of man, has also to restrain the disorders of his\nbest--which is continually assaulted by the one, and betrayed by the\nother, and which regards with the same severity the lightest and the\nboldest violations of its law! There are some faults slight in the sight\nof love, some errors slight in the estimate of wisdom; but truth\nforgives no insult, and endures no stain.\n\nWe do not enough consider this; nor enough dread the slight and\ncontinual occasions of offence against her. We are too much in the habit\nof looking at falsehood in its darkest associations, and through the\ncolor of its worst purposes. That indignation which we profess to feel\nat deceit absolute, is indeed only at deceit malicious. We resent\ncalumny, hypocrisy and treachery, because they harm us, not because they\nare untrue. Take the detraction and the mischief from the untruth, and\nwe are little offended by it; turn it into praise, and we may be pleased\nwith it. And yet it is not calumny nor treachery that does the largest\nsum of mischief in the world; they are continually crushed, and are felt\nonly in being conquered. But it is the glistening and softly spoken lie;\nthe amiable fallacy; the patriotic lie of the historian, the provident\nlie of the politician, the zealous lie of the partizan, the merciful lie\nof the friend, and the careless lie of each man to himself, that cast\nthat black mystery over humanity, through which any man who pierces, we\nthank as we would thank one who dug a well in a desert; happy in that\nthe thirst for truth still remains with us, even when we have wilfully\nleft the fountains of it.\n\nIt would be well if moralists less frequently confused the greatness of\na sin with its unpardonableness. The two characters are altogether\ndistinct. The greatness of a fault depends partly on the nature of the\nperson against whom it is committed, partly upon the extent of its\nconsequences. Its pardonableness depends, humanly speaking, on the\ndegree of temptation to it. One class of circumstances determines the\nweight of the attaching punishment; the other, the claim to remission of\npunishment: and since it is not easy for men to estimate the relative\nweight, nor possible for them to know the relative consequences, of\ncrime, it is usually wise in them to quit the care of such nice\nmeasurements, and to look to the other and clearer condition of\nculpability; esteeming those faults worst which are committed under\nleast temptation. I do not mean to diminish the blame of the injurious\nand malicious sin, of the selfish and deliberate falsity; yet it seems\nto me, that the shortest way to check the darker forms of deceit is to\nset watch more scrupulous against those which have mingled, unregarded\nand unchastised, with the current of our life. Do not let us lie at all.\nDo not think of one falsity as harmless, and another as slight, and\nanother as unintended. Cast them all aside: they may be light and\naccidental; but they are an ugly soot from the smoke of the pit, for all\nthat; and it is better that our hearts should be swept clean of them,\nwithout over care as to which is largest or blackest. Speaking truth is\nlike writing fair, and comes only by practice; it is less a matter of\nwill than of habit, and I doubt if any occasion can be trivial which\npermits the practice and formation of such a habit. To speak and act\ntruth with constancy and precision is nearly as difficult, and perhaps\nas meritorious, as to speak it under intimidation or penalty; and it is\na strange thought how many men there are, as I trust, who would hold to\nit at the cost of fortune or life, for one who would hold to it at the\ncost of a little daily trouble. And seeing that of all sin there is,\nperhaps, no one more flatly opposite to the Almighty, no one more\n\"wanting the good of virtue and of being,\" than this of lying, it is\nsurely a strange insolence to fall into the foulness of it on light or\non no temptation, and surely becoming an honorable man to resolve that,\nwhatever semblances or fallacies the necessary course of his life may\ncompel him to bear or to believe, none shall disturb the serenity of his\nvoluntary actions, nor diminish the reality of his chosen delights.\n\nII. If this be just and wise for truth's sake, much more is it necessary\nfor the sake of the delights over which she has influence. For, as I\nadvocated the expression of the Spirit of Sacrifice in the acts and\npleasures of men, not as if thereby those acts could further the cause\nof religion, but because most assuredly they might therein be infinitely\nennobled themselves, so I would have the Spirit or Lamp of Truth clear\nin the hearts of our artists and handicraftsmen, not as if the truthful\npractice of handicrafts could far advance the cause of truth, but\nbecause I would fain see the handicrafts themselves urged by the spurs\nof chivalry: and it is, indeed, marvellous to see what power and\nuniversality there is in this single principle, and how in the\nconsulting or forgetting of it lies half the dignity or decline of every\nart and act of man. I have before endeavored to show its range and power\nin painting; and I believe a volume, instead of a chapter, might be\nwritten on its authority over all that is great in architecture. But I\nmust be content with the force of instances few and familiar, believing\nthat the occasions of its manifestation may be more easily discovered by\na desire to be true, than embraced by an analysis of truth.\n\nOnly it is very necessary in the outset to mark clearly wherein consists\nthe essence of fallacy as distinguished from supposition.\n\nIII. For it might be at first thought that the whole kingdom of\nimagination was one of deception also. Not so: the action of the\nimagination is a voluntary summoning of the conceptions of things absent\nor impossible; and the pleasure and nobility of the imagination partly\nconsist in its knowledge and contemplation of them as such, i.e. in the\nknowledge of their actual absence or impossibility at the moment of\ntheir apparent presence or reality. When the imagination deceives it\nbecomes madness. It is a noble faculty so long as it confesses its own\nideality; when it ceases to confess this, it is insanity. All the\ndifference lies in the fact of the confession, in there being _no_\ndeception. It is necessary to our rank as spiritual creatures, that we\nshould be able to invent and to behold what is not; and to our rank as\nmoral creatures that we should know and confess at the same time that\nit is not.\n\nIV. Again, it might be thought, and has been thought, that the whole art\nof painting is nothing else than an endeavor to deceive. Not so: it is,\non the contrary, a statement of certain facts, in the clearest possible\nway. For instance: I desire to give an account of a mountain or of a\nrock; I begin by telling its shape. But words will not do this\ndistinctly, and I draw its shape, and say, \"This was its shape.\" Next: I\nwould fain represent its color; but words will not do this either, and I\ndye the paper, and say, \"This was its color.\" Such a process may be\ncarried on until the scene appears to exist, and a high pleasure may be\ntaken in its apparent existence. This is a communicated act of\nimagination, but no lie. The lie can consist only in an _assertion_ of\nits existence (which is never for one instant made, implied, or\nbelieved), or else in false statements of forms and colors (which are,\nindeed, made and believed to our great loss, continually). And observe,\nalso, that so degrading a thing is deception in even the approach and\nappearance of it, that all painting which even reaches the mark of\napparent realization, is degraded in so doing. I have enough insisted on\nthis point in another place.\n\nV. The violations of truth, which dishonor poetry and painting, are thus\nfor the most part confined to the treatment of their subjects. But in\narchitecture another and a less subtle, more contemptible, violation of\ntruth is possible; a direct falsity of assertion respecting the nature\nof material, or the quantity of labor. And this is, in the full sense of\nthe word, wrong; it is as truly deserving of reprobation as any other\nmoral delinquency; it is unworthy alike of architects and of nations;\nand it has been a sign, wherever it has widely and with toleration\nexisted, of a singular debasement of the arts; that it is not a sign of\nworse than this, of a general want of severe probity, can be accounted\nfor only by our knowledge of the strange separation which has for some\ncenturies existed between the arts and all other subjects of human\nintellect, as matters of conscience. This withdrawal of\nconscientiousness from among the faculties concerned with art, while it\nhas destroyed the arts themselves, has also rendered in a measure\nnugatory the evidence which otherwise they might have presented\nrespecting the character of the respective nations among whom they have\nbeen cultivated; otherwise, it might appear more than strange that a\nnation so distinguished for its general uprightness and faith as the\nEnglish, should admit in their architecture more of pretence,\nconcealment, and deceit, than any other of this or of past time.\n\nThey are admitted in thoughtlessness, but with fatal effect upon the art\nin which they are practised. If there were no other causes for the\nfailures which of late have marked every great occasion for\narchitectural exertion, these petty dishonesties would be enough to\naccount for all. It is the first step and not the least, towards\ngreatness to do away with these; the first, because so evidently and\neasily in our power. We may not be able to command good, or beautiful,\nor inventive architecture; but we _can_ command an honest architecture:\nthe meagreness of poverty may be pardoned, the sternness of utility\nrespected; but what is there but scorn for the meanness of deception?\n\nVI. Architectural Deceits are broadly to be considered under three\nheads:--\n\n1st. The suggestion of a mode of structure or support, other than the\ntrue one; as in pendants of late Gothic roofs.\n\n2d. The painting of surfaces to represent some other material than that\nof which they actually consist (as in the marbling of wood), or the\ndeceptive representation of sculptured ornament upon them.\n\n3d. The use of cast or machine-made ornaments of any kind.\n\nNow, it may be broadly stated, that architecture will be noble exactly\nin the degree in which all these false expedients are avoided.\nNevertheless, there are certain degrees of them, which, owing to their\nfrequent usage, or to other causes, have so far lost the nature of\ndeceit as to be admissible; as, for instance, gilding, which is in\narchitecture no deceit, because it is therein not understood for gold;\nwhile in jewellery it is a deceit, because it is so understood, and\ntherefore altogether to be reprehended. So that there arise, in the\napplication of the strict rules of right, many exceptions and niceties\nof conscience; which let us as briefly as possible examine.\n\nVII. 1st. Structural Deceits. I have limited these to the determined and\npurposed suggestion of a mode of support other than the true one. The\narchitect is not _bound_ to exhibit structure; nor are we to complain of\nhim for concealing it, any more than we should regret that the outer\nsurfaces of the human frame conceal much of its anatomy; nevertheless,\nthat building will generally be the noblest, which to an intelligent eye\ndiscovers the great secrets of its structure, as an animal form does,\nalthough from a careless observer they may be concealed. In the vaulting\nof a Gothic roof it is no deceit to throw the strength into the ribs of\nit, and make the intermediate vault a mere shell. Such a structure would\nbe presumed by an intelligent observer, the first time he saw such a\nroof; and the beauty of its traceries would be enhanced to him if they\nconfessed and followed the lines of its main strength. If, however, the\nintermediate shell were made of wood instead of stone, and whitewashed\nto look like the rest,--this would, of course, be direct deceit, and\naltogether unpardonable.\n\nThere is, however, a certain deception necessarily occurring in Gothic\narchitecture, which relates, not to the points, but to the manner, of\nsupport. The resemblance in its shafts and ribs to the external\nrelations of stems and branches, which has been the ground of so much\nfoolish speculation, necessarily induces in the mind of the spectator a\nsense or belief of a correspondent internal structure; that is to say,\nof a fibrous and continuous strength from the root into the limbs, and\nan elasticity communicated _upwards,_ sufficient for the support of the\nramified portions. The idea of the real conditions, of a great weight of\nceiling thrown upon certain narrow, jointed lines, which have a tendency\npartly to be crushed, and partly to separate and be pushed outwards, is\nwith difficulty received; and the more so when the pillars would be, if\nunassisted, too slight for the weight, and are supported by external\nflying buttresses, as in the apse of Beauvais, and other such\nachievements of the bolder Gothic. Now, there is a nice question of\nconscience in this, which we shall hardly settle but by considering\nthat, when the mind is informed beyond the possibility of mistake as to\nthe true nature of things, the affecting it with a contrary impression,\nhowever distinct, is no dishonesty, but on the contrary, a legitimate\nappeal to the imagination. For instance, the greater part of the\nhappiness which we have in contemplating clouds, results from the\nimpression of their having massive, luminous, warm, and mountain-like\nsurfaces; and our delight in the sky frequently depends upon our\nconsidering it as a blue vault. But we know the contrary, in both\ninstances; we know the cloud to be a damp fog, or a drift of snow\nflakes; and the sky to be a lightless abyss. There is, therefore, no\ndishonesty, while there is much delight, in the irresistibly contrary\nimpression. In the same way, so long as we see the stones and joints,\nand are not deceived as to the points of support in any piece of\narchitecture, we may rather praise than regret the dextrous artifices\nwhich compel us to feel as if there were fibre in its shafts and life in\nits branches. Nor is even the concealment of the support of the external\nbuttress reprehensible, so long as the pillars are not sensibly\ninadequate to their duty. For the weight of a roof is a circumstance of\nwhich the spectator generally has no idea, and the provisions for it,\nconsequently, circumstances whose necessity or adaptation he could not\nunderstand. It is no deceit, therefore, when the weight to be borne is\nnecessarily unknown, to conceal also the means of bearing it, leaving\nonly to be perceived so much of the support as is indeed adequate to the\nweight supposed. For the shafts do, indeed, bear as much as they are\never imagined to bear, and the system of added support is no more, as a\nmatter of conscience, to be exhibited, than, in the human or any other\nform, mechanical provisions for those functions which are themselves\nunperceived.\n\nBut the moment that the conditions of weight are comprehended, both\ntruth and feeling require that the conditions of support should be also\ncomprehended. Nothing can be worse, either as judged by the taste or the\nconscience, than affectedly inadequate supports--suspensions in air,\nand other such tricks and vanities. Mr. Hope wisely reprehends, for this\nreason, the arrangement of the main piers of St. Sophia at\nConstantinople. King's College Chapel, Cambridge, is a piece of\narchitectural juggling, if possible still more to be condemned, because\nless sublime.\n\nVIII. With deceptive concealments of structure are to be classed, though\nstill more blameable, deceptive assumptions of it--the introduction of\nmembers which should have, or profess to have, a duty, and have none.\nOne of the most general instances of this will be found in the form of\nthe flying buttress in late Gothic. The use of that member is, of\ncourse, to convey support from one pier to another when the plan of the\nbuilding renders it necessary or desirable that the supporting masses\nshould be divided into groups, the most frequent necessity of this kind\narising from the intermediate range of chapels or aisles between the\nnave or choir walls and their supporting piers. The natural, healthy,\nand beautiful arrangement is that of a steeply sloping bar of stone,\nsustained by an arch with its spandril carried farthest down on the\nlowest side, and dying into the vertical of the outer pier; that pier\nbeing, of course, not square, but rather a piece of wall set at right\nangles to the supported walls, and, if need be, crowned by a pinnacle to\ngive it greater weight. The whole arrangement is exquisitely carried out\nin the choir of Beauvais. In later Gothic the pinnacle became gradually\na decorative member, and was used in all places merely for the sake of\nits beauty. There is no objection to this; it is just as lawful to build\na pinnacle for its beauty as a tower; but also the buttress became a\ndecorative member; and was used, first, where it was not wanted, and,\nsecondly, in forms in which it could be of no use, becoming a mere tie,\nnot between the pier and wall, but between the wall and the top of the\ndecorative pinnacle, thus attaching itself to the very point where its\nthrust, if it made any, could not be resisted. The most flagrant\ninstance of this barbarism that I remember (though it prevails partially\nin all the spires of the Netherlands), is the lantern of St. Ouen at\nRouen, where the pierced buttress, having an ogee curve, looks about as\nmuch calculated to bear a thrust as a switch of willow; and the\npinnacles, huge and richly decorated, have evidently no work to do\nwhatsoever, but stand round the central tower, like four idle servants,\nas they are--heraldic supporters, that central tower being merely a\nhollow crown, which needs no more buttressing than a basket does. In\nfact, I do not know anything more strange or unwise than the praise\nlavished upon this lantern; it is one of the basest pieces of Gothic in\nEurope; its flamboyant traceries of the last and most degraded forms;[5]\nand its entire plan and decoration resembling, and deserving little more\ncredit than, the burnt sugar ornaments of elaborate confectionery. There\nare hardly any of the magnificent and serene constructions of the early\nGothic which have not, in the course of time, been gradually thinned and\npared away into these skeletons, which sometimes indeed, when their\nlines truly follow the structure of the original masses, have an\ninterest like that of the fibrous framework of leaves from which the\nsubstance has been dissolved, but which are usually distorted as well as\nemaciated, and remain but the sickly phantoms and mockeries of things\nthat were; they are to true architecture what the Greek ghost was to the\narmed and living frame; and the very winds that whistle through the\nthreads of them, are to the diapasoned echoes of the ancient walls, as\nto the voice of the man was the pining of the spectre.[6]\n\nIX. Perhaps the most fruitful source of these kinds of corruption which\nwe have to guard against in recent times, is one which, nevertheless,\ncomes in a \"questionable shape,\" and of which it is not easy to\ndetermine the proper laws and limits; I mean the use of iron. The\ndefinition of the art of architecture, given in the first chapter, is\nindependent of its materials: nevertheless, that art having been, up to\nthe beginning of the present century, practised for the most part in\nclay, stone, or wood, it has resulted that the sense of proportion and\nthe laws of structure have been based, the one altogether, the other in\ngreat part, on the necessities consequent on the employment of those\nmaterials; and that the entire or principal employment of metallic\nframework would, therefore, be generally felt as a departure from the\nfirst principles of the art. Abstractedly there appears no reason why\niron should not be used as well as wood; and the time is probably near\nwhen a new system of architectural laws will be developed, adapted\nentirely to metallic construction. But I believe that the tendency of\nall present sympathy and association is to limit the idea of\narchitecture to non-metallic work; and that not without reason. For\narchitecture being in its perfection the earliest, as in its elements it\nis necessarily the first, of arts, will always precede, in any barbarous\nnation, the possession of the science necessary either for the obtaining\nor the management of iron. Its first existence and its earliest laws\nmust, therefore, depend upon the use of materials accessible in\nquantity, and on the surface of the earth; that is to say, clay, wood,\nor stone: and as I think it cannot but be generally felt that one of the\nchief dignities of architecture is its historical use; and since the\nlatter is partly dependent on consistency of style, it will be felt\nright to retain as far as may be, even in periods of more advanced\nscience, the materials and principles of earlier ages.\n\nX. But whether this be granted me or not, the fact is, that every idea\nrespecting size, proportion, decoration, or construction, on which we\nare at present in the habit of acting or judging, depends on\npresupposition of such materials: and as I both feel myself unable to\nescape the influence of these prejudices, and believe that my readers\nwill be equally so, it may be perhaps permitted to me to assume that\ntrue architecture does not admit iron as a constructive material,[7] and\nthat such works as the cast-iron central spire of Rouen Cathedral, or\nthe iron roofs and pillars of our railway stations, and of some of our\nchurches, are not architecture at all. Yet it is evident that metals\nmay, and sometimes must, enter into the construction to a certain\nextent, as nails in wooden architecture, and therefore as legitimately\nrivets and solderings in stone; neither can we well deny to the Gothic\narchitect the power of supporting statues, pinnacles, or traceries by\niron bars; and if we grant this I do not see how we can help allowing\nBrunelleschi his iron chain around the dome of Florence, or the builders\nof Salisbury their elaborate iron binding of the central tower.[8] If,\nhowever, we would not fall into the old sophistry of the grains of corn\nand the heap, we must find a rule which may enable us to stop somewhere.\nThis rule is, I think, that metals may be used as a _cement_ but not as\na _support_. For as cements of other kinds are often so strong that the\nstones may easier be broken than separated, and the wall becomes a solid\nmass without for that reason losing the character of architecture, there\nis no reason why, when a nation has obtained the knowledge and practice\nof iron work, metal rods or rivets should not be used in the place of\ncement, and establish the same or a greater strength and adherence,\nwithout in any wise inducing departure from the types and system of\narchitecture before established; nor does it make any difference except\nas to sightliness, whether the metal bands or rods so employed, be in\nthe body of the wall or on its exterior, or set as stays and\ncross-bands; so only that the use of them be always and distinctly one\nwhich might be superseded by mere strength of cement; as for instance if\na pinnacle or mullion be propped or tied by an iron band, it is evident\nthat the iron only prevents the separation of the stones by lateral\nforce, which the cement would have done, had it been strong enough. But\nthe moment that the iron in the least degree takes the place of the\nstone, and acts by its resistance to crushing, and bears superincumbent\nweight, or if it acts by its own weight as a counterpoise, and so\nsupersedes the use of pinnacles or buttresses in resisting a lateral\nthrust, or if, in the form of a rod or girder, it is used to do what\nwooden beams would have done as well, that instant the building ceases,\nso far as such applications of metal extend, to be true architecture.\n\nXI. The limit, however, thus determined, is an ultimate one, and it is\nwell in all things to be cautious how we approach the utmost limit of\nlawfulness; so that, although the employment of metal within this limit\ncannot be considered as destroying the very being and nature of\narchitecture, it will, if, extravagant and frequent, derogate from the\ndignity of the work, as well as (which is especially to our present\npoint) from its honesty. For although the spectator is not informed as\nto the quantity or strength of the cement employed, he will generally\nconceive the stones of the building to be separable and his estimate of\nthe skill of the architect will be based in a great measure on his\nsupposition of this condition, and of the difficulties attendant upon\nit: so that it is always more honorable, and it has a tendency to render\nthe style of architecture both more masculine and more scientific, to\nemploy stone and mortar simply as such, and to do as much as possible\nwith the weight of the one and the strength of the other, and rather\nsometimes to forego a grace, or to confess a weakness, than attain the\none, or conceal the other, by means verging upon dishonesty.\n\nNevertheless, where the design is of such delicacy and slightness as, in\nsome parts of very fair and finished edifices, it is desirable that it\nshould be; and where both its completion and security are in a measure\ndependent on the use of metal, let not such use be reprehended; so only\nthat as much is done as may be, by good mortar and good masonry; and no\nslovenly workmanship admitted through confidence in the iron helps; for\nit is in this license as in that of wine, a man may use it for his\ninfirmities, but not for his nourishment.\n\nXII. And, in order to avoid an over use of this liberty, it would be\nwell to consider what application may be conveniently made of the\ndovetailing and various adjusting of stones; for when any artifice is\nnecessary to help the mortar, certainly this ought to come before the\nuse of metal, for it is both safer and more honest. I cannot see that\nany objection can be made to the fitting of the stones in any shapes the\narchitect pleases: for although it would not be desirable to see\nbuildings put together like Chinese puzzles, there must always be a\ncheck upon such an abuse of the practice in its difficulty; nor is it\nnecessary that it should be always exhibited, so that it be understood\nby the spectator as an admitted help, and that no principal stones are\nintroduced in positions apparently impossible for them to retain,\nalthough a riddle here and there, in unimportant features, may sometimes\nserve to draw the eye to the masonry, and make it interesting, as well\nas to give a delightful sense of a kind of necromantic power in the\narchitect. There is a pretty one in the lintel of the lateral door of\nthe cathedral of Prato (Plate IV. fig. 4.); where the maintenance of\nthe visibly separate stones, alternate marble and serpentine, cannot be\nunderstood until their cross-cutting is seen below. Each block is, of\ncourse, of the form given in fig. 5.\n\nXIII. Lastly, before leaving the subject of structural deceits, I would\nremind the architect who thinks that I am unnecessarily and narrowly\nlimiting his resources or his art, that the highest greatness and the\nhighest wisdom are shown, the first by a noble submission to, the second\nby a thoughtful providence for, certain voluntarily admitted restraints.\nNothing is more evident than this, in that supreme government which is\nthe example, as it is the centre, of all others. The Divine Wisdom is,\nand can be, shown to us only in its meeting and contending with the\ndifficulties which are voluntarily, and _for the sake of that contest_,\nadmitted by the Divine Omnipotence: and these difficulties, observe,\noccur in the form of natural laws or ordinances, which might, at many\ntimes and in countless ways, be infringed with apparent advantage, but\nwhich are never infringed, whatever costly arrangements or adaptations\ntheir observance may necessitate for the accomplishment of given\npurposes. The example most apposite to our present subject is the\nstructure of the bones of animals. No reason can be given, I believe,\nwhy the system of the higher animals should not have been made capable,\nas that of the _Infusoria_ is, of secreting flint, instead of phosphate\nof lime, or more naturally still, carbon; so framing the bones of\nadamant at once. The elephant or rhinoceros, had the earthy part of\ntheir bones been made of diamond, might have been as agile and light as\ngrasshoppers, and other animals might have been framed far more\nmagnificently colossal than any that walk the earth. In other worlds we\nmay, perhaps, see such creations; a creation for every element, and\nelements infinite. But the architecture of animals _here_, is appointed\nby God to be a marble architecture, not a flint nor adamant\narchitecture; and all manner of expedients are adopted to attain the\nutmost degree of strength and size possible under that great limitation.\nThe jaw of the ichthyosaurus is pieced and riveted, the leg of the\nmegatherium is a foot thick, and the head of the myodon has a double\nskull; we, in our wisdom, should, doubtless, have given the lizard a\nsteel jaw, and the myodon a cast-iron headpiece, and forgotten the great\nprinciple to which all creation bears witness, that order and system are\nnobler things than power. But God shows us in Himself, strange as it may\nseem, not only authoritative perfection, but even the perfection of\nObedience--an obedience to His own laws: and in the cumbrous movement of\nthose unwieldiest of His creatures we are reminded, even in His divine\nessence, of that attribute of uprightness in the human creature \"that\nsweareth to his own hurt and changeth not.\"\n\nXIV. 2d. Surface Deceits. These may be generally defined as the inducing\nthe supposition of some form or material which does not actually exist;\nas commonly in the painting of wood to represent marble, or in the\npainting of ornaments in deceptive relief, &c. But we must be careful to\nobserve, that the evil of them consists always in definitely attempted\n_deception_, and that it is a matter of some nicety to mark the point\nwhere deception begins or ends.\n\nThus, for instance, the roof of Milan Cathedral is seemingly covered\nwith elaborate fan tracery, forcibly enough painted to enable it, in its\ndark and removed position, to deceive a careless observer. This is, of\ncourse, gross degradation; it destroys much of the dignity even of the\nrest of the building, and is in the very strongest terms to be\nreprehended.\n\nThe roof of the Sistine Chapel has much architectural design in\ngrissaille mingled with the figures of its frescoes; and the effect is\nincrease of dignity.\n\nIn what lies the distinctive character?\n\nIn two points, principally:--First. That the architecture is so closely\nassociated with the figures, and has so grand fellowship with them in\nits forms and cast shadows, that both are at once felt to be of a piece;\nand as the figures must necessarily be painted, the architecture is\nknown to be so too. There is thus no deception.\n\nSecond. That so great a painter as Michael Angelo would always stop\nshort in such minor parts of his design, of the degree of vulgar force\nwhich would be necessary to induce the supposition of their reality;\nand, strangely as it may sound, would never paint badly enough to\ndeceive.\n\nBut though right and wrong are thus found broadly opposed in works\nseverally so mean and so mighty as the roof of Milan and that of the\nSistine, there are works neither so great nor so mean, in which the\nlimits of right are vaguely defined, and will need some care to\ndetermine; care only, however, to apply accurately the broad principle\nwith which we set out, that no form nor material is to be _deceptively_\nrepresented.\n\nXV. Evidently, then, painting, confessedly such, is no deception: it\ndoes not assert any material whatever. Whether it be on wood or on\nstone, or, as will naturally be supposed, on plaster, does not matter.\nWhatever the material, good painting makes it more precious; nor can it\never be said to deceive respecting the ground of which it gives us no\ninformation. To cover brick with plaster, and this plaster with fresco,\nis, therefore, perfectly legitimate; and as desirable a mode of\ndecoration as it is constant in the great periods. Verona and Venice are\nnow seen deprived of more than half their former splendor; it depended\nfar more on their frescoes than their marbles. The plaster, in this\ncase, is to be considered as the gesso ground on panel or canvas. But to\ncover brick with cement, and to divide this cement with joints that it\nmay look like stone, is to tell a falsehood; and is just as contemptible\na procedure as the other is noble.\n\nIt being lawful to paint then, is it lawful to paint everything? So long\nas the painting is confessed--yes; but if, even in the slightest degree,\nthe sense of it be lost, and the thing painted be supposed real--no. Let\nus take a few instances. In the Campo Santo at Pisa, each fresco is\nsurrounded with a border composed of flat colored patterns of great\nelegance--no part of it in attempted relief. The certainty of flat\nsurface being thus secured, the figures, though the size of life, do not\ndeceive, and the artist thenceforward is at liberty to put forth his\nwhole power, and to lead us through fields and groves, and depths of\npleasant landscape, and to soothe us with the sweet clearness of far off\nsky, and yet never lose the severity of his primal purpose of\narchitectural decoration.\n\nIn the Camera di Correggio of San Lodovico at Parma, the trellises of\nvine shadow the walls, as if with an actual arbor; and the troops of\nchildren, peeping through the oval openings, luscious in color and faint\nin light, may well be expected every instant to break through, or hide\nbehind the covert. The grace of their attitudes, and the evident\ngreatness of the whole work, mark that it is painting, and barely redeem\nit from the charge of falsehood; but even so saved, it is utterly\nunworthy to take a place among noble or legitimate architectural\ndecoration.\n\nIn the cupola of the duomo of Parma the same painter has represented the\nAssumption with so much deceptive power, that he has made a dome of some\nthirty feet diameter look like a cloud-wrapt opening in the seventh\nheaven, crowded with a rushing sea of angels. Is this wrong? Not so: for\nthe subject at once precludes the possibility of deception. We might\nhave taken the vines for a veritable pergoda, and the children for its\nhaunting ragazzi; but we know the stayed clouds and moveless angels must\nbe man's work; let him put his utmost strength to it and welcome, he can\nenchant us, but cannot betray.\n\nWe may thus apply the rule to the highest, as well as the art of daily\noccurrence, always remembering that more is to be forgiven to the great\npainter than to the mere decorative workman; and this especially,\nbecause the former, even in deceptive portions, will not trick us so\ngrossly; as we have just seen in Correggio, where a worse painter would\nhave made the thing look like life at once. There is, however, in room,\nvilla, or garden decoration, some fitting admission of trickeries of\nthis kind, as of pictured landscapes at the extremities of alleys and\narcades, and ceilings like skies, or painted with prolongations upwards\nof the architecture of the walls, which things have sometimes a certain\nluxury and pleasureableness in places meant for idleness, and are\ninnocent enough as long as they are regarded as mere toys.\n\nXVI. Touching the false representation of material, the question is\ninfinitely more simple, and the law more sweeping; all such imitations\nare utterly base and inadmissible. It is melancholy to think of the time\nand expense lost in marbling the shop fronts of London alone, and of the\nwaste of our resources in absolute vanities, in things about which no\nmortal cares, by which no eye is ever arrested, unless painfully, and\nwhich do not add one whit to comfort or cleanliness, or even to that\ngreat object of commercial art--conspicuousness. But in architecture of\na higher rank, how much more is it to be condemned? I have made it a\nrule in the present work not to blame specifically; but I may, perhaps,\nbe permitted, while I express my sincere admiration of the very noble\nentrance and general architecture of the British Museum, to express also\nmy regret that the noble granite foundation of the staircase should be\nmocked at its landing by an imitation, the more blameable because\ntolerably successful. The only effect of it is to cast a suspicion upon\nthe true stones below, and upon every bit of granite afterwards\nencountered. One feels a doubt, after it, of the honesty of Memnon\nhimself. But even this, however derogatory to the noble architecture\naround it, is less painful than the want of feeling with which, in our\ncheap modern churches, we suffer the wall decorator to erect about the\naltar frameworks and pediments daubed with mottled color, and to dye in\nthe same fashions such skeletons or caricatures of columns as may emerge\nabove the pews; this is not merely bad taste; it is no unimportant or\nexcusable error which brings even these shadows of vanity and falsehood\ninto the house of prayer. The first condition which just feeling\nrequires in church furniture is, that it should be simple and\nunaffected, not fictitious nor tawdry. It may be in our power to make it\nbeautiful, but let it at least be pure; and if we cannot permit much to\nthe architect, do not let us permit anything to the upholsterer; if we\nkeep to solid stone and solid wood, whitewashed, if we like, for\ncleanliness' sake (for whitewash has so often been used as the dress of\nnoble things that it has thence received a kind of nobility itself), it\nmust be a bad design indeed which is grossly offensive. I recollect no\ninstance of a want of sacred character, or of any marked and painful\nugliness, in the simplest or the most awkwardly built village church,\nwhere stone and wood were roughly and nakedly used, and the windows\nlatticed with white glass. But the smoothly stuccoed walls, the flat\nroofs with ventilator ornaments, the barred windows with jaundiced\nborders and dead ground square panes, the gilded or bronzed wood, the\npainted iron, the wretched upholstery of curtains and cushions, and pew\nheads and altar railings, and Birmingham metal candlesticks, and, above\nall, the green and yellow sickness of the false marble--disguises all,\nobserve; falsehoods all--who are they who like these things? who defend\nthem? who do them? I have never spoken to any one who _did_ like them,\nthough to many who thought them matters of no consequence. Perhaps not\nto religion (though I cannot but believe that there are many to whom, as\nto myself, such things are serious obstacles to the repose of mind and\ntemper which should precede devotional exercises); but to the general\ntone of our judgment and feeling--yes; for assuredly we shall regard,\nwith tolerance, if not with affection, whatever forms of material things\nwe have been in the habit of associating with our worship, and be little\nprepared to detect or blame hypocrisy, meanness, and disguise in other\nkinds of decoration when we suffer objects belonging to the most solemn\nof all services to be tricked out in a fashion so fictitious and\nunseemly.\n\nXVII. Painting, however, is not the only mode in which material may be\nconcealed, or rather simulated; for merely to conceal is, as we have\nseen, no wrong. Whitewash, for instance, though often (by no means\nalways) to be regretted as a concealment, is not to be blamed as a\nfalsity. It shows itself for what it is, and asserts nothing of what is\nbeneath it. Gilding has become, from its frequent use, equally innocent.\nIt is understood for what it is, a film merely, and is, therefore,\nallowable to any extent. I do not say expedient: it is one of the most\nabused means of magnificence we possess, and I much doubt whether any\nuse we ever make of it, balances that loss of pleasure, which, from the\nfrequent sight and perpetual suspicion of it, we suffer in the\ncontemplation of anything that is verily of gold. I think gold was\nmeant to be seldom seen and to be admired as a precious thing; and I\nsometimes wish that truth should so far literally prevail as that all\nshould be gold that glittered, or rather that nothing should glitter\nthat was not gold. Nevertheless, nature herself does not dispense with\nsuch semblance, but uses light for it; and I have too great a love for\nold and saintly art to part with its burnished field, or radiant nimbus;\nonly it should be used with respect, and to express magnificence, or\nsacredness, and not in lavish vanity, or in sign painting. Of its\nexpedience, however, any more than of that of color, it is not here the\nplace to speak; we are endeavoring to determine what is lawful, not what\nis desirable. Of other and less common modes of disguising surface, as\nof powder of lapis lazuli, or mosaic imitations of colored stones, I\nneed hardly speak. The rule will apply to all alike, that whatever is\npretended, is wrong; commonly enforced also by the exceeding ugliness\nand insufficient appearance of such methods, as lately in the style of\nrenovation by which half the houses in Venice have been defaced, the\nbrick covered first with stucco, and this painted with zigzag veins in\nimitation of alabaster. But there is one more form of architectural\nfiction, which is so constant in the great periods that it needs\nrespectful judgment. I mean the facing of brick with precious stone.\n\nXVIII. It is well known, that what is meant by a church's being built of\nmarble is, in nearly all cases, only that a veneering of marble has been\nfastened on the rough brick wall, built with certain projections to\nreceive it; and that what appear to be massy stones, are nothing more\nthan external slabs.\n\nNow, it is evident, that, in this case, the question of right is on the\nsame ground as in that of gilding. If it be clearly understood that a\nmarble facing does not pretend or imply a marble wall, there is no harm\nin it; and as it is also evident that, when very precious stones are\nused, as jaspers and serpentines, it must become, not only an\nextravagant and vain increase of expense, but sometimes an actual\nimpossibility, to obtain mass of them enough to build with, there is no\nresource but this of veneering; nor is there anything to be alleged\nagainst it on the head of durability, such work having been by\nexperience found to last as long, and in as perfect condition, as any\nkind of masonry. It is, therefore, to be considered as simply an art of\nmosaic on a large scale, the ground being of brick, or any other\nmaterial; and when lovely stones are to be obtained, it is a manner\nwhich should be thoroughly understood, and often practised.\nNevertheless, as we esteem the shaft of a column more highly for its\nbeing of a single block, and as we do not regret the loss of substance\nand value which there is in things of solid gold, silver, agate, or\nivory; so I think the walls themselves may be regarded with a more just\ncomplacency if they are known to be all of noble substance; and that\nrightly weighing the demands of the two principles of which we have\nhitherto spoken--Sacrifice and Truth, we should sometimes rather spare\nexternal ornament than diminish the unseen value and consistency of what\nwe do; and I believe that a better manner of design, and a more careful\nand studious, if less abundant decoration would follow, upon the\nconsciousness of thoroughness in the substance. And, indeed, this is to\nbe remembered, with respect to all the points we have examined; that\nwhile we have traced the limits of license, we have not fixed those of\nthat high rectitude which refuses license. It is thus true that there is\nno falsity, and much beauty in the use of external color, and that it is\nlawful to paint either pictures or patterns on whatever surfaces may\nseem to need enrichment. But it is not less true, that such practices\nare essentially unarchitectural; and while we cannot say that there is\nactual danger in an over use of them, seeing that they have been\n_always_ used most lavishly in the times of most noble art, yet they\ndivide the work into two parts and kinds, one of less durability than\nthe other, which dies away from it in process of ages, and leaves it,\nunless it have noble qualities of its own, naked and bare. That enduring\nnoblesse I should, therefore, call truly architectural; and it is not\nuntil this has been secured that the accessory power of painting may be\ncalled in, for the delight of the immediate time; nor this, as I think,\nuntil every resource of a more stable kind has been exhausted. The true\ncolors of architecture are those of natural stone, and I would fain\nsee these taken advantage of to the full. Every variety of hue, from\npale yellow to purple, passing through orange, red, and brown, is\nentirely at our command; nearly every kind of green and gray is also\nattainable: and with these, and pure white, what harmonies might we not\nachieve? Of stained and variegated stone, the quantity is unlimited, the\nkinds innumerable; where brighter colors are required, let glass, and\ngold protected by glass, be used in mosaic--a kind of work as durable as\nthe solid stone, and incapable of losing its lustre by time--and let the\npainter's work be reserved for the shadowed _loggia_ and inner chamber.\nThis is the true and faithful way of building; where this cannot be, the\ndevice of external coloring may, indeed, be employed without dishonor;\nbut it must be with the warning reflection, that a time will come when\nsuch aids must pass away, and when the building will be judged in its\nlifelessness, dying the death of the dolphin. Better the less bright,\nmore enduring fabric. The transparent alabasters of San Miniato, and the\nmosaics of St. Mark's, are more warmly filled, and more brightly\ntouched, by every return of morning and evening rays; while the hues of\nour cathedrals have died like the iris out of the cloud; and the temples\nwhose azure and purple once flamed above the Grecian promontories, stand\nin their faded whiteness, like snows which the sunset has left cold.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE II.--(Page 55--Vol. V.)\n  PART OF THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. LO, NORMANDY.]\n\nXIX. The last form of fallacy which it will be remembered we had to\ndeprecate, was the substitution of cast or machine work for that of the\nhand, generally expressible as Operative Deceit.\n\nThere are two reasons, both weighty, against this practice; one, that\nall cast and machine work is bad, as work; the other, that it is\ndishonest. Of its badness, I shall speak in another place, that being\nevidently no efficient reason against its use when other cannot be had.\nIts dishonesty, however, which, to my mind, is of the grossest kind, is,\nI think, a sufficient reason to determine absolute and unconditional\nrejection of it.\n\nOrnament, as I have often before observed, has two entirely distinct\nsources of agreeableness: one, that of the abstract beauty of its\nforms, which, for the present, we will suppose to be the same whether\nthey come from the hand or the machine; the other, the sense of human\nlabor and care spent upon it. How great this latter influence we may\nperhaps judge, by considering that there is not a cluster of weeds\ngrowing in any cranny of ruin which has not a beauty in all respects\n_nearly_ equal, and, in some, immeasurably superior, to that of the most\nelaborate sculpture of its stones: and that all our interest in the\ncarved work, our sense of its richness, though it is tenfold less rich\nthan the knots of grass beside it; of its delicacy, though it is a\nthousand fold less delicate; of its admirableness, though a millionfold\nless admirable; results from our consciousness of its being the work of\npoor, clumsy, toilsome man. Its true delightfulness depends on our\ndiscovering in it the record of thoughts, and intents, and trials, and\nheart-breakings--of recoveries and joyfulnesses of success: all this\n_can_ be traced by a practised eye; but, granting it even obscure, it is\npresumed or understood; and in that is the worth of the thing, just as\nmuch as the worth of anything else we call precious. The worth of a\ndiamond is simply the understanding of the time it must take to look for\nit before it can be cut. It has an intrinsic value besides, which the\ndiamond has not (for a diamond has no more real beauty than a piece of\nglass); but I do not speak of that at present; I place the two on the\nsame ground; and I suppose that hand-wrought ornament can no more be\ngenerally known from machine work, than a diamond can be known from\npaste; nay, that the latter may deceive, for a moment, the mason's, as\nthe other the jeweller's eye; and that it can be detected only by the\nclosest examination. Yet exactly as a woman of feeling would not wear\nfalse jewels, so would a builder of honor disdain false ornaments. The\nusing of them is just as downright and inexcusable a lie. You use that\nwhich pretends to a worth which it has not; which pretends to have cost,\nand to be, what it did not, and is not; it is an imposition, a\nvulgarity, an impertinence, and a sin. Down with it to the ground, grind\nit to powder, leave its ragged place upon the wall, rather; you have not\npaid for it, you have no business with it, you do not want it. Nobody\nwants ornaments in this world, but everybody wants integrity. All the\nfair devices that ever were fancied, are not worth a lie. Leave your\nwalls as bare as a planed board, or build them of baked mud and chopped\nstraw, if need be; but do not rough-cast them with falsehood.\n\nThis, then, being our general law, and I hold it for a more imperative\none than any other I have asserted; and this kind of dishonesty the\nmeanest, as the least necessary; for ornament is an extravagant and\ninessential thing; and, therefore, if fallacious, utterly base--this, I\nsay, being our general law, there are, nevertheless, certain exceptions\nrespecting particular substances and their uses.\n\nXX. Thus in the use of brick; since that is known to be originally\nmoulded, there is no reason why it should not be moulded into diverse\nforms. It will never be supposed to have been cut, and therefore, will\ncause no deception; it will have only the credit it deserves. In flat\ncountries, far from any quarry of stone, cast brick may be legitimately,\nand most successfully, used in decoration, and that elaborate, and even\nrefined. The brick mouldings of the Palazzo Pepoli at Bologna, and those\nwhich run round the market-place of Vercelli, are among the richest in\nItaly. So also, tile and porcelain work, of which the former is\ngrotesquely, but successfully, employed in the domestic architecture of\nFrance, colored tiles being inserted in the diamond spaces between the\ncrossing timbers; and the latter admirably in Tuscany, in external\nbas-reliefs, by the Robbia family, in which works, while we cannot but\nsometimes regret the useless and ill-arranged colors, we would by no\nmeans blame the employment of a material which, whatever its defects,\nexcels every other in permanence, and, perhaps, requires even greater\nskill in its management than marble. For it is not the material, but the\nabsence of the human labor, which makes the thing worthless; and a piece\nof terra cotta, or of plaster of Paris, which has been wrought by human\nhand, is worth all the stone in Carrara, cut by machinery. It is,\nindeed, possible, and even usual, for men to sink into machines\nthemselves, so that even hand-work has all the characters of mechanism;\nof the difference between living and dead hand-work I shall speak\npresently; all that I ask at present is, what it is always in our power\nto secure--the confession of what we have done, and what we have given;\nso that when we use stone at all, since all stone is naturally supposed\nto be carved by hand, we must not carve it by machinery; neither must we\nuse any artificial stone cast into shape, nor any stucco ornaments of\nthe color of stone, or which might in anywise be mistaken for it, as the\nstucco mouldings in the cortile of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence,\nwhich cast a shame and suspicion over every part of the building. But\nfor ductile and fusible materials, as clay, iron, and bronze, since\nthese will usually be supposed to have been cast or stamped, it is at\nour pleasure to employ them as we will; remembering that they become\nprecious, or otherwise, just in proportion to the hand-work upon them,\nor to the clearness of their reception of the hand-work of their mould.\n\nBut I believe no cause to have been more active in the degradation of\nour natural feeling for beauty, than the constant use of cast iron\nornaments. The common iron work of the middle ages was as simple as it\nwas effective, composed of leafage cut flat out of sheet iron, and\ntwisted at the workman's will. No ornaments, on the contrary, are so\ncold, clumsy, and vulgar, so essentially incapable of a fine line, or\nshadow, as those of cast iron; and while, on the score of truth, we can\nhardly allege anything against them, since they are always\ndistinguishable, at a glance, from wrought and hammered work, and stand\nonly for what they are, yet I feel very strongly that there is no hope\nof the progress of the arts of any nation which indulges in these vulgar\nand cheap substitutes for real decoration. Their inefficiency and\npaltriness I shall endeavor to show more conclusively in another place,\nenforcing only, at present, the general conclusion that, if even honest\nor allowable, they are things in which we can never take just pride or\npleasure, and must never be employed in any place wherein they might\neither themselves obtain the credit of being other and better than they\nare, or be associated with the downright work to which it would be a\ndisgrace to be found in their company.\n\nSuch are, I believe, the three principal kinds of fallacy by which\narchitecture is liable to be corrupted; there are, however, other and\nmore subtle forms of it, against which it is less easy to guard by\ndefinite law, than by the watchfulness of a manly and unaffected spirit.\nFor, as it has been above noticed, there are certain kinds of deception\nwhich extend to impressions and ideas only; of which some are, indeed,\nof a noble use, as that above referred to, the arborescent look of lofty\nGothic aisles; but of which the most part have so much of legerdemain\nand trickery about them, that they will lower any style in which they\nconsiderably prevail; and they are likely to prevail when once they are\nadmitted, being apt to catch the fancy alike of uninventive architects\nand feelingless spectators; just as mean and shallow minds are, in other\nmatters, delighted with the sense of over-reaching, or tickled with the\nconceit of detecting the intention to over-reach; and when subtleties of\nthis kind are accompanied by the display of such dextrous stone-cutting,\nor architectural sleight of hand, as may become, even by itself, a\nsubject of admiration, it is a great chance if the pursuit of them do\nnot gradually draw us away from all regard and care for the nobler\ncharacter of the art, and end in its total paralysis or extinction. And\nagainst this there is no guarding, but by stern disdain of all display\nof dexterity and ingenious device, and by putting the whole force of our\nfancy into the arrangement of masses and forms, caring no more how these\nmasses and forms are wrought out, than a great painter cares which way\nhis pencil strikes. It would be easy to give many instances of the\ndanger of these tricks and vanities; but I shall confine myself to the\nexamination of one which has, as I think, been the cause of the fall of\nGothic architecture throughout Europe. I mean the system of\nintersectional mouldings, which, on account of its great importance, and\nfor the sake of the general reader, I may, perhaps, be pardoned for\nexplaining elementarily.\n\nXXI. I must, in the first place, however, refer to Professor Willis's\naccount of the origin of tracery, given in the sixth chapter of his\nArchitecture of the Middle Ages; since the publication of which I have\nbeen not a little amazed to hear of any attempts made to resuscitate the\ninexcusably absurd theory of its derivation from imitated vegetable\nform--inexcusably, I say, because the smallest acquaintance with early\nGothic architecture would have informed the supporters of that theory of\nthe simple fact, that, exactly in proportion to the antiquity of the\nwork, the imitation of such organic forms is less, and in the earliest\nexamples does not exist at all. There cannot be the shadow of a\nquestion, in the mind of a person familiarised with any single series of\nconsecutive examples, that tracery arose from the gradual enlargement of\nthe penetrations of the shield of stone which, usually supported by a\ncentral pillar, occupied the head of early windows. Professor Willis,\nperhaps, confines his observations somewhat too absolutely to the double\nsub-arch. I have given, in Plate VII. fig. 2, an interesting case of\nrude penetration of a high and simply trefoiled shield, from the church\nof the Eremitani at Padua. But the more frequent and typical form is\nthat of the double sub-arch, decorated with various piercings of the\nspace between it and the superior arch; with a simple trefoil under a\nround arch, in the Abbaye aux Hommes, Caen[9] (Plate III. fig. 1); with\na very beautifully proportioned quatrefoil, in the triforium of Eu, and\nthat of the choir of Lisieux; with quatrefoils, sixfoils, and septfoils,\nin the transept towers of Rouen (Plate III. fig. 2); with a trefoil\nawkwardly, and very small quatrefoil above, at Coutances, (Plate III.\nfig. 3); then, with multiplications of the same figures, pointed or\nround, giving very clumsy shapes of the intermediate stone (fig. 4, from\none of the nave chapels of Rouen, fig. 5, from one of the nave chapels\nof Bayeaux), and finally, by thinning out the stony ribs, reaching\nconditions like that of the glorious typical form of the clerestory of\nthe apse of Beauvais (fig. 6).\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE III.--(Page 60--Vol. V.)\n  TRACERIES FROM CAEN, BAYEUX, ROUEN, AND BEAVAIS.]\n\nXXII. Now, it will be noticed that, during the whole of this process,\nthe attention is kept fixed on the forms of the penetrations, that is to\nsay, of the lights as seen from the interior, not of the intermediate\nstone. All the grace of the window is in the outline of its light;\nand I have drawn all these traceries as seen from within, in order to\nshow the effect of the light thus treated, at first in far off and\nseparate stars, and then gradually enlarging, approaching, until they\ncome and stand over us, as it were, filling the whole space with their\neffulgence. And it is in this pause of the star, that we have the great,\npure, and perfect form of French Gothic; it was at the instant when the\nrudeness of the intermediate space had been finally conquered, when the\nlight had expanded to its fullest, and yet had not lost its radiant\nunity, principality, and visible first causing of the whole, that we\nhave the most exquisite feeling and most faultless judgments in the\nmanagement alike of the tracery and decorations. I have given, in Plate\nX., an exquisite example of it, from a panel decoration of the\nbuttresses of the north door of Rouen; and in order that the reader may\nunderstand what truly fine Gothic work is, and how nobly it unites\nfantasy and law, as well as for our immediate purpose, it will be well\nthat he should examine its sections and mouldings in detail (they are\ndescribed in the fourth Chapter, Sec. xxvii.), and that the more carefully,\nbecause this design belongs to a period in which the most important\nchange took place in the spirit of Gothic architecture, which, perhaps,\never resulted from the natural progress of any art. That tracery marks a\npause between the laying aside of one great ruling principle, and the\ntaking up of another; a pause as marked, as clear, as conspicuous to the\ndistant view of after times, as to the distant glance of the traveller\nis the culminating ridge of the mountain chain over which he has passed.\nIt was the great watershed of Gothic art. Before it, all had been\nascent; after it, all was decline; both, indeed, by winding paths and\nvaried slopes; both interrupted, like the gradual rise and fall of the\npasses of the Alps, by great mountain outliers, isolated or branching\nfrom the central chain, and by retrograde or parallel directions of the\nvalleys of access. But the track of the human mind is traceable up to\nthat glorious ridge, in a continuous line, and thence downwards. Like a\nsilver zone--\n\n  \"Flung about carelessly, it shines afar,\n  Catching the eye in many a broken link,\n  In many a turn and traverse, as it glides.\n  And oft above, and oft below, appears--\n  *  *  *  * to him who journeys up\n  As though it were another.\"\n\nAnd at that point, and that instant, reaching the place that was nearest\nheaven, the builders looked back, for the last time, to the way by which\nthey had come, and the scenes through which their early course had\npassed. They turned away from them and their morning light, and\ndescended towards a new horizon, for a time in the warmth of western\nsun, but plunging with every forward step into more cold and melancholy\nshade.\n\nXXIII. The change of which I speak, is inexpressible in few words, but\none more important, more radically influential, could not be. It was the\nsubstitution of the _line_ for the _mass_, as the element of decoration.\n\nWe have seen the mode in which the openings or penetration of the window\nexpanded, until what were, at first, awkward forms of intermediate\nstone, became delicate lines of tracery: and I have been careful in\npointing out the peculiar attention bestowed on the proportion and\ndecoration of the mouldings of the window at Rouen, in Plate X., as\ncompared with earlier mouldings, because that beauty and care are\nsingularly significant. They mark that the traceries had _caught the\neye_ of the architect. Up to that time, up to the very last instant in\nwhich the reduction and thinning of the intervening stone was\nconsummated, his eye had been on the openings only, on the stars of\nlight. He did not care about the stone, a rude border of moulding was\nall he needed, it was the penetrating shape which he was watching. But\nwhen that shape had received its last possible expansion, and when the\nstone-work became an arrangement of graceful and parallel lines, that\narrangement, like some form in a picture, unseen and accidentally\ndeveloped, struck suddenly, inevitably, on the sight. It had literally\nnot been seen before. It flashed out in an instant as an independent\nform. It became a feature of the work. The architect took it under his\ncare, thought over it, and distributed its members as we see.\n\nNow, the great pause was at the moment when the space and the dividing\nstone-work were both equally considered. It did not last fifty years.\nThe forms of the tracery were seized with a childish delight in the\nnovel source of beauty; and the intervening space was cast aside, as an\nelement of decoration, for ever. I have confined myself, in following\nthis change, to the window, as the feature in which it is clearest. But\nthe transition is the same in every member of architecture; and its\nimportance can hardly be understood, unless we take the pains to trace\nit in the universality, of which illustrations, irrelevant to our\npresent purpose, will be found in the third Chapter. I pursue here the\nquestion of truth, relating to the treatment of the mouldings.\n\nXXIV. The reader will observe that, up to the last expansion of the\npenetrations, the stone-work was necessarily considered, as it actually\nis, _stiff_, and unyielding. It was so, also, during the pause of which\nI have spoken, when the forms of the tracery were still severe and pure;\ndelicate indeed, but perfectly firm.\n\nAt the close of the period of pause, the first sign of serious change\nwas like a low breeze, passing through the emaciated tracery, and making\nit tremble. It began to undulate like the threads of a cobweb lifted by\nthe wind. It lost its essence as a structure of stone. Reduced to the\nslenderness of threads, it began to be considered as possessing also\ntheir flexibility. The architect was pleased with this his new fancy,\nand set himself to carry it out; and in a little time, the bars of\ntracery were caused to appear to the eye as if they had been woven\ntogether like a net. This was a change which sacrificed a great\nprinciple of truth; it sacrificed the expression of the qualities of the\nmaterial; and, however delightful its results in their first\ndevelopments, it was ultimately ruinous.\n\nFor, observe the difference between the supposition of ductility, and\nthat of elastic structure noticed above in the resemblance to tree form.\nThat resemblance was not sought, but necessary; it resulted from the\nnatural conditions of strength in the pier or trunk, and slenderness in\nthe ribs or branches, while many of the other suggested conditions of\nresemblance were perfectly true. A tree branch, though in a certain\nsense flexible, is not ductile; it is as firm in its own form as the rib\nof stone; both of them will yield up to certain limits, both of them\nbreaking when those limits are exceeded; while the tree trunk will bend\nno more than the stone pillar. But when the tracery is assumed to be as\nyielding as a silken cord; when the whole fragility, elasticity, and\nweight of the material are to the eye, if not in terms, denied; when all\nthe art of the architect is applied to disprove the first conditions of\nhis working, and the first attributes of his materials; _this_ is a\ndeliberate treachery, only redeemed from the charge of direct falsehood\nby the visibility of the stone surface, and degrading all the traceries\nit affects exactly in the degree of its presence.\n\nXXV. But the declining and morbid taste of the later architects, was not\nsatisfied with thus much deception. They were delighted with the subtle\ncharm they had created, and thought only of increasing its power. The\nnext step was to consider and represent the tracery, as not only\nductile, but penetrable; and when two mouldings met each other, to\nmanage their intersection, so that one should appear to pass through the\nother, retaining its independence; or when two ran parallel to each\nother, to represent the one as partly contained within the other, and\npartly apparent above it. This form of falsity was that which crushed\nthe art. The flexible traceries were often beautiful, though they were\nignoble; but the penetrated traceries, rendered, as they finally were,\nmerely the means of exhibiting the dexterity of the stone-cutter,\nannihilated both the beauty and dignity of the Gothic types. A system so\nmomentous in its consequences deserves some detailed examination.\n\nXXVI. In the drawing of the shafts of the door at Lisieux, under the\nspandril, in Plate VII., the reader will see the mode of managing the\nintersection of similar mouldings, which was universal in the great\nperiods. They melted into each other, and became one at the point of\ncrossing, or of contact; and even the suggestion of so sharp\nintersection as this of Lisieux is usually avoided (this design being,\nof course, only a pointed form of the earlier Norman arcade, in which\nthe arches are interlaced, and lie each over the preceding, and under\nthe following, one, as in Anselm's tower at Canterbury), since, in the\nplurality of designs, when mouldings meet each other, they coincide\nthrough some considerable portion of their curves, meeting by contact,\nrather than by intersection; and at the point of coincidence the section\nof each separate moulding becomes common to the two thus melted into\neach other. Thus, in the junction of the circles of the window of the\nPalazzo Foscari, Plate VIII., given accurately in fig. 8, Plate IV., the\nsection across the line _s_, is exactly the same as that across any\nbreak of the separated moulding above, as [=s]. It sometimes, however,\nhappens, that two different mouldings meet each other. This was seldom\npermitted in the great periods, and, when it took place, was most\nawkwardly managed. Fig. 1, Plate IV. gives the junction of the mouldings\nof the gable and vertical, in the window of the _spire_ of Salisbury.\nThat of the gable is composed of a single, and that of the vertical of a\ndouble cavetto, decorated with ball-flowers; and the larger single\nmoulding swallows up one of the double ones, and pushes forward among\nthe smaller balls with the most blundering and clumsy simplicity. In\ncomparing the sections it is to be observed that, in the upper one, the\nline _a b_ represents an actual vertical in the plane of the window;\nwhile, in the lower one, the line _c d_ represents the horizontal, in\nthe plane of the window, indicated by the perspective line _d e_.\n\nXXVII. The very awkwardness with which such occurrences of difficulty\nare met by the earlier builder, marks his dislike of the system, and\nunwillingness to attract the eye to such arrangements. There is another\nvery clumsy one, in the junction of the upper and sub-arches of the\ntriforium of Salisbury; but it is kept in the shade, and all the\nprominent junctions are of mouldings like each other, and managed with\nperfect simplicity. But so soon as the attention of the builders became,\nas we have just seen, fixed upon the lines of mouldings instead of the\nenclosed spaces, those lines began to preserve an independent existence\nwherever they met; and different mouldings were studiously associated,\nin order to obtain variety of intersectional line. We must, however, do\nthe late builders the justice to note that, in one case, the habit grew\nout of a feeling of proportion, more refined than that of earlier\nworkmen. It shows itself first in the bases of divided pillars, or arch\nmouldings, whose smaller shafts had originally bases formed by the\ncontinued base of the central, or other larger, columns with which they\nwere grouped; but it being felt, when the eye of the architect became\nfastidious, that the dimension of moulding which was right for the base\nof a large shaft, was wrong for that of a small one, each shaft had an\nindependent base; at first, those of the smaller died simply down on\nthat of the larger; but when the vertical sections of both became\ncomplicated, the bases of the smaller shafts were considered to exist\nwithin those of the larger, and the places of their emergence, on this\nsupposition, were calculated with the utmost nicety, and cut with\nsingular precision; so that an elaborate late base of a divided column,\nas, for instance, of those in the nave of Abbeville, looks exactly as if\nits smaller shafts had all been finished to the ground first, each with\nits complete and intricate base, and then the comprehending base of the\ncentral pier had been moulded over them in clay, leaving their points\nand angles sticking out here and there, like the edges of sharp crystals\nout of a nodule of earth. The exhibition of technical dexterity in work\nof this kind is often marvellous, the strangest possible shapes of\nsections being calculated to a hair's-breadth, and the occurrence of the\nunder and emergent forms being rendered, even in places where they are\nso slight that they can hardly be detected but by the touch. It is\nimpossible to render a very elaborate example of this kind intelligible,\nwithout some fifty measured sections; but fig. 6, Plate IV. is a very\ninteresting and simple one, from the west gate of Rouen. It is part of\nthe base of one of the narrow piers between its principal niches. The\nsquare column _k_, having a base with the profile _p r_, is supposed to\ncontain within itself another similar one, set diagonally, and lifted so\nfar above the inclosing one, as that the recessed part of its profile\n[=p] r shall fall behind the projecting part of the outer one. The angle\nof its upper portion exactly meets the plane of the side of the upper\ninclosing shaft 4, and would, therefore, not be seen, unless two\nvertical cuts were made to exhibit it, which form two dark lines the\nwhole way up the shaft. Two small pilasters are run, like fastening\nstitches, through the junction on the front of the shafts. The sections\n[=k] [=n] taken respectively at the levels _k_, _n_, will explain the\nhypothetical construction of the whole. Fig. 7 is a base, or joint\nrather (for passages of this form occur again and again, on the shafts\nof flamboyant work), of one of the smallest piers of the pedestals which\nsupport the lost statues of the porch; its section below would be the\nsame as [=n], and its construction, after what has been said of the\nother base, will be at once perceived.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE IV.--(Page 66--Vol. V.)\n  INTERSECTIONAL MOULDINGS.]\n\nXXVIII. There was, however, in this kind of involution, much to be\nadmired as well as reprehended, the proportions of quantities were\nalways as beautiful as they were intricate; and, though the lines of\nintersection were harsh, they were exquisitely opposed to the\nflower-work of the interposing mouldings. But the fancy did not stop\nhere; it rose from the bases into the arches; and there, not finding\nroom enough for its exhibition, it withdrew the capitals from the heads\neven of cylindrical shafts, (we cannot but admire, while we regret, the\nboldness of the men who could defy the authority and custom of all the\nnations of the earth for a space of some three thousand years,) in order\nthat the arch mouldings might appear to emerge from the pillar, as at\nits base they had been lost in it, and not to terminate on the abacus of\nthe capital; then they ran the mouldings across and through each other,\nat the point of the arch; and finally, not finding their natural\ndirections enough to furnish as many occasions of intersection as they\nwished, bent them hither and thither, and cut off their ends short, when\nthey had passed the point of intersection. Fig. 2, Plate IV. is part of\na flying buttress from the apse of St. Gervais at Falaise, in which the\nmoulding whose section is rudely given above at [=f], (taken vertically\nthrough the point _f_,) is carried thrice through itself, in the\ncross-bar and two arches; and the flat fillet is cut off sharp at the\nend of the cross-bar, for the mere pleasure of the truncation. Fig. 3\nis half of the head of a door in the Stadthaus of Sursee, in which the\nshaded part of the section of the joint _g g_, is that of the\narch-moulding, which is three times reduplicated, and six times\nintersected by itself, the ends being cut off when they become\nunmanageable. This style is, indeed, earlier exaggerated in Switzerland\nand Germany, owing to the imitation in stone of the dovetailing of wood,\nparticularly of the intersecting of beams at the angles of chalets; but\nit only furnishes the more plain instance of the danger of the\nfallacious system which, from the beginning, repressed the German, and,\nin the end, ruined the French Gothic. It would be too painful a task to\nfollow further the caricatures of form, and eccentricities of treatment,\nwhich grow out of this singular abuse--the flattened arch, the shrunken\npillar, the lifeless ornament, the liny moulding, the distorted and\nextravagant foliation, until the time came when, over these wrecks and\nremnants, deprived of all unity and principle, rose the foul torrent of\nthe renaissance, and swept them all away. So fell the great dynasty of\nmediaeval architecture. It was because it had lost its own strength, and\ndisobeyed its own laws--because its order, and consistency, and\norganization, had been broken through--that it could oppose no\nresistance to the rush of overwhelming innovation. And this, observe,\nall because it had sacrificed a single truth. From that one surrender of\nits integrity, from that one endeavor to assume the semblance of what it\nwas not, arose the multitudinous forms of disease and decrepitude, which\nrotted away the pillars of its supremacy. It was not because its time\nwas come; it was not because it was scorned by the classical Romanist,\nor dreaded by the faithful Protestant. That scorn and that fear it might\nhave survived, and lived; it would have stood forth in stern comparison\nwith the enervated sensuality of the renaissance; it would have risen in\nrenewed and purified honor, and with a new soul, from the ashes into\nwhich it sank, giving up its glory, as it had received it, for the honor\nof God--but its own truth was gone, and it sank forever. There was no\nwisdom nor strength left in it, to raise it from the dust; and the error\nof zeal, and the softness of luxury smote it down and dissolved it\naway. It is good for us to remember this, as we tread upon the bare\nground of its foundations, and stumble over its scattered stones. Those\nrent skeletons of pierced wall, through which our sea-winds moan and\nmurmur, strewing them joint by joint, and bone by bone, along the bleak\npromontories on which the Pharos lights came once from houses of\nprayer--those grey arches and quiet isles under which the sheep of our\nvalleys feed and rest on the turf that has buried their altars--those\nshapeless heaps, that are not of the Earth, which lift our fields into\nstrange and sudden banks of flowers, and stay our mountain streams with\nstones that are not their own, have other thoughts to ask from us than\nthose of mourning for the rage that despoiled, or the fear that forsook\nthem. It was not the robber, not the fanatic, not the blasphemer, who\nsealed the destruction that they had wrought; the war, the wrath, the\nterror, might have worked their worst, and the strong walls would have\nrisen, and the slight pillars would have started again, from under the\nhand of the destroyer. But they could not rise out of the ruins of their\nown violated truth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE LAMP OF POWER.\n\n\nI. In recalling the impressions we have received from the works of man,\nafter a lapse of time long enough to involve in obscurity all but the\nmost vivid, it often happens that we find a strange pre-eminence and\ndurability in many upon whose strength we had little calculated, and\nthat points of character which had escaped the detection of the\njudgment, become developed under the waste of memory; as veins of harder\nrock, whose places could not at first have been discovered by the eye,\nare left salient under the action of frosts and streams. The traveller\nwho desires to correct the errors of his judgment, necessitated by\ninequalities of temper, infelicities of circumstance, and accidents of\nassociation, has no other resource than to wait for the calm verdict of\ninterposing years; and to watch for the new arrangements of eminence and\nshape in the images which remain latest in his memory; as in the ebbing\nof a mountain lake, he would watch the varying outlines of its\nsuccessive shore, and trace, in the form of its departing waters, the\ntrue direction of the forces which had cleft, or the currents which had\nexcavated, the deepest recesses of its primal bed.\n\nIn thus reverting to the memories of those works of architecture by\nwhich we have been most pleasurably impressed, it will generally happen\nthat they fall into two broad classes: the one characterized by an\nexceeding preciousness and delicacy, to which we recur with a sense of\naffectionate admiration; and the other by a severe, and, in many cases,\nmysterious, majesty, which we remember with an undiminished awe, like\nthat felt at the presence and operation of some great Spiritual Power.\nFrom about these two groups, more or less harmonised by intermediate\nexamples, but always distinctively marked by features of beauty or of\npower, there will be swept away, in multitudes, the memories of\nbuildings, perhaps, in their first address to our minds, of no inferior\npretension, but owing their impressiveness to characters of less\nenduring nobility--to value of material, accumulation of ornament, or\ningenuity of mechanical construction. Especial interest may, indeed,\nhave been awakened by such circumstances, and the memory may have been,\nconsequently, rendered tenacious of particular parts or effects of the\nstructure; but it will recall even these only by an active effort, and\nthen without emotion; while in passive moments, and with thrilling\ninfluence, the image of purer beauty, and of more spiritual power, will\nreturn in a fair and solemn company; and while the pride of many a\nstately palace, and the wealth of many a jewelled shrine, perish from\nour thoughts in a dust of gold, there will rise, through their dimness,\nthe white image of some secluded marble chapel, by river or forest side,\nwith the fretted flower-work shrinking under its arches, as if under\nvaults of late-fallen snow; or the vast weariness of some shadowy wall\nwhose separate stones are like mountain foundations, and yet numberless.\n\nII. Now, the difference between these two orders of build-ing is not\nmerely that which there is in nature between things beautiful and\nsublime. It is, also, the difference between what is derivative and\noriginal in man's work; for whatever is in architecture fair or\nbeautiful, is imitated from natural forms; and what is not so derived,\nbut depends for its dignity upon arrangement and government received\nfrom human mind, becomes the expression of the power of that mind, and\nreceives a sublimity high in proportion to the power expressed. All\nbuilding, therefore, shows man either as gathering or governing: and the\nsecrets of his success are his knowing what to gather, and how to rule.\nThese are the two great intellectual Lamps of Architecture; the one\nconsisting in a just and humble veneration for the works of God upon the\nearth, and the other in an understanding of the dominion over those\nworks which has been vested in man.\n\nIII. Besides this expression of living authority and power, there is,\nhowever, a sympathy in the forms of noble building, with what is most\nsublime in natural things; and it is the governing Power directed by\nthis sympathy, whose operation I shall at present endeavor to trace,\nabandoning all inquiry into the more abstract fields of invention: for\nthis latter faculty, and the questions of proportion and arrangement\nconnected with its discussion, can only be rightly examined in a general\nview of all arts; but its sympathy, in architecture, with the vast\ncontrolling powers of Nature herself, is special, and may shortly be\nconsidered; and that with the more advantage, that it has, of late, been\nlittle felt or regarded by architects. I have seen, in recent efforts,\nmuch contest between two schools, one affecting originality, and the\nother legality--many attempts at beauty of design--many ingenious\nadaptations of construction; but I have never seen any aim at the\nexpression of abstract power; never any appearance of a consciousness\nthat, in this primal art of man, there is room for the marking of his\nrelations with the mightiest, as well as the fairest, works of God; and\nthat those works themselves have been permitted, by their Master and\nhis, to receive an added glory from their association with earnest\nefforts of human thought. In the edifices of Man there should be found\nreverent worship and following, not only of the spirit which rounds the\npillars of the forest, and arches the vault of the avenue--which gives\nveining to the leaf, and polish to the shell, and grace to every pulse\nthat agitates animal organization,--but of that also which reproves the\npillars of the earth, and builds up her barren precipices into the\ncoldness of the clouds, and lifts her shadowy cones of mountain purple\ninto the pale arch of the sky; for these, and other glories more than\nthese, refuse not to connect themselves, in his thoughts, with the work\nof his own hand; the grey cliff loses not its nobleness when it reminds\nus of some Cyclopean waste of mural stone; the pinnacles of the rocky\npromontory arrange themselves, undegraded, into fantastic semblances of\nfortress towers; and even the awful cone of the far-off mountain has a\nmelancholy mixed with that of its own solitude, which is cast from the\nimages of nameless tumuli on white sea-shores, and of the heaps of reedy\nclay, into which chambered cities melt in their mortality.\n\nIV. Let us, then, see what is this power and majesty, which Nature\nherself does not disdain to accept from the works of man; and what that\nsublimity in the masses built up by his coralline-like energy, which is\nhonorable, even when transferred by association to the dateless hills,\nwhich it needed earthquakes to lift, and deluges to mould.\n\nAnd, first of mere size: It might not be thought possible to emulate the\nsublimity of natural objects in this respect; nor would it be, if the\narchitect contended with them in pitched battle. It would not be well to\nbuild pyramids in the valley of Chamouni; and St. Peter's, among its\nmany other errors, counts for not the least injurious its position on\nthe slope of an inconsiderable hill. But imagine it placed on the plain\nof Marengo, or, like the Superga of Turin, or like La Salute at Venice!\nThe fact is, that the apprehension of the size of natural objects, as\nwell as of architecture, depends more on fortunate excitement of the\nimagination than on measurements by the eye; and the architect has a\npeculiar advantage in being able to press close upon the sight, such\nmagnitude as he can command. There are few rocks, even among the Alps,\nthat have a clear vertical fall as high as the choir of Beauvais; and\nif we secure a good precipice of wall, or a sheer and unbroken flank of\ntower, and place them where there are no enormous natural features to\noppose them, we shall feel in them no want of sublimity of size. And it\nmay be matter of encouragement in this respect, though one also of\nregret, to observe how much oftener man destroys natural sublimity, than\nnature crushes human power. It does not need much to humiliate a\nmountain. A hut will sometimes do it; I never look up to the Col de\nBalme from Chamouni, without a violent feeling of provocation against\nits hospitable little cabin, whose bright white walls form a visibly\nfour-square spot on the green ridge, and entirely destroy all idea of\nits elevation. A single villa will often mar a whole landscape, and\ndethrone a dynasty of hills, and the Acropolis of Athens, Parthenon and\nall, has, I believe, been dwarfed into a model by the palace lately\nbuilt beneath it. The fact is, that hills are not so high as we fancy\nthem, and, when to the actual impression of no mean comparative size, is\nadded the sense of the toil of manly hand and thought, a sublimity is\nreached, which nothing but gross error in arrangement of its parts can\ndestroy.\n\nV. While, therefore, it is not to be supposed that mere size will\nennoble a mean design, yet every increase of magnitude will bestow upon\nit a certain degree of nobleness: so that it is well to determine at\nfirst, whether the building is to be markedly beautiful or markedly\nsublime; and if the latter, not to be withheld by respect to smaller\nparts from reaching largeness of scale; provided only, that it be\nevidently in the architect's power to reach at least that degree of\nmagnitude which is the lowest at which sublimity begins, rudely\ndefinable as that which will make a living figure look less than life\nbeside it. It is the misfortune of most of our modern buildings that we\nwould fain have an universal excellence in them; and so part of the\nfunds must go in painting, part in gilding, part in fitting up, part in\npainted windows, part in small steeples, part in ornaments here and\nthere; and neither the windows, nor the steeple, nor the ornaments, are\nworth their materials. For there is a crust about the impressible part\nof men's minds, which must be pierced through before they can be\ntouched to the quick; and though we may prick at it and scratch it in a\nthousand separate places, we might as well have let it alone if we do\nnot come through somewhere with a deep thrust: and if we can give such a\nthrust anywhere, there is no need of another; it need not be even so\n\"wide as a church door,\" so that it be _enough_. And mere weight will do\nthis; it is a clumsy way of doing it, but an effectual one, too; and the\napathy which cannot be pierced through by a small steeple, nor shone\nthrough by a small window, can be broken through in a moment by the mere\nweight of a great wall. Let, therefore, the architect who has not large\nresources, choose his point of attack first, and, if he choose size, let\nhim abandon decoration; for, unless they are concentrated, and numerous\nenough to make their concentration conspicuous, all his ornaments\ntogether would not be worth one huge stone. And the choice must be a\ndecided one, without compromise. It must be no question whether his\ncapitals would not look better with a little carving--let him leave them\nhuge as blocks; or whether his arches should not have richer\narchitraves--let him throw them a foot higher, if he can; a yard more\nacross the nave will be worth more to him than a tesselated pavement;\nand another fathom of outer wall, than an army of pinnacles. The\nlimitation of size must be only in the uses of the building, or in the\nground at his disposal.\n\nVI. That limitation, however, being by such circumstances determined, by\nwhat means, it is to be next asked, may the actual magnitude be best\ndisplayed; since it is seldom, perhaps never, that a building of any\npretension to size looks so large as it is. The appearance of a figure\nin any distant, more especially in any upper, parts of it will almost\nalways prove that we have under-estimated the magnitude of those parts.\n\nIt has often been observed that a building, in order to show its\nmagnitude, must be seen all at once. It would, perhaps, be better to\nsay, must be bounded as much as possible by continuous lines, and that\nits extreme points should be seen all at once; or we may state, in\nsimpler terms still, that it must have one visible bounding line from\ntop to bottom, and from end to end. This bounding line from top to\nbottom may either be inclined inwards, and the mass, therefore,\npyramidical; or vertical, and the mass form one grand cliff; or inclined\noutwards, as in the advancing fronts of old houses, and, in a sort, in\nthe Greek temple, and in all buildings with heavy cornices or heads.\nNow, in all these cases, if the bounding line be violently broken; if\nthe cornice project, or the upper portion of the pyramid recede, too\nviolently, majesty will be lost; not because the building cannot be seen\nall at once,--for in the case of a heavy cornice no part of it is\nnecessarily concealed--but because the continuity of its terminal line\nis broken, and the _length of that line_, therefore, cannot be\nestimated. But the error is, of course, more fatal when much of the\nbuilding is also concealed; as in the well-known case of the recession\nof the dome of St. Peter's, and, from the greater number of points of\nview, in churches whose highest portions, whether dome or tower, are\nover their cross. Thus there is only one point from which the size of\nthe Cathedral of Florence is felt; and that is from the corner of the\nVia de' Balestrieri, opposite the south-east angle, where it happens\nthat the dome is seen rising instantly above the apse and transepts. In\nall cases in which the tower is over the cross, the grandeur and height\nof the tower itself are lost, because there is but one line down which\nthe eye can trace the whole height, and that is in the inner angle of\nthe cross, not easily discerned. Hence, while, in symmetry and feeling,\nsuch designs may often have pre-eminence, yet, where the height of the\ntower itself is to be made apparent, it must be at the west end, or\nbetter still, detached as a campanile. Imagine the loss to the Lombard\nchurches if their campaniles were carried only to their present height\nover their crosses; or to the Cathedral of Rouen, if the Tour de Beurre\nwere made central, in the place of its present debased spire!\n\nVII. Whether, therefore, we have to do with tower or wall, there must be\none bounding line from base to coping; and I am much inclined, myself,\nto love the true vertical, or the vertical, with a solemn frown of\nprojection (not a scowl), as in the Palazzo Vecchio of Florence. This\ncharacter is always given to rocks by the poets; with slight foundation\nindeed real rocks being little given to overhanging--but with excellent\njudgment; for the sense of threatening conveyed by this form is a nobler\ncharacter than that of mere size. And, in buildings, this threatening\nshould be somewhat carried down into their mass. A mere projecting shelf\nis not enough, the whole wall must, Jupiter like, nod as well as frown.\nHence, I think the propped machicolations of the Palazzo Vecchio and\nDuomo of Florence far grander headings than any form of Greek cornice.\nSometimes the projection may be thrown lower, as in the Doge's palace of\nVenice, where the chief appearance of it is above the second arcade; or\nit may become a grand swell from the ground, as the head of a ship of\nthe line rises from the sea. This is very nobly attained by the\nprojection of the niches in the third story of the Tour de Beurre at\nRouen.\n\nVIII. What is needful in the setting forth of magnitude in height, is\nright also in the marking it in area--let it be gathered well together.\nIt is especially to be noted with respect to the Palazzo Vecchio and\nother mighty buildings of its order, how mistakenly it has been stated\nthat dimension, in order to become impressive, should be expanded either\nin height or length, but not equally: whereas, rather it will be found\nthat those buildings seem on the whole the vastest which have been\ngathered up into a mighty square, and which look as if they had been\nmeasured by the angel's rod, \"the length, and the breadth, and the\nheight of it are equal,\" and herein something is to be taken notice of,\nwhich I believe not to be sufficiently, if at all, considered among our\narchitects.\n\nOf the many broad divisions under which architecture may be considered,\nnone appear to me more significant than that into buildings whose\ninterest is in their walls, and those whose interest is in the lines\ndividing their walls. In the Greek temple the wall is as nothing; the\nentire interest is in the detached columns and the frieze they bear; in\nFrench Flamboyant, and in our detestable Perpendicular, the object is to\nget rid of the wall surface, and keep the eye altogether on tracery of\nline; in Romanesque work and Egyptian, the wall is a confessed and\nhonored member, and the light is often allowed to fall on large areas of\nit, variously decorated. Now, both these principles are admitted by\nNature, the one in her woods and thickets, the other in her plains, and\ncliffs, and waters; but the latter is pre-eminently the principle of\npower, and, in some sense, of beauty also. For, whatever infinity of\nfair form there may be in the maze of the forest, there is a fairer, as\nI think, in the surface of the quiet lake; and I hardly know that\nassociation of shaft or tracery, for which I would exchange the warm\nsleep of sunshine on some smooth, broad, human-like front of marble.\nNevertheless, if breadth is to be beautiful, its substance must in some\nsort be beautiful; and we must not hastily condemn the exclusive resting\nof the northern architects in divided lines, until at least we have\nremembered the difference between a blank surface of Caen stone, and one\nmixed from Genoa and Carrara, of serpentine with snow: but as regards\nabstract power and awfulness, there is no question; without breadth of\nsurface it is in vain to seek them, and it matters little, so that the\nsurface be wide, bold and unbroken, whether it be of brick or of jasper;\nthe light of heaven upon it, and the weight of earth in it, are all we\nneed: for it is singular how forgetful the mind may become both of\nmaterial and workmanship, if only it have space enough over which to\nrange, and to remind it, however feebly, of the joy that it has in\ncontemplating the flatness and sweep of great plains and broad seas. And\nit is a noble thing for men to do this with their cut stone or moulded\nclay, and to make the face of a wall look infinite, and its edge against\nthe sky like an horizon: or even if less than this be reached, it is\nstill delightful to mark the play of passing light on its broad surface,\nand to see by how many artifices and gradations of tinting and shadow,\ntime and storm will set their wild signatures upon it; and how in the\nrising or declining of the day the unbroken twilight rests long and\nluridly on its high lineless forehead, and fades away untraceably down\nits tiers of confused and countless stone.\n\nIX. This, then, being, as I think, one of the peculiar elements of\nsublime architecture, it may be easily seen how necessarily consequent\nupon the love of it will be the choice of a form approaching to the\nsquare for the main outline.\n\nFor, in whatever direction the building is contracted, in that direction\nthe eye will be drawn to its terminal lines; and the sense of surface\nwill only be at its fullest when those lines are removed, in every\ndirection, as far as possible. Thus the square and circle are\npre-eminently the areas of power among those bounded by purely straight\nor curved lines; and these, with their relative solids, the cube and\nsphere, and relative solids of progression (as in the investigation of\nthe laws of proportion I shall call those masses which are generated by\nthe progression of an area of given form along a line in a given\ndirection), the square and cylindrical column, are the elements of\nutmost power in all architectural arrangements. On the other hand, grace\nand perfect proportion require an elongation in some one direction: and\na sense of power may be communicated to this form of magnitude by a\ncontinuous series of any marked features, such as the eye may be unable\nto number; while yet we feel, from their boldness, decision, and\nsimplicity, that it is indeed their multitude which has embarrassed us,\nnot any confusion or indistinctness of form. This expedient of continued\nseries forms the sublimity of arcades and aisles, of all ranges of\ncolumns, and, on a smaller scale, of those Greek mouldings, of which,\nrepeated as they now are in all the meanest and most familiar forms of\nour furniture, it is impossible altogether to weary. Now, it is evident\nthat the architect has choice of two types of form, each properly\nassociated with its own kind of interest or decoration: the square, or\ngreatest area, to be chosen especially when the _surface_ is to be the\nsubject of thought; and the elongated area, when the _divisions_ of the\nsurface are to be the subjects of thought. Both these orders of form, as\nI think nearly every other source of power and beauty, are marvellously\nunited in that building which I fear to weary the reader by bringing\nforward too frequently, as a model of all perfection--the Doge's palace\nat Venice: its general arrangement, a hollow square; its principal\nfacade, an oblong, elongated to the eye by a range of thirty-four small\narches, and thirty-five columns, while it is separated by a\nrichly-canopied window in the centre, into two massive divisions, whose\nheight and length are nearly as four to five; the arcades which give it\nlength being confined to the lower stories, and the upper, between its\nbroad windows, left a mighty surface of smooth marble, chequered with\nblocks of alternate rose-color and white. It would be impossible, I\nbelieve, to invent a more magnificent arrangement of all that is in\nbuilding most dignified and most fair.\n\nX. In the Lombard Romanesque, the two principles are more fused into\neach other, as most characteristically in the Cathedral of Pisa: length\nof proportion, exhibited by an arcade of twenty-one arches above, and\nfifteen below, at the side of the nave; bold square proportion in the\nfront; that front divided into arcades, placed one above the other, the\nlowest with its pillars engaged, of seven arches, the four uppermost\nthrown out boldly from the receding wall, and casting deep shadows; the\nfirst, above the basement, of nineteen arches; the second of twenty-one;\nthe third and fourth of eight each; sixty-three arches in all; all\n_circular_ headed, all with cylindrical shafts, and the lowest with\n_square_ panellings, set diagonally under their semicircles, an\nuniversal ornament in this style (Plate XII., fig. 7); the apse, a\nsemicircle, with a semi-dome for its roof, and three ranges of circular\narches for its exterior ornament; in the interior of the nave, a range\nof circular arches below a circular-arched triforium, and a vast flat\n_surface_, observe, of wall decorated with striped marble above; the\nwhole arrangement (not a peculiar one, but characteristic of every\nchurch of the period; and, to my feeling, the most majestic; not perhaps\nthe fairest, but the mightiest type of form which the mind of man has\never conceived) based exclusively on associations of the circle and the\nsquare.\n\nI am now, however, trenching upon ground which I desire to reserve for\nmore careful examination, in connection with other aesthetic questions:\nbut I believe the examples I have given will justify my vindication of\nthe square form from the reprobation which has been lightly thrown upon\nit; nor might this be done for it only as a ruling outline, but as\noccurring constantly in the best mosaics, and in a thousand forms of\nminor decoration, which I cannot now examine; my chief assertion of its\nmajesty being always as it is an exponent of space and surface, and\ntherefore to be chosen, either to rule in their outlines, or to adorn by\nmasses of light and shade those portions of buildings in which surface\nis to be rendered precious or honorable.\n\nXI. Thus far, then, of general forms, and of the modes in which the\nscale of architecture is best to be exhibited. Let us next consider the\nmanifestations of power which belong to its details and lesser\ndivisions.\n\nThe first division we have to regard, is the inevitable one of masonry.\nIt is true that this division may, by great art, be concealed; but I\nthink it unwise (as well as dishonest) to do so; for this reason, that\nthere is a very noble character always to be obtained by the opposition\nof large stones to divided masonry, as by shafts and columns of one\npiece, or massy lintels and architraves, to wall work of bricks or\nsmaller stones; and there is a certain organization in the management of\nsuch parts, like that of the continuous bones of the skeleton, opposed\nto the vertebrae, which it is not well to surrender. I hold, therefore,\nthat, for this and other reasons, the masonry of a building is to be\nshown: and also that, with certain rare exceptions (as in the cases of\nchapels and shrines of most finished workmanship), the smaller the\nbuilding, the more necessary it is that its masonry should be bold, and\n_vice versa_. For if a building be under the mark of average magnitude,\nit is not in our power to increase its apparent size (too easily\nmeasurable) by any proportionate diminution in the scale of its masonry.\nBut it may be often in our power to give it a certain nobility by\nbuilding it of massy stones, or, at all events, introducing such into\nits make. Thus it is impossible that there should ever be majesty in a\ncottage built of brick; but there is a marked element of sublimity in\nthe rude and irregular piling of the rocky walls of the mountain\ncottages of Wales, Cumberland, and Scotland. Their size is not one whit\ndiminished, though four or five stones reach at their angles from the\nground to the eaves, or though a native rock happen to project\nconveniently, and to be built into the framework of the wall. On the\nother hand, after a building has once reached the mark of majestic size,\nit matters, indeed, comparatively little whether its masonry be large or\nsmall, but if it be altogether large, it will sometimes diminish the\nmagnitude for want of a measure; if altogether small, it will suggest\nideas of poverty in material, or deficiency in mechanical resource,\nbesides interfering in many cases with the lines of the design, and\ndelicacy of the workmanship. A very unhappy instance of such\ninterference exists in the facade of the church of St. Madeleine at\nParis, where the columns, being built of very small stones of nearly\nequal size, with visible joints, look as if they were covered with a\nclose trellis. So, then, that masonry will be generally the most\nmagnificent which, without the use of materials systematically small or\nlarge, accommodates itself, naturally and frankly, to the conditions and\nstructure of its work, and displays alike its power of dealing with the\nvastest masses, and of accomplishing its purpose with the smallest,\nsometimes heaping rock upon rock with Titanic commandment, and anon\nbinding the dusty remnants and edgy splinters into springing vaults and\nswelling domes. And if the nobility of this confessed and natural\nmasonry were more commonly felt, we should not lose the dignity of it by\nsmoothing surfaces and fitting joints. The sums which we waste in\nchiselling and polishing stones which would have been better left as\nthey came from the quarry would often raise a building a story higher.\nOnly in this there is to be a certain respect for material also: for if\nwe build in marble, or in any limestone, the known ease of the\nworkmanship will make its absence seem slovenly; it will be well to take\nadvantage of the stone's softness, and to make the design delicate and\ndependent upon smoothness of chiselled surfaces: but if we build in\ngranite or lava, it is a folly, in most cases, to cast away the labor\nnecessary to smooth it; it is wiser to make the design granitic itself,\nand to leave the blocks rudely squared. I do not deny a certain splendor\nand sense of power in the smoothing of granite, and in the entire\nsubduing of its iron resistance to the human supremacy. But, in most\ncases, I believe, the labor and time necessary to do this would be\nbetter spent in another way; and that to raise a building to a height of\na hundred feet with rough blocks, is better than to raise it to seventy\nwith smooth ones. There is also a magnificence in the natural cleavage\nof the stone to which the art must indeed be great that pretends to be\nequivalent; and a stern expression of brotherhood with the mountain\nheart from which it has been rent, ill-exchanged for a glistering\nobedience to the rule and measure of men. His eye must be delicate\nindeed, who would desire to see the Pitti palace polished.\n\nXII. Next to those of the masonry, we have to consider the divisions of\nthe design itself. Those divisions are, necessarily, either into masses\nof light and shade, or else by traced lines; which latter must be,\nindeed, themselves produced by incisions or projections which, in some\nlights, cast a certain breadth of shade, but which may, nevertheless, if\nfinely enough cut, be always true lines, in distant effect. I call, for\ninstance, such panelling as that of Henry the Seventh's chapel, pure\nlinear division.\n\nNow, it does not seem to me sufficiently recollected, that a wall\nsurface is to an architect simply what a white canvas is to a painter,\nwith this only difference, that the wall has already a sublimity in its\nheight, substance, and other characters already considered, on which it\nis more dangerous to break than to touch with shade the canvas surface.\nAnd, for my own part, I think a smooth, broad, freshly laid surface of\ngesso a fairer thing than most pictures I see painted on it; much more,\na noble surface of stone than most architectural features which it is\ncaused to assume. But however this may be, the canvas and wall are\nsupposed to be given, and it is our craft to divide them.\n\nAnd the principles on which this division is to be made, are as regards\nrelation of quantities, the same in architecture as in painting, or\nindeed, in any other art whatsoever, only the painter is by his varied\nsubject partly permitted, partly compelled, to dispense with the\nsymmetry of architectural light and shade, and to adopt arrangements\napparently free and accidental. So that in modes of grouping there is\nmuch difference (though no opposition) between the two arts; but in\nrules of quantity, both are alike, so far forth as their commands of\nmeans are alike. For the architect, not being able to secure always the\nsame depth or decision of shadow, nor to add to its sadness by color\n(because even when color is employed, it cannot follow the moving\nshade), is compelled to make many allowances, and avail himself of many\ncontrivances, which the painter needs neither consider nor employ.\n\nXIII. Of these limitations the first consequence is, that positive shade\nis a more necessary and more sublime thing in an architect's hands than\nin a painter's. For the latter being able to temper his light with an\nunder-tone throughout, and to make it delightful with sweet color, or\nawful with lurid color, and to represent distance, and air, and sun, by\nthe depth of it, and fill its whole space with expression, can deal with\nan enormous, nay, almost with an universal extent of it, and the best\npainters most delight in such extent; but as light, with the architect,\nis nearly always liable to become full and untempered sunshine seen upon\nsolid surface, his only rests, and his chief means of sublimity, are\ndefinite shades. So that, after size and weight, the Power of\narchitecture may be said to depend on the quantity (whether measured in\nspace or intenseness) of its shadow; and it seems to me, that the\nreality of its works, and the use and influence they have in the daily\nlife of men (as opposed to those works of art with which we have nothing\nto do but in times of rest or of pleasure) require of it that it should\nexpress a kind of human sympathy, by a measure of darkness as great as\nthere is in human life: and that as the great poem and great fiction\ngenerally affect us most by the majesty of their masses of shade, and\ncannot take hold upon us if they affect a continuance of lyric\nsprightliness, but must be serious often, and sometimes melancholy, else\nthey do not express the truth of this wild world of ours; so there must\nbe, in this magnificently human art of architecture, some equivalent\nexpression for the trouble and wrath of life, for its sorrow and its\nmystery: and this it can only give by depth or diffusion of gloom, by\nthe frown upon its front, and the shadow of its recess. So that\nRembrandtism is a noble manner in architecture, though a false one in\npainting; and I do not believe that ever any building was truly great,\nunless it had mighty masses, vigorous and deep, of shadow mingled with\nits surface. And among the first habits that a young architect should\nlearn, is that of thinking in shadow, not looking at a design in its\nmiserable liny skeleton; but conceiving it as it will be when the dawn\nlights it, and the dusk leaves it; when its stones will be hot and its\ncrannies cool; when the lizards will bask on the one, and the birds\nbuild in the other. Let him design with the sense of cold and heat upon\nhim; let him cut out the shadows, as men dig wells in unwatered plains;\nand lead along the lights, as a founder does his hot metal; let him keep\nthe full command of both, and see that he knows how they fall, and where\nthey fade. His paper lines and proportions are of no value: all that he\nhas to do must be done by spaces of light and darkness; and his business\nis to see that the one is broad and bold enough not to be swallowed up\nby twilight, and the other deep enough not to be dried like a shallow\npool by a noon-day sun.\n\nAnd that this may be, the first necessity is that the quantities of\nshade or light, whatever they may be, shall be thrown into masses,\neither of something like equal weight, or else large masses of the one\nrelieved with small of the other; but masses of one or other kind there\nmust be. No design that is divided at all, and is not divided into\nmasses, can ever be of the smallest value: this great law respecting\nbreadth, precisely the same in architecture and painting, is so\nimportant, that the examination of its two principal applications will\ninclude most of the conditions of majestic design on which I would at\npresent insist.\n\nXIV. Painters are in the habit of speaking loosely of masses of light\nand shade, meaning thereby any large spaces of either. Nevertheless, it\nis convenient sometimes to restrict the term \"mass\" to the portions to\nwhich proper form belongs, and to call the field on which such forms are\ntraced, interval. Thus, in foliage with projecting boughs or stems, we\nhave masses of light, with intervals of shade; and, in light skies with\ndark clouds upon them, masses of shade with intervals of light.\n\nThis distinction is, in architecture, still more necessary; for there\nare two marked styles dependent upon it: one in which the forms are\ndrawn with light upon darkness, as in Greek sculpture and pillars; the\nother in which they are drawn with darkness upon light, as in early\nGothic foliation. Now, it is not in the designer's power determinately\nto vary degrees and places of darkness, but it is altogether in his\npower to vary in determined directions his degrees of light. Hence, the\nuse of the dark mass characterises, generally, a trenchant style of\ndesign, in which the darks and lights are both flat, and terminated by\nsharp edges; while the use of the light mass is in the same way\nassociated with a softened and full manner of design, in which the darks\nare much warmed by reflected lights, and the lights are rounded and melt\ninto them. The term applied by Milton to Doric bas-relief--\"bossy,\" is,\nas is generally the case with Milton's epithets, the most comprehensive\nand expressive of this manner, which the English language contains;\nwhile the term which specifically describes the chief member of early\nGothic decoration, feuille, foil or leaf, is equally significative of a\nflat space of shade.\n\nXV. We shall shortly consider the actual modes in which these two kinds\nof mass have been treated. And, first, of the light, or rounded, mass.\nThe modes in which relief was secured for the more projecting forms of\nbas-relief, by the Greeks, have been too well described by Mr.\nEastlake[I] to need recapitulation: the conclusion which forces itself\nupon us from the facts he has remarked, being one on which I shall have\noccasion farther to insist presently, that the Greek workman cared for\nshadow only as a dark field wherefrom his light figure or design might\nbe intelligibly detached: his attention was concentrated on the one aim\nat readableness, and clearness of accent; and all composition, all\nharmony, nay, the very vitality and energy of separate groups were, when\nnecessary, sacrificed to plain speaking. Nor was there any predilection\nfor one kind of form rather than another. Bounded forms were, in the\ncolumns and principal decorative members, adopted, not for their own\nsake, but as characteristic of the things represented. They were\nbeautifully rounded, because the Greek habitually did well what he had\nto do, not because he loved roundness more than squareness; severely\nrectilinear forms were associated with the curved ones in the cornice\nand triglyph, and the mass of the pillar was divided by a fluting,\nwhich, in distant effect, destroyed much of its breadth. What power of\nlight these primal arrangements left, was diminished in successive\nrefinements and additions of ornament; and continued to diminish through\nRoman work, until the confirmation of the circular arch as a decorative\nfeature. Its lovely and simple line taught the eye to ask for a similar\nboundary of solid form; the dome followed, and necessarily the\ndecorative masses were thenceforward managed with reference to, and in\nsympathy with, the chief feature of the building. Hence arose, among the\nByzantine architects, a system of ornament, entirely restrained within\nthe superfices of curvilinear masses, on which the light fell with as\nunbroken gradation as on a dome or column, while the illumined surface\nwas nevertheless cut into details of singular and most ingenious\nintricacy. Something is, of course, to be allowed for the less dexterity\nof the workmen; it being easier to cut down into a solid block, than to\narrange the projecting portions of leaf on the Greek capital: such leafy\ncapitals are nevertheless executed by the Byzantines with skill enough\nto show that their preference of the massive form was by no means\ncompulsory, nor can I think it unwise. On the contrary, while the\narrangements of _line_ are far more artful in the Greek capital, the\nByzantine light and shade are as incontestably more grand and masculine,\nbased on that quality of pure gradation, which nearly all natural\nobjects possess, and the attainment of which is, in fact, the first and\nmost palpable purpose in natural arrangements of grand form. The rolling\nheap of the thunder-cloud, divided by rents, and multiplied by wreaths,\nyet gathering them all into its broad, torrid, and towering zone, and\nits midnight darkness opposite; the scarcely less majestic heave of the\nmountain side, all torn and traversed by depth of defile and ridge of\nrock, yet never losing the unity of its illumined swell and shadowy\ndecline; and the head of every mighty tree, rich with tracery of leaf\nand bough, yet terminated against the sky by a true line, and rounded by\na green horizon, which, multiplied in the distant forest, makes it look\nbossy from above; all these mark, for a great and honored law, that\ndiffusion of light for which the Byzantine ornaments were designed; and\nshow us that those builders had truer sympathy with what God made\nmajestic, than the self-contemplating and self-contented Greek. I know\nthat they are barbaric in comparison; but there is a power in their\nbarbarism of sterner tone, a power not sophistic nor penetrative, but\nembracing and mysterious; a power faithful more than thoughtful, which\nconceived and felt more than it created; a power that neither\ncomprehended nor ruled itself, but worked and wandered as it listed,\nlike mountain streams and winds; and which could not rest in the\nexpression or seizure of finite form. It could not bury itself in\nacanthus leaves. Its imagery was taken from the shadows of the storms\nand hills, and had fellowship with the night and day of the earth\nitself.\n\n    [I] Literature of the Fine Arts.--Essay on Bas-relief.\n\nXVI. I have endeavored to give some idea of one of the hollow balls of\nstone which, surrounded by flowing leafage, occur in varied succession\non the architrave of the central gate of St. Mark's at Venice, in Plate\nI. fig. 2. It seems to me singularly beautiful in its unity of\nlightness, and delicacy of detail, with breadth of light. It looks as if\nits leaves had been sensitive, and had risen and shut themselves into a\nbud at some sudden touch, and would presently fall back again into their\nwild flow. The cornices of San Michele of Lucca, seen above and below\nthe arch, in Plate VI., show the effect of heavy leafage and thick stems\narranged on a surface whose curve is a simple quadrant, the light dying\nfrom off them as it turns. It would be difficult, as I think, to invent\nanything more noble; and I insist on the broad character of their\narrangement the more earnestly, because, afterwards modified by greater\nskill in its management, it became characteristic of the richest pieces\nof Gothic design. The capital, given in Plate V., is of the noblest\nperiod of the Venetian Gothic; and it is interesting to see the play of\nleafage so luxuriant, absolutely subordinated to the breadth of two\nmasses of light and shade. What is done by the Venetian architect, with\na power as irresistible as that of the waves of his surrounding sea, is\ndone by the masters of the Cis-Alpine Gothic, more timidly, and with a\nmanner somewhat cramped and cold, but not less expressing their assent\nto the same great law. The ice spiculae of the North, and its broken\nsunshine, seem to have image in, and influence on the work; and the\nleaves which, under the Italian's hand, roll, and flow, and bow down\nover their black shadows, as in the weariness of noon-day heat, are, in\nthe North, crisped and frost-bitten, wrinkled on the edges, and\nsparkling as if with dew. But the rounding of the ruling form is not\nless sought and felt. In the lower part of Plate I. is the finial of the\npediment given in Plate II., from the cathedral of St. Lo. It is exactly\nsimilar in feeling to the Byzantine capital, being rounded under the\nabacus by four branches of thistle leaves, whose stems, springing from\nthe angles, bend outwards and fall back to the head, throwing their\njaggy spines down upon the full light, forming two sharp quatre-foils. I\ncould not get near enough to this finial to see with what degree of\ndelicacy the spines were cut; but I have sketched a natural group of\nthistle-leaves beside it, that the reader may compare the types, and see\nwith what mastery they are subjected to the broad form of the whole. The\nsmall capital from Coutances, Plate XIII. fig. 4, which is of earlier\ndate, is of simpler elements, and exhibits the principle still more\nclearly; but the St. Lo finial is only one of a thousand instances which\nmight be gathered even from the fully developed flamboyant, the feeling\nof breadth being retained in minor ornaments long after it had been lost\nin the main design, and sometimes capriciously renewing itself\nthroughout, as in the cylindrical niches and pedestals which enrich the\nporches of Caudebec and Rouen. Fig. 1, Plate I. is the simplest of those\nof Rouen; in the more elaborate there are four projecting sides, divided\nby buttresses into eight rounded compartments of tracery; even the whole\nbulk of the outer pier is treated with the same feeling; and though\ncomposed partly of concave recesses, partly of square shafts, partly of\nstatues and tabernacle work, arranges itself as a whole into one richly\nrounded tower.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE V.--(Page 88--Vol. V.)\n  CAPITAL FROM THE LOWER ARCADE OF THE DOGE'S PALACE, VENICE.]\n\nXVII. I cannot here enter into the curious questions connected with the\nmanagement of larger curved surfaces; into the causes of the difference\nin proportion necessary to be observed between round and square towers;\nnor into the reasons why a column or ball may be richly ornamented,\nwhile surface decorations would be inexpedient on masses like the Castle\nof St. Angelo, the tomb of Cecilia Metella, or the dome of St. Peter's.\nBut what has been above said of the desireableness of serenity in plane\nsurfaces, applies still more forcibly to those which are curved; and it\nis to be remembered that we are, at present, considering how this\nserenity and power may be carried into minor divisions, not how the\nornamental character of the lower form may, upon occasion, be permitted\nto fret the calmness of the higher. Nor, though the instances we have\nexamined are of globular or cylindrical masses chiefly, is it to be\nthought that breadth can only be secured by such alone: many of the\nnoblest forms are of subdued curvature, sometimes hardly visible; but\ncurvature of some degree there must be, in order to secure any measure\nof grandeur in a small mass of light. One of the most marked\ndistinctions between one artist and another, in the point of skill, will\nbe found in their relative delicacy of perception of rounded surface;\nthe full power of expressing the perspective, foreshortening and various\nundulation of such surface is, perhaps, the last and most difficult\nattainment of the hand and eye. For instance: there is, perhaps, no tree\nwhich has baffled the landscape painter more than the common black\nspruce fir. It is rare that we see any representation of it other than\ncaricature. It is conceived as if it grew in one plane, or as a section\nof a tree, with a set of boughs symmetrically dependent on opposite\nsides. It is thought formal, unmanageable, and ugly. It would be so, if\nit grew as it is drawn. But the power of the tree is not in that\nchandelier-like section. It is in the dark, flat, solid tables of\nleafage, which it holds out on its strong arms, curved slightly over\nthem like shields, and spreading towards the extremity like a hand. It\nis vain to endeavor to paint the sharp, grassy, intricate leafage, until\nthis ruling form has been secured; and in the boughs that approach the\nspectator, the foreshortening of it is like that of a wide hill\ncountry, ridge just rising over ridge in successive distances; and the\nfinger-like extremities, foreshortened to absolute bluntness, require a\ndelicacy in the rendering of them like that of the drawing of the hand\nof the Magdalene upon the vase in Mr. Rogers's Titian. Get but the back\nof that foliage, and you have the tree; but I cannot name the artist who\nhas thoroughly felt it. So, in all drawing and sculpture, it is the\npower of rounding, softly and perfectly, every inferior mass which\npreserves the serenity, as it follows the truth, of Nature, and which\ndemands the highest knowledge and skill from the workman. A noble design\nmay always be told by the back of a single leaf, and it was the\nsacrifice of this breadth and refinement of surface for sharp edges and\nextravagant undercutting, which destroyed the Gothic mouldings, as the\nsubstitution of the line for the light destroyed the Gothic tracery.\nThis change, however, we shall better comprehend after we have glanced\nat the chief conditions of arrangement of the second kind of mass; that\nwhich is flat, and of shadow only.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE VI.--(Page 90--Vol. V.)\n  ARCH FROM THE FACADE OF THE CHURCH OF SAN MICHELE AT LUCCA.]\n\nXVIII. We have noted above how the wall surface, composed of rich\nmaterials, and covered with costly work, in modes which we shall examine\nin the next Chapter, became a subject of peculiar interest to the\nChristian architects. Its broad flat lights could only be made valuable\nby points or masses of energetic shadow, which were obtained by the\nRomanesque architect by means of ranges of recessed arcade, in the\nmanagement of which, however, though all the effect depends upon the\nshadow so obtained, the eye is still, as in classical architecture,\ncaused to dwell upon the projecting columns, capitals, and wall, as in\nPlate VI. But with the enlargement of the window, which, in the Lombard\nand Romanesque churches, is usually little more than an arched slit,\ncame the conception of the simpler mode of decoration, by penetrations\nwhich, seen from within, are forms of light, and, from without, are\nforms of shade. In Italian traceries the eye is exclusively fixed upon\nthe dark forms of the penetrations, and the whole proportion and power\nof the design are caused to depend upon them. The intermediate spaces\nare, indeed, in the most perfect early examples, filled with elaborate\nornament; but this ornament was so subdued as never to disturb the\nsimplicity and force of the dark masses; and in many instances is\nentirely wanting. The composition of the whole depends on the\nproportioning and shaping of the darks; and it is impossible that\nanything can be more exquisite than their placing in the head window of\nthe Giotto campanile, Plate IX., or the church of Or San Michele. So\nentirely does the effect depend upon them, that it is quite useless to\ndraw Italian tracery in outline; if with any intention of rendering its\neffect, it is better to mark the black spots, and let the rest alone. Of\ncourse, when it is desired to obtain an accurate rendering of the\ndesign, its lines and mouldings are enough; but it often happens that\nworks on architecture are of little use, because they afford the reader\nno means of judging of the effective intention of the arrangements which\nthey state. No person, looking at an architectural drawing of the richly\nfoliaged cusps and intervals of Or San Michele, would understand that\nall this sculpture was extraneous, was a mere added grace, and had\nnothing to do with the real anatomy of the work, and that by a few bold\ncuttings through a slab of stone he might reach the main effect of it\nall at once. I have, therefore, in the plate of the design of Giotto,\nendeavored especially to mark these points of _purpose_; there, as in\nevery other instance, black shadows of a graceful form lying on the\nwhite surface of the stone, like dark leaves laid upon snow. Hence, as\nbefore observed, the universal name of foil applied to such ornaments.\n\nXIX. In order to the obtaining their full effect, it is evident that\nmuch caution is necessary in the management of the glass. In the finest\ninstances, the traceries are open lights, either in towers, as in this\ndesign of Giotto's or in external arcades like that of the Campo Santo\nat Pisa or the Doge's palace at Venice; and it is thus only that their\nfull beauty is shown. In domestic buildings, or in windows of churches\nnecessarily glazed, the glass was usually withdrawn entirely behind the\ntraceries. Those of the Cathedral of Florence stand quite clear of it,\ncasting their shadows in well detached lines, so as in most lights to\ngive the appearance of a double tracery. In those few instances in which\nthe glass was set in the tracery itself, as in Or San Michele, the\neffect of the latter is half destroyed: perhaps the especial attention\npaid by Orgagna to his surface ornament, was connected with the\nintention of so glazing them. It is singular to see, in late\narchitecture, the glass, which tormented the older architects,\nconsidered as a valuable means of making the lines of tracery more\nslender; as in the smallest intervals of the windows of Merton College,\nOxford, where the glass is advanced about two inches from the centre of\nthe tracery bar (that in the larger spaces being in the middle, as\nusual), in order to prevent the depth of shadow from farther diminishing\nthe apparent interval. Much of the lightness of the effect of the\ntraceries is owing to this seemingly unimportant arrangement. But,\ngenerally speaking, glass spoils all traceries; and it is much to be\nwished that it should be kept well within them, when it cannot be\ndispensed with, and that the most careful and beautiful designs should\nbe reserved for situations where no glass would be needed.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE VII.--(Page 93--Vol. V.)\n  PIERCED ORNAMENTS FROM LISIEUX, BAYEUX, VERONA, AND PADUA.]\n\nXX. The method of decoration by shadow was, as far as we have hitherto\ntraced it, common to the northern and southern Gothic. But in the\ncarrying out of the system they instantly diverged. Having marble at his\ncommand, and classical decoration in his sight, the southern architect\nwas able to carve the intermediate spaces with exquisite leafage, or to\nvary his wall surface with inlaid stones. The northern architect neither\nknew the ancient work, nor possessed the delicate material; and he had\nno resource but to cover his walls with holes, cut into foiled shapes\nlike those of the windows. This he did, often with great clumsiness, but\nalways with a vigorous sense of composition, and always, observe,\ndepending on the _shadows_ for effect. Where the wall was thick and\ncould not be cut through, and the foilings were large, those shadows\ndid not fill the entire space; but the form was, nevertheless, drawn on\nthe eye by means of them, and when it was possible, they were cut clear\nthrough, as in raised screens of pediment, like those on the west front\nof Bayeux; cut so deep in every case, as to secure, in all but a direct\nlow front light, great breadth of shadow.\n\nThe spandril, given at the top of Plate VII., is from the southwestern\nentrance of the Cathedral of Lisieux; one of the most quaint and\ninteresting doors in Normandy, probably soon to be lost forever, by the\ncontinuance of the masonic operations which have already destroyed the\nnorthern tower. Its work is altogether rude, but full of spirit; the\nopposite spandrils have different, though balanced, ornaments very\ninaccurately adjusted, each rosette or star (as the five-rayed figure,\nnow quite defaced, in the upper portion appears to have been) cut on its\nown block of stone and fitted in with small nicety, especially\nillustrating the point I have above insisted upon--the architect's utter\nneglect of the forms of intermediate stone, at this early period.\n\nThe arcade, of which a single arch and shaft are given on the left,\nforms the flank of the door; three outer shafts bearing three orders\nwithin the spandril which I have drawn, and each of these shafts carried\nover an inner arcade, decorated above with quatre-foils, cut concave and\nfilled with leaves, the whole disposition exquisitely picturesque and\nfull of strange play of light and shade.\n\nFor some time the penetrative ornaments, if so they may be for\nconvenience called, maintained their bold and independent character.\nThen they multiplied and enlarged, becoming shallower as they did so;\nthen they began to run together, one swallowing up, or hanging on to,\nanother, like bubbles in expiring foam--fig. 4, from a spandril at\nBayeux, looks as if it had been blown from a pipe; finally, they lost\ntheir individual character altogether, and the eye was made to rest on\nthe separating lines of tracery, as we saw before in the window; and\nthen came the great change and the fall of the Gothic power.\n\nXXI. Figs. 2 and 3, the one a quadrant of the star window of the little\nchapel close to St. Anastasia at Verona, and the other a very singular\nexample from the church of the Eremitani at Padua, compared with fig. 5,\none of the ornaments of the transept towers of Rouen, show the closely\ncorrespondent conditions of the early Northern and Southern Gothic.[10]\nBut, as we have said, the Italian architects, not being embarrassed for\ndecoration of wall surface, and not being obliged, like the Northmen, to\nmultiply their penetrations, held to the system for some time longer;\nand while they increased the refinement of the ornament, kept the purity\nof the plan. That refinement of ornament was their weak point, however,\nand opened the way for the renaissance attack. They fell, like the old\nRomans, by their luxury, except in the separate instance of the\nmagnificent school of Venice. That architecture began with the\nluxuriance in which all others expired: it founded itself on the\nByzantine mosaic and fretwork; and laying aside its ornaments, one by\none, while it fixed its forms by laws more and more severe, stood forth,\nat last, a model of domestic Gothic, so grand, so complete, so nobly\nsystematised, that, to my mind, there never existed an architecture with\nso stern a claim to our reverence. I do not except even the Greek Doric;\nthe Doric had cast nothing away; the fourteenth century Venetian had\ncast away, one by one, for a succession of centuries, every splendor\nthat art and wealth could give it. It had laid down its crown and its\njewels, its gold and its color, like a king disrobing; it had resigned\nits exertion, like an athlete reposing; once capricious and fantastic,\nit had bound itself by laws inviolable and serene as those of nature\nherself. It retained nothing but its beauty and its power; both the\nhighest, but both restrained. The Doric flutings were of irregular\nnumber--the Venetian mouldings were unchangeable. The Doric manner of\nornament admitted no temptation, it was the fasting of an anchorite--the\nVenetian ornament embraced, while it governed, all vegetable and animal\nforms; it was the temperance of a man, the command of Adam over\ncreation. I do not know so magnificent a marking of human authority as\nthe iron grasp of the Venetian over his own exuberance of\nimagination; the calm and solemn restraint with which, his mind filled\nwith thoughts of flowing leafage and fiery life, he gives those thoughts\nexpression for an instant, and then withdraws within those massy bars\nand level cusps of stone.[11]\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE VIII.--(Page 95--Vol. V.)\n  WINDOW FROM THE CA' FOSCARI, VENICE.]\n\nAnd his power to do this depended altogether on his retaining the forms\nof the shadows in his sight. Far from carrying the eye to the ornaments,\nupon the stone, he abandoned these latter one by one; and while his\nmouldings received the most shapely order and symmetry, closely\ncorrespondent with that of the Rouen tracery, compare Plates III. and\nVIII., he kept the cusps within them perfectly flat, decorated, if at\nall, with a trefoil (Palazzo Foscari), or fillet (Doge's Palace) just\ntraceable and no more, so that the quatrefoil, cut as sharply through\nthem as if it had been struck out by a stamp, told upon the eye, with\nall its four black leaves, miles away. No knots of flowerwork, no\nornaments of any kind, were suffered to interfere with the purity of its\nform: the cusp is usually quite sharp; but slightly truncated in the\nPalazzo Foscari, and charged with a simple ball in that of the Doge; and\nthe glass of the window, where there was any, was, as we have seen,\nthrown back behind the stone-work, that no flashes of light might\ninterfere with its depth. Corrupted forms, like those of the Casa d'Oro\nand Palazzo Pisani, and several others, only serve to show the majesty\nof the common design.\n\nXXII. Such are the principal circumstances traceable in the treatment of\nthe two kinds of masses of light and darkness, in the hands of the\nearlier architects; gradation in the one, flatness in the other, and\nbreadth in both, being the qualities sought and exhibited by every\npossible expedient, up to the period when, as we have before stated, the\nline was substituted for the mass, as the means of division of surface.\nEnough has been said to illustrate this, as regards tracery; but a word\nor two is still necessary respecting the mouldings.\n\nThose of the earlier times were, in the plurality of instances, composed\nof alternate square and cylindrical shafts, variously associated and\nproportioned. Where concave cuttings occur, as in the beautiful west\ndoors of Bayeux, they are between cylindrical shafts, which they throw\nout into broad light. The eye in all cases dwells on broad surfaces, and\ncommonly upon few. In course of time, a low ridgy process is seen\nemerging along the outer edge of the cylindrical shaft, forming a line\nof light upon it and destroying its gradation. Hardly traceable at first\n(as on the alternate rolls of the north door of Rouen), it grows and\npushes out as gradually as a stag's horns: sharp at first on the edge;\nbut, becoming prominent, it receives a truncation, and becomes a\ndefinite fillet on the face of the roll. Not yet to be checked, it\npushes forward until the roll itself becomes subordinate to it, and is\nfinally lost in a slight swell upon its sides, while the concavities\nhave all the time been deepening and enlarging behind it, until, from a\nsuccession of square or cylindrical masses, the whole moulding has\nbecome a series of _concavities_ edged by delicate fillets, upon which\n(sharp _lines_ of light, observe) the eye exclusively rests. While this\nhas been taking place, a similar, though less total, change has affected\nthe flowerwork itself. In Plate I. fig. 2 (_a_), I have given two from\nthe transepts of Rouen. It will be observed how absolutely the eye rests\non the forms of the leaves, and on the three berries in the angle, being\nin light exactly what the trefoil is in darkness. These mouldings nearly\nadhere to the stone; and are very slightly, though sharply, undercut. In\nprocess of time, the attention of the architect, instead of resting on\nthe leaves, went to the _stalks_. These latter were elongated (_b_, from\nthe south door of St. Lo); and to exhibit them better, the deep\nconcavity was cut behind, so as to throw them out in lines of light. The\nsystem was carried out into continually increasing intricacy, until, in\nthe transepts of Beauvais, we have brackets and flamboyant traceries,\ncomposed of twigs without any leaves at all. This, however, is a\npartial, though a sufficiently characteristic, caprice, the leaf being\nnever generally banished, and in the mouldings round those same doors,\nbeautifully managed, but itself rendered liny by bold marking of its\nribs and veins, and by turning up, and crisping its edges, large\nintermediate spaces being always left to be occupied by intertwining\nstems (_c_, from Caudebec). The trefoil of light formed by berries or\nacorns, though diminished in value, was never lost up to the last period\nof living Gothic.\n\nXXIII. It is interesting to follow into its many ramifications, the\ninfluence of the corrupting principle; but we have seen enough of it to\nenable us to draw our practical conclusion--a conclusion a thousand\ntimes felt and reiterated in the experience and advice of every\npractised artist, but never often enough repeated, never profoundly\nenough felt. Of composition and invention much has been written, it\nseems to me vainly, for men cannot be taught to compose or to invent; of\nthese, the highest elements of Power in architecture, I do not,\ntherefore, speak; nor, here, of that peculiar restraint in the imitation\nof natural forms, which constitutes the dignity of even the most\nluxuriant work of the great periods. Of this restraint I shall say a\nword or two in the next Chapter; pressing now only the conclusion, as\npractically useful as it is certain, that the relative majesty of\nbuildings depends more on the weight and vigor of their masses than on\nany other attribute of their design: mass of everything, of bulk, of\nlight, of darkness, of color, not mere sum of any of these, but breadth\nof them; not broken light, nor scattered darkness, nor divided weight,\nbut solid stone, broad sunshine, starless shade. Time would fail me\naltogether, if I attempted to follow out the range of the principle;\nthere is not a feature, however apparently trifling, to which it cannot\ngive power. The wooden fillings of belfry lights, necessary to protect\ntheir interiors from rain, are in England usually divided into a number\nof neatly executed cross-bars, like those of Venetian blinds, which, of\ncourse, become as conspicuous in their sharpness as they are\nuninteresting in their precise carpentry, multiplying, moreover, the\nhorizontal lines which directly contradict those of the architecture.\nAbroad, such necessities are met by three or four downright penthouse\nroofs, reaching each from within the window to the outside shafts of its\nmouldings; instead of the horrible row of ruled lines, the space is thus\ndivided into four or five grand masses of shadow, with grey slopes of\nroof above, bent or yielding into all kinds of delicious swells and\ncurves, and covered with warm tones of moss and lichen. Very often the\nthing is more delightful than the stone-work itself, and all because it\nis broad, dark, and simple. It matters not how clumsy, how common, the\nmeans are, that get weight and shadow--sloping roof, jutting porch,\nprojecting balcony, hollow niche, massy gargoyle, frowning parapet; get\nbut gloom and simplicity, and all good things will follow in their place\nand time; do but design with the owl's eyes first, and you will gain the\nfalcon's afterwards.\n\nXXIV. I am grieved to have to insist upon what seems so simple; it looks\ntrite and commonplace when it is written, but pardon me this: for it is\nanything but an accepted or understood principle in practice, and the\nless excusably forgotten, because it is, of all the great and true laws\nof art, the easiest to obey. The executive facility of complying with\nits demands cannot be too earnestly, too frankly asserted. There are not\nfive men in the kingdom who could compose, not twenty who could cut, the\nfoliage with which the windows of Or San Michele are adorned; but there\nis many a village clergyman who could invent and dispose its black\nopenings, and not a village mason who could not cut them. Lay a few\nclover or wood-roof leaves on white paper, and a little alteration in\ntheir positions will suggest figures which, cut boldly through a slab of\nmarble, would be worth more window traceries than an architect could\ndraw in a summer's day. There are few men in the world who could design\na Greek capital; there are few who could not produce some vigor of\neffect with leaf designs on Byzantine block: few who could design a\nPalladian front, or a flamboyant pediment; many who could build a square\nmass like the Strozzi palace. But I know not how it is, unless that our\nEnglish hearts have more oak than stone in them, and have more filial\nsympathy with acorns than Alps; but all that we do is small and mean, if\nnot worse--thin, and wasted, and unsubstantial. It is not modern work\nonly; we have built like frogs and mice since the thirteenth century\n(except only in our castles). What a contrast between the pitiful little\npigeon-holes which stand for doors in the east front of Salisbury,\nlooking like the entrances to a beehive or a wasp's nest, and the\nsoaring arches and kingly crowning of the gates of Abbeville, Rouen, and\nRheims, or the rock-hewn piers of Chartres, or the dark and vaulted\nporches and writhed pillars of Verona! Of domestic architecture what\nneed is there to speak? How small, how cramped, how poor, how miserable\nin its petty neatness is our best! how beneath the mark of attack, and\nthe level of contempt, that which is common with us! What a strange\nsense of formalised deformity, of shrivelled precision, of starved\naccuracy, of minute misanthropy have we, as we leave even the rude\nstreets of Picardy for the market towns of Kent! Until that street\narchitecture of ours is bettered, until we give it some size and\nboldness, until we give our windows recess, and our walls thickness, I\nknow not how we can blame our architects for their feebleness in more\nimportant work; their eyes are inured to narrowness and slightness: can\nwe expect them at a word to conceive and deal with breadth and solidity?\nThey ought not to live in our cities; there is that in their miserable\nwalls which bricks up to death men's imaginations, as surely as ever\nperished forsworn nun. An architect should live as little in cities as a\npainter. Send him to our hills, and let him study there what nature\nunderstands by a buttress, and what by a dome. There was something in\nthe old power of architecture, which it had from the recluse more than\nfrom the citizen. The buildings of which I have spoken with chief\npraise, rose, indeed, out of the war of the piazza, and above the fury\nof the populace: and Heaven forbid that for such cause we should ever\nhave to lay a larger stone, or rivet a firmer bar, in our England! But\nwe have other sources of power, in the imagery of our iron coasts and\nazure hills; of power more pure, nor less serene, than that of the\nhermit spirit which once lighted with white lines of cloisters the\nglades of the Alpine pine, and raised into ordered spires the wild rocks\nof the Norman sea; which gave to the temple gate the depth and darkness\nof Elijah's Horeb cave; and lifted, out of the populous city, grey\ncliffs of lonely stone, into the midst of sailing birds and silent air.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE LAMP OF BEAUTY.\n\n\nI. It was stated, in the outset of the preceding chapter, that the value\nof architecture depended on two distinct characters: the one, the\nimpression it receives from human power; the other, the image it bears\nof the natural creation. I have endeavored to show in what manner its\nmajesty was attributable to a sympathy with the effort and trouble of\nhuman life (a sympathy as distinctly perceived in the gloom and mystery\nof form, as it is in the melancholy tones of sounds). I desire now to\ntrace that happier element of its excellence, consisting in a noble\nrendering of images of Beauty, derived chiefly from the external\nappearances of organic nature.\n\nIt is irrelevant to our present purpose to enter into any inquiry\nrespecting the essential causes of impressions of beauty. I have partly\nexpressed my thoughts on this matter in a previous work, and I hope to\ndevelope them hereafter. But since all such inquiries can only be\nfounded on the ordinary understanding of what is meant by the term\nBeauty, and since they presume that the feeling of mankind on this\nsubject is universal and instinctive, I shall base my present\ninvestigation on this assumption; and only asserting that to be\nbeautiful which I believe will be granted me to be so without dispute, I\nwould endeavor shortly to trace the manner in which this element of\ndelight is to be best engrafted upon architectural design, what are the\npurest sources from which it is to be derived, and what the errors to be\navoided in its pursuit.\n\nII. It will be thought that I have somewhat rashly limited the elements\nof architectural beauty to imitative forms. I do not mean to assert that\nevery arrangement of line is directly suggested by a natural object; but\nthat all beautiful lines are adaptations of those which are commonest in\nthe external creation; that in proportion to the richness of their\nassociation, the resemblance to natural work, as a type and help, must\nbe more closely attempted, and more clearly seen; and that beyond a\ncertain point, and that a very low one, man cannot advance in the\ninvention of beauty, without directly imitating natural form. Thus, in\nthe Doric temple, the triglyph and cornice are unimitative; or imitative\nonly of artificial cuttings of wood. No one would call these members\nbeautiful. Their influence over us is in their severity and simplicity.\nThe fluting of the column, which I doubt not was the Greek symbol of the\nbark of the tree, was imitative in its origin, and feebly resembled many\ncaniculated organic structures. Beauty is instantly felt in it, but of a\nlow order. The decoration proper was sought in the true forms of organic\nlife, and those chiefly human. Again: the Doric capital was unimitative;\nbut all the beauty it had was dependent on the precision of its ovolo, a\nnatural curve of the most frequent occurrence. The Ionic capital (to my\nmind, as an architectural invention, exceedingly base) nevertheless\ndepended for all the beauty that it had on its adoption of a spiral\nline, perhaps the commonest of all that characterise the inferior orders\nof animal organism and habitation. Farther progress could not be made\nwithout a direct imitation of the acanthus leaf.\n\nAgain: the Romanesque arch is beautiful as an abstract line. Its type is\nalways before us in that of the apparent vault of heaven, and horizon of\nthe earth. The cylindrical pillar is always beautiful, for God has so\nmoulded the stem of every tree that it is pleasant to the eyes. The\npointed arch is beautiful; it is the termination of every leaf that\nshakes in summer wind, and its most fortunate associations are directly\nborrowed from the trefoiled grass of the field, or from the stars of its\nflowers. Further than this, man's invention could not reach without\nfrank imitation. His next step was to gather the flowers themselves, and\nwreathe them in his capitals.\n\nIII. Now, I would insist especially on the fact, of which I doubt not\nthat further illustrations will occur to the mind of every reader, that\nall most lovely forms and thoughts are directly taken from natural\nobjects; because I would fain be allowed to assume also the converse of\nthis, namely, that forms which are _not_ taken from natural objects\n_must_ be ugly. I know this is a bold assumption; but as I have not\nspace to reason out the points wherein essential beauty of form\nconsists, that being far too serious a work to be undertaken in a bye\nway, I have no other resource than to use this accidental mark or test\nof beauty, of whose truth the considerations which I hope hereafter to\nlay before the reader may assure him. I say an accidental mark, since\nforms are not beautiful _because_ they are copied from nature; only it\nis out of the power of man to conceive beauty without her aid. I believe\nthe reader will grant me this, even from the examples above advanced;\nthe degree of confidence with which it is granted must attach also to\nhis acceptance of the conclusions which will follow from it; but if it\nbe granted frankly, it will enable me to determine a matter of very\nessential importance, namely, what _is_ or is _not_ ornament. For there\nare many forms of so-called decoration in architecture, habitual, and\nreceived, therefore, with approval, or at all events without any venture\nat expression or dislike, which I have no hesitation in asserting to be\nnot ornament at all, but to be ugly things, the expense of which ought\nin truth to be set down in the architect's contract, as \"For\nMonstrification.\" I believe that we regard these customary deformities\nwith a savage complacency, as an Indian does his flesh patterns and\npaint (all nations being in certain degrees and senses savage). I\nbelieve that I can prove them to be monstrous, and I hope hereafter to\ndo so conclusively; but, meantime, I can allege in defence of my\npersuasion nothing but this fact of their being unnatural, to which the\nreader must attach such weight as he thinks it deserves. There is,\nhowever, a peculiar difficulty in using this proof; it requires the\nwriter to assume, very impertinently, that nothing is natural but what\nhe has seen or supposes to exist. I would not do this; for I suppose\nthere is no conceivable form or grouping of forms but in some part of\nthe universe an example of it may be found. But I think I am justified\nin considering those forms to be _most_ natural which are most frequent;\nor, rather, that on the shapes which in the every-day world are familiar\nto the eyes of men, God has stamped those characters of beauty which He\nhas made it man's nature to love; while in certain exceptional forms He\nhas shown that the adoption of the others was not a matter of necessity,\nbut part of the adjusted harmony of creation. I believe that thus we may\nreason from Frequency to Beauty and _vice versa_; that knowing a thing\nto be frequent, we may assume it to be beautiful; and assume that which\nis most frequent to be most beautiful: I mean, of course, _visibly_\nfrequent; for the forms of things which are hidden in caverns of the\nearth, or in the anatomy of animal frames, are evidently not intended by\ntheir Maker to bear the habitual gaze of man. And, again, by frequency I\nmean that limited and isolated frequency which is characteristic of all\nperfection; not mere multitude: as a rose is a common flower, but yet\nthere are not so many roses on the tree as there are leaves. In this\nrespect Nature is sparing of her highest, and lavish of her less,\nbeauty; but I call the flower as frequent as the leaf, because, each in\nits allotted quantity, where the one is, there will ordinarily be the\nother.\n\nIV. The first so-called ornament, then, which I would attack is that\nGreek fret, now, I believe, usually known by the Italian name Guilloche,\nwhich is exactly a case in point. It so happens that in crystals of\nbismuth formed by the unagitated cooling of the melted metal, there\noccurs a natural resemblance of it almost perfect. But crystals of\nbismuth not only are of unusual occurrence in every-day life, but their\nform is, as far as I know, unique among minerals; and not only unique,\nbut only attainable by an artificial process, the metal itself never\nbeing found pure. I do not remember any other substance or arrangement\nwhich presents a resemblance to this Greek ornament; and I think that I\nmay trust my remembrance as including most of the arrangements which\noccur in the outward forms of common and familiar things. On this\nground, then, I allege that ornament to be ugly; or, in the literal\nsense of the word, monstrous; different from anything which it is the\nnature of man to admire: and I think an uncarved fillet or plinth\ninfinitely preferable to one covered with this vile concatenation of\nstraight lines: unless indeed it be employed as a foil to a true\nornament, which it may, perhaps, sometimes with advantage; or\nexcessively small, as it occurs on coins, the harshness of its\narrangement being less perceived.\n\nV. Often in association with this horrible design we find, in Greek\nworks, one which is as beautiful as this is painful--that egg and dart\nmoulding, whose perfection in its place and way, has never been\nsurpassed. And why is this? Simply because the form of which it is\nchiefly composed is one not only familiar to us in the soft housing of\nthe bird's nest, but happens to be that of nearly every pebble that\nrolls and murmurs under the surf of the sea, on all its endless shore.\nAnd with that a peculiar accuracy; for the mass which bears the light in\nthis moulding is _not_ in good Greek work, as in the frieze of the\nErechtheum, merely of the shape of an egg. It is _flattened_ on the\nupper surface, with a delicacy and keen sense of variety in the curve\nwhich it is impossible too highly to praise, attaining exactly that\nflattened, imperfect oval, which, in nine cases out of ten, will be the\nform of the pebble lifted at random from the rolled beach. Leave out\nthis flatness, and the moulding is vulgar instantly. It is singular also\nthat the insertion of this rounded form in the hollow recess has a\n_painted_ type in the plumage of the Argus pheasant, the eyes of whose\nfeathers are so shaded as exactly to represent an oval form placed in a\nhollow.\n\nVI. It will evidently follow, upon our application of this test of\nnatural resemblance, that we shall at once conclude that all perfectly\nbeautiful forms must be composed of curves; since there is hardly any\ncommon natural form in which it is possible to discover a straight line.\nNevertheless, Architecture, having necessarily to deal with straight\nlines essential to its purposes in many instances and to the expression\nof its power in others, must frequently be content with that measure of\nbeauty which is consistent with such primal forms; and we may presume\nthat utmost measure of beauty to have been attained when the\narrangements of such lines are consistent with the most frequent natural\ngroupings of them we can discover, although, to find right lines in\nnature at all, we may be compelled to do violence to her finished work,\nbreak through the sculptured and colored surfaces of her crags, and\nexamine the processes of their crystallisation.\n\nVII. I have just convicted the Greek fret of ugliness, because it has no\nprecedent to allege for its arrangement except an artificial form of a\nrare metal. Let us bring into court an ornament of Lombard architects,\nPlate XII., fig. 7, as exclusively composed of right lines as the other,\nonly, observe, with the noble element of shadow added. This ornament,\ntaken from the front of the Cathedral of Pisa, is universal throughout\nthe Lombard churches of Pisa, Lucca, Pistoja, and Florence; and it will\nbe a grave stain upon them if it cannot be defended. Its first apology\nfor itself, made in a hurry, sounds marvellously like the Greek one, and\nhighly dubious. It says that its terminal contour is the very image of a\ncarefully prepared artificial crystal of common salt. Salt being,\nhowever, a substance considerably more familiar to us than bismuth, the\nchances are somewhat in favor of the accused Lombard ornament already.\nBut it has more to say for itself, and more to the purpose; namely, that\nits main outline is one not only of natural crystallisation, but among\nthe very first and commonest of crystalline forms, being the primal\ncondition of the occurrence of the oxides of iron, copper, and tin, of\nthe sulphurets of iron and lead, of fluor spar, &c.; and that those\nprojecting forms in its surface represent the conditions of structure\nwhich effect the change into another relative and equally common\ncrystalline form, the cube. This is quite enough. We may rest assured it\nis as good a combination of such simple right lines as can be put\ntogether, and gracefully fitted for every place in which such lines are\nnecessary.\n\nVIII. The next ornament whose cause I would try is that of our Tudor\nwork, the portcullis. Reticulation is common enough in natural form, and\nvery beautiful; but it is either of the most delicate and gauzy texture,\nor of variously sized meshes and undulating lines. There is no family\nrelation between portcullis and cobwebs or beetles' wings; something\nlike it, perhaps, may be found in some kinds of crocodile armor and on\nthe backs of the Northern divers, but always beautifully varied in size\nof mesh. There is a dignity in the thing itself, if its size were\nexhibited, and the shade given through its bars; but even these merits\nare taken away in the Tudor diminution of it, set on a solid surface. It\nhas not a single syllable, I believe, to say in its defence. It is\nanother monster, absolutely and unmitigatedly frightful. All that\ncarving on Henry the Seventh's Chapel simply deforms the stones of it.\n\nIn the same clause with the portcullis, we may condemn all heraldic\ndecoration, so far as beauty is its object. Its pride and significance\nhave their proper place, fitly occurring in prominent parts of the\nbuilding, as over its gates; and allowably in places where its legendary\nmay be plainly read, as in painted windows, bosses of ceilings, &c. And\nsometimes, of course, the forms which it presents may be beautiful, as\nof animals, or simple symbols like the fleur-de-lis; but, for the most\npart, heraldic similitudes and arrangements are so professedly and\npointedly unnatural, that it would be difficult to invent anything\nuglier; and the use of them as a repeated decoration will utterly\ndestroy both the power and beauty of any building. Common sense and\ncourtesy also forbid their repetition. It is right to tell those who\nenter your doors that you are such a one, and of such a rank; but to\ntell it to them again and again, wherever they turn, becomes soon\nimpertinence, and at last folly. Let, therefore, the entire bearings\noccur in few places, and these not considered as an ornament, but as an\ninscription; and for frequent appliance, let any single and fair symbol\nbe chosen out of them. Thus we may multiply as much as we choose the\nFrench fleur-de-lis, or the Florentine giglio bianco, or the English\nrose; but we must not multiply a King's arms.\n\nIX. It will also follow, from these considerations, that if any one part\nof heraldic decoration be worse than another, it is the motto; since, of\nall things unlike nature, the forms of letters are, perhaps, the most\nso. Even graphic tellurium and felspar look, at their clearest, anything\nbut legible. All letters are, therefore, to be considered as frightful\nthings, and to be endured only upon occasion; that is to say, in places\nwhere the sense of the inscription is of more importance than external\nornament. Inscriptions in churches, in rooms, and on pictures, are often\ndesirable, but they are not to be considered as architectural or\npictorial ornaments: they are, on the contrary, obstinate offences to\nthe eye, not to be suffered except when their intellectual office\nintroduces them. Place them, therefore, where they will be read, and\nthere only; and let them be plainly written, and not turned upside down,\nnor wrong end first. It is an ill sacrifice to beauty to make that\nillegible whose only merit is in its sense. Write it as you would speak\nit, simply; and do not draw the eye to it when it would fain rest\nelsewhere, nor recommend your sentence by anything but a little openness\nof place and architectural silence about it. Write the Commandments on\nthe Church walls where they may be plainly seen, but do not put a dash\nand a tail to every letter; and remember that you are an architect, not\na writing master.\n\nX. Inscriptions appear sometimes to be introduced for the sake of the\nscroll on which they are written; and in late and modern painted glass,\nas well as in architecture, these scrolls are flourished and turned\nhither and thither as if they were ornamental. Ribands occur frequently\nin arabesques,--in some of a high order, too,--tying up flowers, or\nflitting in and out among the fixed forms. Is there anything like\nribands in nature? It might be thought that grass and sea-weed afforded\napologetic types. They do not. There is a wide difference between their\nstructure and that of a riband. They have a skeleton, an anatomy, a\ncentral rib, or fibre, or framework of some kind or another, which has a\nbeginning and an end, a root and head, and whose make and strength\neffects every direction of their motion, and every line of their form.\nThe loosest weed that drifts and waves under the heaving of the sea, or\nhangs heavily on the brown and slippery shore, has a marked strength,\nstructure, elasticity, gradation of substance; its extremities are more\nfinely fibred than its centre, its centre than its root; every fork of\nits ramification is measured and proportioned; every wave of its languid\nlines is love. It has its allotted size, and place, and function; it is\na specific creature. What is there like this in a riband? It has no\nstructure: it is a succession of cut threads all alike; it has no\nskeleton, no make, no form, no size, no will of its own. You cut it and\ncrush it into what you will. It has no strength, no languor. It cannot\nfall into a single graceful form. It cannot wave, in the true sense, but\nonly flutter: it cannot bend, in the true sense, but only turn and be\nwrinkled. It is a vile thing; it spoils all that is near its wretched\nfilm of an existence. Never use it. Let the flowers come loose if they\ncannot keep together without being tied; leave the sentence unwritten if\nyou cannot write it on a tablet or book, or plain roll of paper. I know\nwhat authority there is against me. I remember the scrolls of Perugino's\nangels, and the ribands of Raphael's arabesques, and of Ghiberti's\nglorious bronze flowers: no matter; they are every one of them vices and\nuglinesses. Raphael usually felt this, and used an honest and rational\ntablet, as in the Madonna di Fuligno. I do not say there is any type of\nsuch tablets in nature, but all the difference lies in the fact that the\ntablet is not considered as an ornament, and the riband, or flying\nscroll, is. The tablet, as in Albert Durer's Adam and Eve, is introduced\nfor the sake of the writing, understood and allowed as an ugly but\nnecessary interruption. The scroll is extended as an ornamental form,\nwhich it is not, nor ever can be.\n\nXI. But it will be said that all this want of organisation and form\nmight be affirmed of drapery also, and that this latter is a noble\nsubject of sculpture. By no means. When was drapery a subject of\nsculpture by itself, except in the form of a handkerchief on urns in the\nseventeenth century and in some of the baser scenic Italian decorations?\nDrapery, as such, is always ignoble; it becomes a subject of interest\nonly by the colors it bears, and the impressions which it receives from\nsome foreign form or force. All noble draperies, either in painting or\nsculpture (color and texture being at present out of our consideration),\nhave, so far as they are anything more than necessities, one of two\ngreat functions; they are the exponents of motion and of gravitation.\nThey are the most valuable means of expressing past as well as present\nmotion in the figure, and they are almost the only means of indicating\nto the eye the force of gravity which resists such motion. The Greeks\nused drapery in sculpture for the most part as an ugly necessity, but\navailed themselves of it gladly in all representation of action,\nexaggerating the arrangements of it which express lightness in the\nmaterial, and follow gesture in the person. The Christian sculptors,\ncaring little for the body, or disliking it, and depending exclusively\non the countenance, received drapery at first contentedly as a veil, but\nsoon perceived a capacity of expression in it which the Greek had not\nseen or had despised. The principal element of this expression was the\nentire removal of agitation from what was so pre-eminently capable of\nbeing agitated. It fell from their human forms plumb down, sweeping the\nground heavily, and concealing the feet; while the Greek drapery was\noften blown away from the thigh. The thick and coarse stuffs of the\nmonkish dresses, so absolutely opposed to the thin and gauzy web of\nantique material, suggested simplicity of division as well as weight of\nfall. There was no crushing nor subdividing them. And thus the drapery\ngradually came to represent the spirit of repose as it before had of\nmotion, repose saintly and severe. The wind had no power upon the\ngarment, as the passion none upon the soul; and the motion of the figure\nonly bent into a softer line the stillness of the falling veil, followed\nby it like a slow cloud by drooping rain: only in links of lighter\nundulation it followed the dances of the angels.\n\nThus treated, drapery is indeed noble; but it is as an exponent of other\nand higher things. As that of gravitation, it has especial majesty,\nbeing literally the only means we have of fully representing this\nmysterious natural force of earth (for falling water is less passive and\nless defined in its lines). So, again, in sails it is beautiful because\nit receives the forms of solid curved surface, and expresses the force\nof another invisible element. But drapery trusted to its own merits, and\ngiven for its own sake,--drapery like that of Carlo Dolci and the\nCaraccis,--is always base.\n\nXII. Closely connected with the abuse of scrolls and bands, is that of\ngarlands and festoons of flowers as an architectural decoration, for\nunnatural arrangements are just as ugly as unnatural forms; and\narchitecture, in borrowing the objects of nature, is bound to place\nthem, as far as may be in her power, in such associations as may befit\nand express their origin. She is not to imitate directly the natural\narrangement; she is not to carve irregular stems of ivy up her columns\nto account for the leaves at the top, but she is nevertheless to place\nher most exuberant vegetable ornament just where Nature would have\nplaced it, and to give some indication of that radical and connected\nstructure which Nature would have given it. Thus the Corinthian capital\nis beautiful, because it expands under the abacus just as Nature would\nhave expanded it; and because it looks as if the leaves had one root,\nthough that root is unseen. And the flamboyant leaf mouldings are\nbeautiful, because they nestle and run up the hollows, and fill the\nangles, and clasp the shafts which natural leaves would have delighted\nto fill and to clasp. They are no mere cast of natural leaves; they are\ncounted, orderly, and architectural: but they are naturally, and\ntherefore beautifully, placed.\n\nXIII. Now I do not mean to say that Nature never uses festoons: she\nloves them, and uses them lavishly; and though she does so only in those\nplaces of excessive luxuriance wherein it seems to me that architectural\ntypes should seldom be sought, yet a falling tendril or pendent bough\nmight, if managed with freedom and grace, be well introduced into\nluxuriant decoration (or if not, it is not their want of beauty, but of\narchitectural fitness, which incapacitates them for such uses). But what\nresemblance to such example can we trace in a mass of all manner of\nfruit and flowers, tied heavily into a long bunch, thickest in the\nmiddle, and pinned up by both ends against a dead wall? For it is\nstrange that the wildest and most fanciful of the builders of truly\nluxuriant architecture never ventured, so far as I know, even a pendent\ntendril; while the severest masters of the revived Greek permitted this\nextraordinary piece of luscious ugliness to be fastened in the middle of\ntheir blank surfaces. So surely as this arrangement is adopted, the\nwhole value of the flower work is lost. Who among the crowds that gaze\nupon the building ever pause to admire the flower work of St. Paul's?\nIt is as careful and as rich as it can be, yet it adds no delightfulness\nto the edifice. It is no part of it. It is an ugly excrescence. We\nalways conceive the building without it, and should be happier if our\nconception were not disturbed by its presence. It makes the rest of the\narchitecture look poverty-stricken, instead of sublime; and yet it is\nnever enjoyed itself. Had it been put, where it ought, into the\ncapitals, it would have been beheld with never-ceasing delight. I do not\nmean that it could have been so in the present building, for such kind\nof architecture has no business with rich ornament in any place; but\nthat if those groups of flowers had been put into natural places in an\nedifice of another style, their value would have been felt as vividly as\nnow their uselessness. What applies to festoons is still more sternly\ntrue of garlands. A garland is meant to be seen upon a head. There it is\nbeautiful, because we suppose it newly gathered and joyfully worn. But\nit is not meant to be hung upon a wall. If you want a circular ornament,\nput a flat circle of colored marble, as in the Casa Doria and other such\npalaces at Venice; or put a star, or a medallion, or if you want a ring,\nput a solid one, but do not carve the images of garlands, looking as if\nthey had been used in the last procession, and been hung up to dry, and\nserve next time withered. Why not also carve pegs, and hats upon them?\n\nXIV. One of the worst enemies of modern Gothic architecture, though\nseemingly an unimportant feature, is an excrescence, as offensive by its\npoverty as the garland by its profusion, the dripstone in the shape of\nthe handle of a chest of drawers, which is used over the square-headed\nwindows of what we call Elizabethan buildings. In the last Chapter, it\nwill be remembered that the square form was shown to be that of\npre-eminent Power, and to be properly adapted and limited to the\nexhibition of space or surface. Hence, when the window is to be an\nexponent of power, as for instance in those by M. Angelo in the lower\nstory of the Palazzo Ricardi at Florence, the square head is the most\nnoble form they can assume; but then either their space must be\nunbroken, and their associated mouldings the most severe, or else the\nsquare must be used as a finial outline, and is chiefly to be\nassociated with forms of tracery, in which the relative form of power,\nthe circle, is predominant, as in Venetian, and Florentine, and Pisan\nGothic. But if you break upon your terminal square, or if you cut its\nlines off at the top and turn them outwards, you have lost its unity and\nspace. It is an including form no longer, but an added, isolated line,\nand the ugliest possible. Look abroad into the landscape and see if you\ncan discover any one so bent and fragmentary as that of this strange\nwindlass-looking dripstone. You cannot. It is a monster. It unites every\nelement of ugliness, its line is harshly broken in itself, and\nunconnected with every other; it has no harmony either with structure or\ndecoration, it has no architectural support, it looks glued to the wall,\nand the only pleasant property it has, is the appearance of some\nlikelihood of its dropping off.\n\nI might proceed, but the task is a weary one, and I think I have named\nthose false forms of decoration which are most dangerous in our modern\narchitecture as being legal and accepted. The barbarisms of individual\nfancy are as countless as they are contemptible; they neither admit\nattack nor are worth it; but these above named are countenanced, some by\nthe practice of antiquity, all by high authority: they have depressed\nthe proudest, and contaminated the purest schools, and are so\nestablished in recent practice that I write rather for the barren\nsatisfaction of bearing witness against them, than with hope of inducing\nany serious convictions to their prejudice.\n\nXV. Thus far of what is _not_ ornament. What ornament is, will without\ndifficulty be determined by the application of the same test. It must\nconsist of such studious arrangements of form as are imitative or\nsuggestive of those which are commonest among natural existences, that\nbeing of course the noblest ornament which represents the highest orders\nof existence. Imitated flowers are nobler than imitated stones, imitated\nanimals, than flowers; imitated human form of all animal forms the\nnoblest. But all are combined in the richest ornamental work; and the\nrock, the fountain, the flowing river with its pebbled bed, the sea, the\nclouds of Heaven, the herb of the field, the fruit-tree bearing fruit,\nthe creeping thing, the bird, the beast, the man, and the angel, mingle\ntheir fair forms on the bronze of Ghiberti.\n\nEvery thing being then ornamental that is imitative, I would ask the\nreader's attention to a few general considerations, all that can here be\noffered relating to so vast a subject; which, for convenience sake, may\nbe classed under the three heads of inquiry:--What is the right place\nfor architectural ornament? What is the peculiar treatment of ornament\nwhich renders it architectural? and what is the right use of color as\nassociated with architectural imitative form?\n\nXVI. What is the place of ornament? Consider first that the characters\nof natural objects which the architect can represent are few and\nabstract. The greater part of those delights by which Nature recommends\nherself to man at all times, cannot be conveyed by him into his\nimitative work. He cannot make his grass green and cool and good to rest\nupon, which in nature is its chief use to man; nor can he make his\nflowers tender and full of color and of scent, which in nature are their\nchief powers of giving joy. Those qualities which alone he can secure\nare certain severe characters of form, such as men only see in nature on\ndeliberate examination, and by the full and set appliance of sight and\nthought: a man must lie down on the bank of grass on his breast and set\nhimself to watch and penetrate the intertwining of it, before he finds\nthat which is good to be gathered by the architect. So then while Nature\nis at all times pleasant to us, and while the sight and sense of her\nwork may mingle happily with all our thoughts, and labors, and times of\nexistence, that image of her which the architect carries away represents\nwhat we can only perceive in her by direct intellectual exertion, and\ndemands from us, wherever it appears, an intellectual exertion of a\nsimilar kind in order to understand it and feel it. It is the written or\nsealed impression of a thing sought out, it is the shaped result of\ninquiry and bodily expression of thought.\n\nXVII. Now let us consider for an instant what would be the effect of\ncontinually repeating an expression of a beautiful thought to any other\nof the senses at times when the mind could not address that sense to the\nunderstanding of it. Suppose that in time of serious occupation, of\nstern business, a companion should repeat in our ears continually some\nfavorite passage of poetry, over and over again all day long. We should\nnot only soon be utterly sick and weary of the sound of it, but that\nsound would at the end of the day have so sunk into the habit of the ear\nthat the entire meaning of the passage would be dead to us, and it would\never thenceforward require some effort to fix and recover it. The music\nof it would not meanwhile have aided the business in hand, while its own\ndelightfulness would thenceforward be in a measure destroyed. It is the\nsame with every other form of definite thought. If you violently present\nits expression to the senses, at times when the mind is otherwise\nengaged, that expression will be ineffective at the time, and will have\nits sharpness and clearness destroyed forever. Much more if you present\nit to the mind at times when it is painfully affected or disturbed, or\nif you associate the expression of pleasant thought with incongruous\ncircumstances, you will affect that expression thenceforward with a\npainful color for ever.\n\nXVIII. Apply this to expressions of thought received by the eye.\nRemember that the eye is at your mercy more than the ear. \"The eye it\ncannot choose but see.\" Its nerve is not so easily numbed as that of the\near, and it is often busied in tracing and watching forms when the ear\nis at rest. Now if you present lovely forms to it when it cannot call\nthe mind to help it in its work, and among objects of vulgar use and\nunhappy position, you will neither please the eye nor elevate the vulgar\nobject. But you will fill and weary the eye with the beautiful form, and\nyou will infect that form itself with the vulgarity of the thing to\nwhich you have violently attached it. It will never be of much use to\nyou any more; you have killed or defiled it; its freshness and purity\nare gone. You will have to pass it through the fire of much thought\nbefore you will cleanse it, and warm it with much love before it will\nrevive.\n\nXIX. Hence then a general law, of singular importance in the present\nday, a law of simple common sense,--not to decorate things belonging to\npurposes of active and occupied life. Wherever you can rest, there\ndecorate; where rest is forbidden, so is beauty. You must not mix\nornament with business, any more than you may mix play. Work first, and\nthen rest. Work first and then gaze, but do not use golden ploughshares,\nnor bind ledgers in enamel. Do not thrash with sculptured flails: nor\nput bas-reliefs on millstones. What! it will be asked, are we in the\nhabit of doing so? Even so; always and everywhere. The most familiar\nposition of Greek mouldings is in these days on shop fronts. There is\nnot a tradesman's sign nor shelf nor counter in all the streets of all\nour cities, which has not upon it ornaments which were invented to adorn\ntemples and beautify kings' palaces. There is not the smallest advantage\nin them where they are. Absolutely valueless--utterly without the power\nof giving pleasure, they only satiate the eye, and vulgarise their own\nforms. Many of these are in themselves thoroughly good copies of fine\nthings, which things themselves we shall never, in consequence, enjoy\nany more. Many a pretty beading and graceful bracket there is in wood or\nstucco above our grocers' and cheese-mongers' and hosiers' shops: how it\nis that the tradesmen cannot understand that custom is to be had only by\nselling good tea and cheese and cloth, and that people come to them for\ntheir honesty, and their readiness, and their right wares, and not\nbecause they have Greek cornices over their windows, or their names in\nlarge gilt letters on their house fronts? how pleasurable it would be to\nhave the power of going through the streets of London, pulling down\nthose brackets and friezes and large names, restoring to the tradesmen\nthe capital they had spent in architecture, and putting them on honest\nand equal terms, each with his name in black letters over his door, not\nshouted down the street from the upper stories, and each with a plain\nwooden shop casement, with small panes in it that people would not think\nof breaking in order to be sent to prison! How much better for them\nwould it be--how much happier, how much wiser, to put their trust upon\ntheir own truth and industry, and not on the idiocy of their customers.\nIt is curious, and it says little for our national probity on the one\nhand, or prudence on the other, to see the whole system of our street\ndecoration based on the idea that people must be baited to a shop as\nmoths are to a candle.\n\nXX. But it will be said that much of the best wooden decoration of the\nmiddle ages was in shop fronts. No; it was in _house_ fronts, of which\nthe shop was a part, and received its natural and consistent portion of\nthe ornament. In those days men lived, and intended to live _by_ their\nshops, and over them, all their days. They were contented with them and\nhappy in them: they were their palaces and castles. They gave them\ntherefore such decoration as made themselves happy in their own\nhabitation, and they gave it for their own sake. The upper stories were\nalways the richest, and the shop was decorated chiefly about the door,\nwhich belonged to the house more than to it. And when our tradesmen\nsettle to their shops in the same way, and form no plans respecting\nfuture villa architecture, let their whole houses be decorated, and\ntheir shops too, but with a national and domestic decoration (I shall\nspeak more of this point in the sixth chapter). However, our cities are\nfor the most part too large to admit of contented dwelling in them\nthroughout life; and I do not say there is harm in our present system of\nseparating the shop from the dwelling-house; only where they are so\nseparated, let us remember that the only reason for shop decoration is\nremoved, and see that the decoration be removed also.\n\nXXI. Another of the strange and evil tendencies of the present day is to\nthe decoration of the railroad station. Now, if there be any place in\nthe world in which people are deprived of that portion of temper and\ndiscretion which are necessary to the contemplation of beauty, it is\nthere. It is the very temple of discomfort, and the only charity that\nthe builder can extend to us is to show us, plainly as may be, how\nsoonest to escape from it. The whole system of railroad travelling is\naddressed to people who, being in a hurry, are therefore, for the time\nbeing, miserable. No one would travel in that manner who could help\nit--who had time to go leisurely over hills and between hedges, instead\nof through tunnels and between banks: at least those who would, have no\nsense of beauty so acute as that we need consult it at the station. The\nrailroad is in all its relations a matter of earnest business, to be got\nthrough as soon as possible. It transmutes a man from a traveller into a\nliving parcel. For the time he has parted with the nobler\ncharacteristics of his humanity for the sake of a planetary power of\nlocomotion. Do not ask him to admire anything. You might as well ask the\nwind. Carry him safely, dismiss him soon: he will thank you for nothing\nelse. All attempts to please him in any other way are mere mockery, and\ninsults to the things by which you endeavor to do so. There never was\nmore flagrant nor impertinent folly than the smallest portion of\nornament in anything concerned with railroads or near them. Keep them\nout of the way, take them through the ugliest country you can find,\nconfess them the miserable things they are, and spend nothing upon them\nbut for safety and speed. Give large salaries to efficient servants,\nlarge prices to good manufacturers, large wages to able workmen; let the\niron be tough, and the brickwork solid, and the carriages strong. The\ntime is perhaps not distant when these first necessities may not be\neasily met: and to increase expense in any other direction is madness.\nBetter bury gold in the embankments, than put it in ornaments on the\nstations. Will a single traveller be willing to pay an increased fare on\nthe South Western, because the columns of the terminus are covered with\npatterns from Nineveh? He will only care less for the Ninevite ivories\nin the British Museum: or on the North Western, because there are old\nEnglish-looking spandrils to the roof of the station at Crewe? He will\nonly have less pleasure in their prototypes at Crewe House. Railroad\narchitecture has or would have a dignity of its own if it were only left\nto its work. You would not put rings on the fingers of a smith at his\nanvil.\n\nXXII. It is not however only in these marked situations that the abuse\nof which I speak takes place. There is hardly, at present, an\napplication of ornamental work, which is not in some sort liable to\nblame of the same kind. We have a bad habit of trying to disguise\ndisagreeable necessities by some form of sudden decoration, which is, in\nall other places, associated with such necessities. I will name only one\ninstance, that to which I have alluded before--the roses which conceal\nthe ventilators in the flat roofs of our chapels. Many of those roses\nare of very beautiful design, borrowed from fine works: all their grace\nand finish are invisible when they are so placed, but their general form\nis afterwards associated with the ugly buildings in which they\nconstantly occur; and all the beautiful roses of the early French and\nEnglish Gothic, especially such elaborate ones as those of the triforium\nof Coutances, are in consequence deprived of their pleasurable\ninfluence: and this without our having accomplished the smallest good by\nthe use we have made of the dishonored form. Not a single person in the\ncongregation ever receives one ray of pleasure from those roof roses;\nthey are regarded with mere indifference, or lost in the general\nimpression of harsh emptiness.\n\nXXIII. Must not beauty, then, it will be asked, be sought for in the\nforms which we associate with our every-day life? Yes, if you do it\nconsistently, and in places where it can be calmly seen; but not if you\nuse the beautiful form only as a mask and covering of the proper\nconditions and uses of things, nor if you thrust it into the places set\napart for toil. Put it in the drawing-room, not into the workshop; put\nit upon domestic furniture, not upon tools of handicraft. All men have\nsense of what is right in this manner, if they would only use and apply\nthat sense; every man knows where and how beauty gives him pleasure, if\nhe would only ask for it when it does so, and not allow it to be forced\nupon him when he does not want it. Ask any one of the passengers over\nLondon Bridge at this instant whether he cares about the forms of the\nbronze leaves on its lamps, and he will tell you, No. Modify these forms\nof leaves to a less scale, and put them on his milk-jug at breakfast,\nand ask him whether he likes them, and he will tell you, Yes. People\nhave no need of teaching if they could only think and speak truth, and\nask for what they like and want, and for nothing else: nor can a right\ndisposition of beauty be ever arrived at except by this common sense,\nand allowance for the circumstances of the time and place. It does not\nfollow, because bronze leafage is in bad taste on the lamps of London\nBridge, that it would be so on those of the Ponte della Trinita; nor,\nbecause it would be a folly to decorate the house fronts of Gracechurch\nStreet, that it would be equally so to adorn those of some quiet\nprovincial town. The question of greatest external or internal\ndecoration depends entirely on the conditions of probable repose. It was\na wise feeling which made the streets of Venice so rich in external\nornament, for there is no couch of rest like the gondola. So, again,\nthere is no subject of street ornament so wisely chosen as the fountain,\nwhere it is a fountain of use; for it is just there that perhaps the\nhappiest pause takes place in the labor of the day, when the pitcher is\nrested on the edge of it, and the breath of the bearer is drawn deeply,\nand the hair swept from the forehead, and the uprightness of the form\ndeclined against the marble ledge, and the sound of the kind word or\nlight laugh mixes with the trickle of the falling water, heard shriller\nand shriller as the pitcher fills. What pause is so sweet as that--so\nfull of the depth of ancient days, so softened with the calm of pastoral\nsolitude?\n\nXXIV. II. Thus far, then, of the place for beauty. We were next to\ninquire into the characters which fitted it peculiarly for architectural\nappliance, and into the principles of choice and of arrangement which\nbest regulate the imitation of natural forms in which it consists. The\nfull answering of these questions would be a treatise on the art of\ndesign: I intend only to say a few words respecting the two conditions\nof that art which are essentially architectural,--Proportion and\nAbstraction. Neither of these qualities is necessary, to the same\nextent, in other fields of design. The sense of proportion is, by the\nlandscape painter, frequently sacrificed to character and accident; the\npower of abstraction to that of complete realisation. The flowers of his\nforeground must often be unmeasured in their quantity, loose in their\narrangement: what is calculated, either in quantity or disposition,\nmust be artfully concealed. That calculation is by the architect to be\nprominently exhibited. So the abstraction of few characteristics out of\nmany is shown only in the painter's sketch; in his finished work it is\nconcealed or lost in completion. Architecture, on the contrary, delights\nin Abstraction and fears to complete her forms. Proportion and\nAbstraction, then, are the two especial marks of architectural design as\ndistinguished from all other. Sculpture must have them in inferior\ndegrees; leaning, on the one hand, to an architectural manner, when it\nis usually greatest (becoming, indeed, a part of Architecture), and, on\nthe other, to a pictorial manner, when it is apt to lose its dignity,\nand sink into mere ingenious carving.\n\nXXV. Now, of Proportion so much has been written, that I believe the\nonly facts which are of practical use have been overwhelmed and kept out\nof sight by vain accumulations of particular instances and estimates.\nProportions are as infinite (and that in all kinds of things, as\nseverally in colors, lines, shades, lights, and forms) as possible airs\nin music: and it is just as rational an attempt to teach a young\narchitect how to proportion truly and well by calculating for him the\nproportions of fine works, as it would be to teach him to compose\nmelodies by calculating the mathematical relations of the notes in\nBeethoven's Adelaide or Mozart's Requiem. The man who has eye and\nintellect will invent beautiful proportions, and cannot help it; but he\ncan no more tell _us_ how to do it than Wordsworth could tell us how to\nwrite a sonnet, or than Scott could have told us how to plan a romance.\nBut there are one or two general laws which can be told: they are of no\nuse, indeed, except as preventives of gross mistake, but they are so far\nworth telling and remembering; and the more so because, in the\ndiscussion of the subtle laws of proportion (which will never be either\nnumbered or known), architects are perpetually forgetting and\ntransgressing the very simplest of its necessities.\n\nXXVI. Of which the first is, that wherever Proportion exists at all, one\nmember of the composition must be either larger than, or in some way\nsupreme over, the rest. There is no proportion between equal things.\nThey can have symmetry only, and symmetry without proportion is not\ncomposition. It is necessary to perfect beauty, but it is the least\nnecessary of its elements, nor of course is there any difficulty in\nobtaining it. Any succession of equal things is agreeable; but to\ncompose is to arrange unequal things, and the first thing to be done in\nbeginning a composition is to determine which is to be the principal\nthing. I believe that all that has been written and taught about\nproportion, put together, is not to the architect worth the single rule,\nwell enforced, \"Have one large thing and several smaller things, or one\nprincipal thing and several inferior things, and bind them well\ntogether.\" Sometimes there may be a regular gradation, as between the\nheights of stories in good designs for houses; sometimes a monarch with\na lowly train, as in the spire with its pinnacles: the varieties of\narrangement are infinite, but the law is universal--have one thing above\nthe rest, either by size, or office, or interest. Don't put the\npinnacles without the spire. What a host of ugly church towers have we\nin England, with pinnacles at the corners, and none in the middle! How\nmany buildings like King's College Chapel at Cambridge, looking like\ntables upside down, with their four legs in the air! What! it will be\nsaid, have not beasts four legs? Yes, but legs of different shapes, and\nwith a head between them. So they have a pair of ears: and perhaps a\npair of horns: but not at both ends. Knock down a couple of pinnacles at\neither end in King's College Chapel, and you will have a kind of\nproportion instantly. So in a cathedral you may have one tower in the\ncentre, and two at the west end; or two at the west end only, though a\nworse arrangement: but you must not have two at the west and two at the\neast end, unless you have some central member to connect them; and even\nthen, buildings are generally bad which have large balancing features at\nthe extremities, and small connecting ones in the centre, because it is\nnot easy then to make the centre dominant. The bird or moth may indeed\nhave wide wings, because the size of the wing does not give supremacy to\nthe wing. The head and life are the mighty things, and the plumes,\nhowever wide, are subordinate. In fine west fronts with a pediment and\ntwo towers, the centre is always the principal mass, both in bulk and\ninterest (as having the main gateway), and the towers are subordinated\nto it, as an animal's horns are to its head. The moment the towers rise\nso high as to overpower the body and centre, and become themselves the\nprincipal masses, they will destroy the proportion, unless they are made\nunequal, and one of them the leading feature of the cathedral, as at\nAntwerp and Strasburg. But the purer method is to keep them down in due\nrelation to the centre, and to throw up the pediment into a steep\nconnecting mass, drawing the eye to it by rich tracery. This is nobly\ndone in St. Wulfran of Abbeville, and attempted partly at Rouen, though\nthat west front is made up of so many unfinished and supervening designs\nthat it is impossible to guess the real intention of any one of its\nbuilders.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE X.--(Page 122--Vol. V.)\n  TRACERIES AND MOULDINGS FROM ROUEN AND SALISBURY.]\n\nXXVII. This rule of supremacy applies to the smallest as well as to the\nleading features: it is interestingly seen in the arrangement of all\ngood mouldings. I have given one, on the opposite page, from Rouen\ncathedral; that of the tracery before distinguished as a type of the\nnoblest manner of Northern Gothic (Chap. II. Sec. XXII.). It is a tracery\nof three orders, of which the first is divided into a leaf moulding,\nfig. 4, and _b_ in the section, and a plain roll, also seen in fig. 4,\n_c_ in the section; these two divisions surround the entire window or\npanelling, and are carried by two-face shafts of corresponding sections.\nThe second and third orders are plain rolls following the line of the\ntracery; four divisions of moulding in all: of these four, the leaf\nmoulding is, as seen in the sections, much the largest; next to it the\nouter roll; then, by an exquisite alternation, the innermost roll (_e_),\nin order that it may not be lost in the recess and the intermediate\n(_d_), the smallest. Each roll has its own shaft and capital; and the\ntwo smaller, which in effect upon the eye, owing to the retirement of\nthe innermost, are nearly equal, have smaller capitals than the two\nlarger, lifted a little to bring them to the same level. The wall in the\ntrefoiled lights is curved, as from _e_ to _f_ in the section; but in\nthe quatrefoil it is flat, only thrown back to the full depth of the\nrecess below so as to get a sharp shadow instead of a soft one, the\nmouldings falling back to it in nearly a vertical curve behind the roll\n_e_. This could not, however, be managed with the simpler mouldings of\nthe smaller quatrefoil above, whose half section is given from _g_ to\ng_2; but the architect was evidently fretted by the heavy look of its\ncircular foils as opposed to the light spring of the arches below: so he\nthrew its cusps obliquely clear from the wall, as seen in fig. 2,\nattached to it where they meet the circle, but with their finials pushed\nout from the natural level (_h_, in the section) to that of the first\norder (g_2) and supported by stone props behind, as seen in the\nprofile fig. 2, which I got from the correspondent panel on the buttress\nface (fig. 1 being on its side), and of which the lower cusps, being\nbroken away, show the remnant of one of their props projecting from the\nwall. The oblique curve thus obtained in the profile is of singular\ngrace. Take it all in all, I have never met with a more exquisite piece\nof varied, yet severe, proportioned and general arrangement (though all\nthe windows of the period are fine, and especially delightful in the\nsubordinate proportioning of the smaller capitals to the smaller\nshafts). The only fault it has is the inevitable misarrangement of the\ncentral shafts; for the enlargement of the inner roll, though beautiful\nin the group of four divisions at the side, causes, in the triple\ncentral shaft, the very awkwardness of heavy lateral members which has\njust been in most instances condemned. In the windows of the choir, and\nin most of the period, this difficulty is avoided by making the fourth\norder a fillet which only follows the foliation, while the three\noutermost are nearly in arithmetical progression of size, and the\ncentral triple shaft has of course the largest roll in front. The\nmoulding of the Palazzo Foscari (Plate VIII., and Plate IV. fig. 8) is,\nfor so simple a group, the grandest in effect I have even seen: it is\ncomposed of a large roll with two subordinates.\n\nXXVIII. It is of course impossible to enter into details of instances\nbelonging to so intricate division of our subject, in the compass of a\ngeneral essay. I can but rapidly name the chief conditions of right.\nAnother of these is the connection of Symmetry with horizontal, and of\nProportion with vertical, division. Evidently there is in symmetry a\nsense not merely of equality, but of balance: now a thing cannot be\nbalanced by another on the top of it, though it may by one at the side\nof it. Hence, while it is not only allowable, but often necessary, to\ndivide buildings, or parts of them, horizontally into halves, thirds, or\nother equal parts, all vertical divisions of this kind are utterly\nwrong; worst into half, next worst in the regular numbers which more\nbetray the equality. I should have thought this almost the first\nprinciple of proportion which a young architect was taught: and yet I\nremember an important building, recently erected in England, in which\nthe columns are cut in half by the projecting architraves of the central\nwindows; and it is quite usual to see the spires of modern Gothic\nchurches divided by a band of ornament half way up. In all fine spires\nthere are two bands and three parts, as at Salisbury. The ornamented\nportion of the tower is there cut in half, and allowably, because the\nspire forms the third mass to which the other two are subordinate: two\nstories are also equal in Giotto's campanile, but dominant over smaller\ndivisions below, and subordinated to the noble third above. Even this\narrangement is difficult to treat; and it is usually safer to increase\nor diminish the height of the divisions regularly as they rise, as in\nthe Doge's Palace, whose three divisions are in a bold geometrical\nprogression: or, in towers, to get an alternate proportion between the\nbody, the belfry, and the crown, as in the campanile of St. Mark's. But,\nat all events, get rid of equality; leave that to children and their\ncard houses: the laws of nature and the reason of man are alike against\nit, in arts, as in politics. There is but one thoroughly ugly tower in\nItaly that I know of, and that is so because it is divided into vertical\nequal parts: the tower of Pisa.[12]\n\nXXIX. One more principle of Proportion I have to name, equally simple,\nequally neglected. Proportion is between three terms at _least_. Hence,\nas the pinnacles are not enough without the spire, so neither the spire\nwithout the pinnacles. All men feel this and usually express their\nfeeling by saying that the pinnacles conceal the junction of the spire\nand tower. This is one reason; but a more influential one is, that the\npinnacles furnish the third term to the spire and tower. So that it is\nnot enough, in order to secure proportion, to divide a building\nunequally; it must be divided into at least three parts; it may be into\nmore (and in details with advantage), but on a large scale I find three\nis about the best number of parts in elevation, and five in horizontal\nextent, with freedom of increase to five in the one case and seven in\nthe other; but not to more without confusion (in architecture, that is\nto say; for in organic structure the numbers cannot be limited). I\npurpose, in the course of works which are in preparation, to give\ncopious illustrations of this subject, but I will take at present only\none instance of vertical proportion, from the flower stem of the common\nwater plantain, _Alisma Plantago_. Fig. 5, Plate XII. is a reduced\nprofile of one side of a plant gathered at random; it is seen to have\nfive masts, of which, however, the uppermost is a mere shoot, and we can\nconsider only their relations up to the fourth. Their lengths are\nmeasured on the line A B, which is the actual length of the lowest mass\n_a b_, A C=_b c_, A D=_c d_, and A E=_d e_. If the reader will take the\ntrouble to measure these lengths and compare them, he will find that,\nwithin half a line, the uppermost A E=5/7 of A D, A D=6/8 of A C, and A\nC=7/9 of A B; a most subtle diminishing proportion. From each of the\njoints spring three major and three minor branches, each between each;\nbut the major branches, at any joint, are placed over the minor branches\nat the joint below, by the curious arrangement of the joint itself--the\nstem is bluntly triangular; fig. 6 shows the section of any joint. The\nouter darkened triangle is the section of the lower stem; the inner,\nleft light, of the upper stem; and the three main branches spring from\nthe ledges left by the recession. Thus the stems diminish in diameter\njust as they diminish in height. The main branches (falsely placed in\nthe profile over each other to show their relations) have respectively\nseven, six, five, four, and three arm-bones, like the masts of the stem;\nthese divisions being proportioned in the same subtle manner. From the\njoints of these, it seems to be the _plan_ of the plant that three\nmajor and three minor branches should again spring, bearing the flowers:\nbut, in these infinitely complicated members, vegetative nature admits\nmuch variety; in the plant from which these measures were taken the full\ncomplement appeared only at one of the secondary joints.\n\nThe leaf of this plant has five ribs on each side, as its flower\ngenerally five masts, arranged with the most exquisite grace of curve;\nbut of lateral proportion I shall rather take illustrations from\narchitecture: the reader will find several in the accounts of the Duomo\nat Pisa and St. Mark's at Venice, in Chap. V. Sec.Sec. XIV.-XVI. I give these\narrangements merely as illustrations, not as precedents: all beautiful\nproportions are unique, they are not general formulae.\n\nXXX. The other condition of architectural treatment which we proposed to\nnotice was the abstraction of imitated form. But there is a peculiar\ndifficulty in touching within these narrow limits on such a subject as\nthis, because the abstraction of which we find examples in existing art,\nis partly involuntary; and it is a matter of much nicety to determine\nwhere it begins to be purposed. In the progress of national as well as\nof individual mind, the first attempts at imitation are always abstract\nand incomplete. Greater completion marks the progress of art, absolute\ncompletion usually its decline; whence absolute completion of imitative\nform is often supposed to be in itself wrong. But it is not wrong\nalways, only dangerous. Let us endeavor briefly to ascertain wherein its\ndanger consists, and wherein its dignity.\n\nXXXI. I have said that all art is abstract in its beginnings; that is to\nsay, it expresses only a small number of the qualities of the thing\nrepresented. Curved and complex lines are represented by straight and\nsimple ones; interior markings of forms are few, and much is symbolical\nand conventional. There is a resemblance between the work of a great\nnation, in this phase, and the work of childhood and ignorance, which,\nin the mind of a careless observer, might attach something like ridicule\nto it. The form of a tree on the Ninevite sculptures is much like that\nwhich, come twenty years ago, was familiar upon samplers; and the types\nof the face and figure in early Italian art are susceptible of easy\ncaricature. On the signs which separate the infancy of magnificent\nmanhood from every other, I do not pause to insist (they consist\nentirely in the choice of the symbol and of the features abstracted);\nbut I pass to the next stage of art, a condition of strength in which\nthe abstraction which was begun in incapability is continued in free\nwill. This is the case, however, in pure sculpture and painting, as well\nas in architecture; and we have nothing to do but with that greater\nseverity of manner which fits either to be associated with the more\nrealist art. I believe it properly consists only in a due expression of\ntheir subordination, an expression varying according to their place and\noffice. The question is first to be clearly determined whether the\narchitecture is a frame for the sculpture, or the sculpture an ornament\nof the architecture. If the latter, then the first office of that\nsculpture is not to represent the things it imitates, but to gather out\nof them those arrangements of form which shall be pleasing to the eye in\ntheir intended places. So soon as agreeable lines and points of shade\nhave been added to the mouldings which were meagre, or to the lights\nwhich were unrelieved, the architectural work of the imitation is\naccomplished; and how far it shall be wrought towards completeness or\nnot, will depend upon its place, and upon other various circumstances.\nIf, in its particular use or position, it is symmetrically arranged,\nthere is, of course, an instant indication of architectural subjection.\nBut symmetry is not abstraction. Leaves may be carved in the most\nregular order, and yet be meanly imitative; or, on the other hand, they\nmay be thrown wild and loose, and yet be highly architectural in their\nseparate treatment. Nothing can be less symmetrical than the group of\nleaves which join the two columns in Plate XIII.; yet, since nothing of\nthe leaf character is given but what is necessary for the bare\nsuggestion of its image and the attainment of the lines desired, their\ntreatment is highly abstract. It shows that the workman only wanted so\nmuch of the leaf as he supposed good for his architecture, and would\nallow no more; and how much is to be supposed good, depends, as I have\nsaid, much more on place and circumstance than on general laws. I know\nthat this is not usually thought, and that many good architects would\ninsist on abstraction in all cases: the question is so wide and so\ndifficult that I express my opinion upon it most diffidently; but my own\nfeeling is, that a purely abstract manner, like that of our earliest\nEnglish work, does not afford room for the perfection of beautiful form,\nand that its severity is wearisome after the eye has been long\naccustomed to it. I have not done justice to the Salisbury dog-tooth\nmoulding, of which the effect is sketched in fig. 5, Plate X., but I\nhave done more justice to it nevertheless than to the beautiful French\none above it; and I do not think that any candid reader would deny that,\npiquant and spirited as is that from Salisbury, the Rouen moulding is,\nin every respect, nobler. It will be observed that its symmetry is more\ncomplicated, the leafage being divided into double groups of two lobes\neach, each lobe of different structure. With exquisite feeling, one of\nthese double groups is alternately omitted on the other side of the\nmoulding (not seen in the Plate, but occupying the cavetto of the\nsection), thus giving a playful lightness to the whole; and if the\nreader will allow for a beauty in the flow of the curved outlines\n(especially on the angle), of which he cannot in the least judge from my\nrude drawing, he will not, I think, expect easily to find a nobler\ninstance of decoration adapted to the severest mouldings.\n\nNow it will be observed, that there is in its treatment a high degree of\nabstraction, though not so conventional as that of Salisbury: that is to\nsay, the leaves have little more than their flow and outline\nrepresented; they are hardly undercut, but their edges are connected by\na gentle and most studied curve with the stone behind; they have no\nserrations, no veinings, no rib or stalk on the angle, only an incision\ngracefully made towards their extremities, indicative of the central rib\nand depression. The whole style of the abstraction shows that the\narchitect could, if he had chosen, have carried the imitation much\nfarther, but stayed at this point of his own free will; and what he has\ndone is also so perfect in its kind, that I feel disposed to accept his\nauthority without question, so far as I can gather it from his works, on\nthe whole subject of abstraction.\n\nXXXII. Happily his opinion is frankly expressed. This moulding is on the\nlateral buttress, and on a level with the top of the north gate; it\ncannot therefore be closely seen except from the wooden stairs of the\nbelfry; it is not intended to be so seen, but calculated for a distance\nof, at least, forty to fifty feet from the eye. In the vault of the gate\nitself, half as near again, there are three rows of mouldings, as I\nthink, by the same designer, at all events part of the same plan. One of\nthem is given in Plate I. fig. 2 _a_. It will be seen that the\nabstraction is here infinitely less; the ivy leaves have stalks and\nassociated fruit, and a rib for each lobe, and are so far undercut as to\ndetach their forms from the stone; while in the vine-leaf moulding\nabove, of the same period, from the south gate, serration appears added\nto other purely imitative characters. Finally, in the animals which form\nthe ornaments of the portion of the gate which is close to the eye,\nabstraction nearly vanishes into perfect sculpture.\n\nXXXIII. Nearness to the eye, however, is not the only circumstance which\ninfluences architectural abstraction. These very animals are not merely\nbetter cut because close to the eye; they are put close to the eye that\nthey may, without indiscretion, be better cut, on the noble principle,\nfirst I think, clearly enunciated by Mr. Eastlake, that the closest\nimitation shall be of the noblest object. Farther, since the wildness\nand manner of growth of vegetation render a bona fide imitation of it\nimpossible in sculpture--since its members must be reduced in number,\nordered in direction, and cut away from their roots, even under the most\nearnestly imitative treatment,--it becomes a point, as I think, of good\njudgment, to proportion the completeness of execution of parts to the\nformality of the whole; and since five or six leaves must stand for a\ntree, to let also five or six touches stand for a leaf. But since the\nanimal generally admits of perfect outline--since its form is detached,\nand may be fully represented, its sculpture may be more complete and\nfaithful in all its parts. And this principle will be actually found. I\nbelieve, to guide the old workmen. If the animal form be in a gargoyle,\nincomplete, and coining out of a block of stone, or if a head only, as\nfor a boss or other such partial use, its sculpture will be highly\nabstract. But if it be an entire animal, as a lizard, or a bird, or a\nsquirrel, peeping among leafage, its sculpture will be much farther\ncarried, and I think, if small, near the eye, and worked in a fine\nmaterial, may rightly be carried to the utmost possible completion.\nSurely we cannot wish a less finish bestowed on those which animate the\nmouldings of the south door of the cathedral of Florence; nor desire\nthat the birds in the capitals of the Doge's palace should be stripped\nof a single plume.\n\nXXXIV. Under these limitations, then, I think that perfect sculpture may\nbe made a part of the severest architecture; but this perfection was\nsaid in the outset to be dangerous. It is so in the highest degree; for\nthe moment the architect allows himself to dwell on the imitated\nportions, there is a chance of his losing sight of the duty of his\nornament, of its business as a part of the composition, and sacrificing\nits points of shade and effect to the delight of delicate carving. And\nthen he is lost. His architecture has become a mere framework for the\nsetting of delicate sculpture, which had better be all taken down and\nput into cabinets. It is well, therefore, that the young architect\nshould be taught to think of imitative ornament as of the extreme of\ngrace in language; not to be regarded at first, not to be obtained at\nthe cost of purpose, meaning, force, or conciseness, yet, indeed, a\nperfection--the least of all perfections, and yet the crowning one of\nall--one which by itself, and regarded in itself, is an architectural\ncoxcombry, but is yet the sign of the most highly-trained mind and power\nwhen it is associated with others. It is a safe manner, as I think, to\ndesign all things at first in severe abstraction, and to be prepared, if\nneed were, to carry them out in that form; then to mark the parts where\nhigh finish would be admissible, to complete these always with stern\nreference to their general effect, and then connect them by a graduated\nscale of abstraction with the rest. And there is one safeguard against\ndanger in this process on which I would finally insist. Never imitate\nanything but natural forms, and those the noblest, in the completed\nparts. The degradation of the cinque cento manner of decoration was\nnot owing to its naturalism, to its faithfulness of imitation, but to\nits imitation of ugly, i.e. unnatural things. So long as it restrained\nitself to sculpture of animals and flowers, it remained noble. The\nbalcony, on the opposite page, from a house in the Campo St. Benedetto\nat Venice, shows one of the earliest occurrences of the cinque cento\narabesque, and a fragment of the pattern is given in Plate XII. fig. 8.\nIt is but the arresting upon the stone work of a stem or two of the\nliving flowers, which are rarely wanting in the window above (and which,\nby the by, the French and Italian peasantry often trellis with exquisite\ntaste about their casements). This arabesque, relieved as it is in\ndarkness from the white stone by the stain of time, is surely both\nbeautiful and pure; and as long as the renaissance ornament remained in\nsuch forms it may be beheld with undeserved admiration. But the moment\nthat unnatural objects were associated with these, and armor, and\nmusical instruments, and wild meaningless scrolls and curled shields,\nand other such fancies, became principal in its subjects, its doom was\nsealed, and with it that of the architecture of the world.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE XI.--(Page 131--Vol. V.)\n  BALCONY IN THE CAMPO, ST. BENEDETTO, VENICE.]\n\nXXXV. III. Our final inquiry was to be into the use of color as\nassociated with architectural ornament.\n\nI do not feel able to speak with any confidence respecting the touching\nof _sculpture_ with color. I would only note one point, that sculpture\nis the representation of an idea, while architecture is itself a real\nthing. The idea may, as I think, be left colorless, and colored by the\nbeholder's mind: but a reality ought to have reality in all its\nattributes: its color should be as fixed as its form. I cannot,\ntherefore, consider architecture as in any wise perfect without color.\nFarther, as I have above noticed, I think the colors of architecture\nshould be those of natural stones; partly because more durable, but also\nbecause more perfect and graceful. For to conquer the harshness and\ndeadness of tones laid upon stone or on gesso, needs the management and\ndiscretion of a true painter; and on this co-operation we must not\ncalculate in laying down rules for general practice. If Tintoret or\nGiorgione are at hand, and ask us for a wall to paint, we will alter our\nwhole design for their sake, and become their servants; but we must, as\narchitects, expect the aid of the common workman only; and the laying of\ncolor by a mechanical hand, and its toning under a vulgar eye, are far\nmore offensive than rudeness in cutting the stone. The latter is\nimperfection only; the former deadness or discordance. At the best, such\ncolor is so inferior to the lovely and mellow hues of the natural stone,\nthat it is wise to sacrifice some of the intricacy of design, if by so\ndoing we may employ the nobler material. And if, as we looked to Nature\nfor instruction respecting form, we look to her also to learn the\nmanagement of color, we shall, perhaps, find that this sacrifice of\nintricacy is for other causes expedient.\n\nXXXVI. First, then, I think that in making this reference we are to\nconsider our building as a kind of organized creature; in coloring which\nwe must look to the single and separately organized creatures of Nature,\nnot to her landscape combinations. Our building, if it is well composed,\nis one thing, and is to be colored as Nature would color one thing--a\nshell, a flower, or an animal; not as she colors groups of things.\n\nAnd the first broad conclusion we shall deduce from observance of\nnatural color in such cases will be, that it never follows form, but is\narranged on an entirely separate system. What mysterious connection\nthere may be between the shape of the spots on an animal's skin and its\nanatomical system, I do not know, nor even if such a connection has in\nany wise been traced: but to the eye the systems are entirely separate,\nand in many cases that of color is accidentally variable. The stripes of\na zebra do not follow the lines of its body or limbs, still less the\nspots of a leopard. In the plumage of birds, each feather bears a part\nof the pattern which is arbitrarily carried over the body, having indeed\ncertain graceful harmonies with the form, diminishing or enlarging in\ndirections which sometimes follow, but also not unfrequently oppose, the\ndirections of its muscular lines. Whatever harmonies there may be, are\ndistinctly like those of two separate musical parts, coinciding here and\nthere only--never discordant, but essentially different I hold this,\nthen, for the first great principle of architectural color. Let it be\nvisibly independent of form. Never paint a column with vertical lines,\nbut always cross it.[13] Never give separate mouldings separate colors\n(I know this is heresy, but I never shrink from any conclusions, however\ncontrary to human authority, to which I am led by observance of natural\nprinciples); and in sculptured ornaments I do not paint the leaves or\nfigures (I cannot help the Elgin frieze) of one color and their ground\nof another, but vary both the ground and the figures with the same\nharmony. Notice how Nature does it in a variegated flower; not one leaf\nred and another white, but a point of red and a zone of white, or\nwhatever it may be, to each. In certain places you may run your two\nsystems closer, and here and there let them be parallel for a note or\ntwo, but see that the colors and the forms coincide only as two orders\nof mouldings do; the same for an instant, but each holding its own\ncourse. So single members may sometimes have single colors: as a bird's\nhead is sometimes of one color and its shoulders another, you may make\nyour capital of one color and your shaft another; but in general the\nbest place for color is on broad surfaces, not on the points of interest\nin form. An animal is mottled on its breast and back, rarely on its paws\nor about its eyes; so put your variegation boldly on the flat wall and\nbroad shaft, but be shy of it in the capital and moulding; in all cases\nit is a safe rule to simplify color when form is rich, and vice versa;\nand I think it would be well in general to carve all capitals and\ngraceful ornaments in white marble, and so leave them.\n\nXXXVII. Independence then being first secured, what kind of limiting\noutlines shall we adopt for the system of color itself?\n\nI am quite sure that any person familiar with natural objects will never\nbe surprised at any appearance of care or finish in them. That is the\ncondition of the universe. But there is cause both for surprise and\ninquiry whenever we see anything like carelessness or incompletion: that\nis not a common condition; it must be one appointed for some singular\npurpose. I believe that such surprise will be forcibly felt by any one\nwho, after studying carefully the lines of some variegated organic\nform, will set himself to copy with similar diligence those of its\ncolors. The boundaries of the forms he will assuredly, whatever the\nobject, have found drawn with a delicacy and precision which no human\nhand can follow. Those of its colors he will find in many cases, though\ngoverned always by a certain rude symmetry, yet irregular, blotched,\nimperfect, liable to all kinds of accidents and awkwardnesses. Look at\nthe tracery of the lines on a camp shell, and see how oddly and\nawkwardly its tents are pitched. It is not indeed always so: there is\noccasionally, as in the eye of the peacock's plume, an apparent\nprecision, but still a precision far inferior to that of the drawing of\nthe filaments which bear that lovely stain; and in the plurality of\ncases a degree of looseness and variation, and, still more singularly,\nof harshness and violence in arrangement, is admitted in color which\nwould be monstrous in form. Observe the difference in the precision of a\nfish's scales and of the spots on them.\n\nXXXVIII. Now, why it should be that color is best seen under these\ncircumstances I will not here endeavor to determine; nor whether the\nlesson we are to learn from it be that it is God's will that all manner\nof delights should never be combined in one thing. But the fact is\ncertain, that color is always by Him arranged in these simple or rude\nforms, and as certain that, therefore, it must be best seen in them, and\nthat we shall never mend by refining its arrangements. Experience\nteaches us the same thing. Infinite nonsense has been written about the\nunion of perfect color with perfect form. They never will, never can be\nunited. Color, to be perfect, _must_ have a soft outline or a simple\none: it cannot have a refined one; and you will never produce a good\npainted window with good figure-drawing in it. You will lose perfection\nof color as you give perfection of line. Try to put in order and form\nthe colors of a piece of opal.\n\nXXXIX. I conclude, then, that all arrangements of color, for its own\nsake, in graceful forms, are barbarous; and that, to paint a color\npattern with the lovely lines of a Greek leaf moulding, is an utterly\nsavage procedure. I cannot find anything in natural color like this: it\nis not in the bond. I find it in all natural form--never in natural\ncolor. If, then, our architectural color is to be beautiful as its form\nwas, by being imitative, we are limited to these conditions--to simple\nmasses of it, to zones, as in the rainbow and the zebra; cloudings and\nflamings, as in marble shells and plumage, or spots of various shapes\nand dimensions. All these conditions are susceptible of various degrees\nof sharpness and delicacy, and of complication in arrangement. The zone\nmay become a delicate line, and arrange itself in chequers and zig-zags.\nThe flaming may be more or less defined, as on a tulip leaf, and may at\nlast be represented by a triangle of color, and arrange itself in stars\nor other shapes; the spot may be also graduated into a stain, or defined\ninto a square or circle. The most exquisite harmonies may be composed of\nthese simple elements: some soft and full of flushed and melting spaces\nof color; others piquant and sparkling, or deep and rich, formed of\nclose groups of the fiery fragments: perfect and lovely proportion may\nbe exhibited in the relation of their quantities, infinite invention in\ntheir disposition: but, in all cases, their shape will be effective only\nas it determines their quantity, and regulates their operation on each\nother; points or edges of one being introduced between breadths of\nothers, and so on. Triangular and barred forms are therefore convenient,\nor others the simplest possible; leaving the pleasure of the spectator\nto be taken in the color, and in that only. Curved outlines, especially\nif refined, deaden the color, and confuse the mind. Even in figure\npainting the greatest colorists have either melted their outline away,\nas often Correggio and Rubens; or purposely made their masses of\nungainly shape, as Titian; or placed their brightest hues in costume,\nwhere they could get quaint patterns, as Veronese, and especially\nAngelico, with whom, however, the absolute virtue of color is secondary\nto grace of line. Hence, he never uses the blended hues of Correggio,\nlike those on the wing of the little Cupid, in the \"Venus and Mercury,\"\nbut always the severest type--the peacock plume. Any of these men would\nhave looked with infinite disgust upon the leafage and scrollwork which\nform the ground of color in our modern painted windows, and yet all\nwhom I have named were much infected with the love of renaissance\ndesigns. We must also allow for the freedom of the painter's subject,\nand looseness of his associated lines; a pattern being severe in a\npicture, which is over luxurious upon a building. I believe, therefore,\nthat it is impossible to be over quaint or angular in architectural\ncoloring; and thus many dispositions which I have had occasion to\nreprobate in form, are, in color, the best that can be invented. I have\nalways, for instance, spoken with contempt of the Tudor style, for this\nreason, that, having surrendered all pretence to spaciousness and\nbreadth,--having divided its surfaces by an infinite number of lines, it\nyet sacrifices the only characters which can make lines beautiful;\nsacrifices all the variety and grace which long atoned for the caprice\nof the Flamboyant, and adopts, for its leading feature, an entanglement\nof cross bars and verticals, showing about as much invention or skill of\ndesign as the reticulation of the bricklayer's sieve. Yet this very\nreticulation would in color be highly beautiful; and all the heraldry,\nand other features which, in form, are monstrous, may be delightful as\nthemes of color (so long as there are no fluttering or over-twisted\nlines in them); and this observe, because, when colored, they take the\nplace of a mere pattern, and the resemblance to nature, which could not\nbe found in their sculptured forms, is found in their piquant\nvariegation of other surfaces. There is a beautiful and bright bit of\nwall painting behind the Duomo of Verona, composed of coats of arms,\nwhose bearings are balls of gold set in bars of green (altered blue?)\nand white, with cardinal's hats in alternate squares. This is of course,\nhowever, fit only for domestic work. The front of the Doge's palace at\nVenice is the purest and most chaste model that I can name (but one) of\nthe fit application of color to public buildings. The sculpture and\nmouldings are all white; but the wall surface is chequered with marble\nblocks of pale rose, the chequers being in no wise harmonized, or fitted\nto the forms of the windows; but looking as if the surface had been\ncompleted first, and the windows cut out of it. In Plate XII. fig. 2 the\nreader will see two of the patterns used in green and white, on the\ncolumns of San Michele of Lucca, every column having a different design.\nBoth are beautiful, but the upper one certainly the best. Yet in\nsculpture its lines would have been perfectly barbarous, and those even\nof the lower not enough refined.\n\nXL. Restraining ourselves, therefore, to the use of such simple\npatterns, so far forth as our color is subordinate either to\narchitectural structure, or sculptural form, we have yet one more manner\nof ornamentation to add to our general means of effect, monochrome\ndesign, the intermediate condition between coloring and carving. The\nrelations of the entire system of architectural decoration may then be\nthus expressed.\n\n     1. Organic form dominant. True, independent sculpture, and\n     alto-relievo; rich capitals, and mouldings; to be elaborate in\n     completion of form, not abstract, and either to be left in pure\n     white marble, or most cautiously touched with color in points and\n     borders only, in a system not concurrent with their forms.\n\n     2. Organic form sub-dominant. Basso-relievo or intaglio. To be more\n     abstract in proportion to the reduction of depth; to be also more\n     rigid and simple in contour; to be touched with color more boldly\n     and in an increased degree, exactly in proportion to the reduced\n     depth and fulness of form, but still in a system non-concurrent\n     with their forms.\n\n     3. Organic form abstracted to outline. Monochrome design, still\n     farther reduced to simplicity of contour, and therefore admitting\n     for the first time the color to be concurrent with its outlines;\n     that is to say, as its name imports, the entire figure to be\n     detached in one color from a ground of another.\n\n     4. Organic forms entirely lost. Geometrical patterns or variable\n     cloudings in the most vivid color.\n\nOn the opposite side of this scale, ascending from the color pattern, I\nwould place the various forms of painting which may be associated with\narchitecture: primarily, and as most fit for such purpose, the mosaic,\nhighly abstract in treatment, and introducing brilliant color in masses;\nthe Madonna of Torcello being, as I think, the noblest type of the\nmanner, and the Baptistery of Parma the richest: next, the purely\ndecorative fresco, like that of the Arena Chapel; finally, the fresco\nbecoming principal, as in the Vatican and Sistine. But I cannot, with\nany safety, follow the principles of abstraction in this pictorial\nornament; since the noblest examples of it appear to me to owe their\narchitectural applicability to their archaic manner; and I think that\nthe abstraction and admirable simplicity which render them fit media of\nthe most splendid coloring, cannot be recovered by a voluntary\ncondescension. The Byzantines themselves would not, I think, if they\ncould have drawn the figure better, have used it for a color decoration;\nand that use, as peculiar to a condition of childhood, however noble and\nfull of promise, cannot be included among those modes of adornment which\nare now legitimate or even possible. There is a difficulty in the\nmanagement of the painted window for the same reason, which has not yet\nbeen met, and we must conquer that first, before we can venture to\nconsider the wall as a painted window on a large scale. Pictorial\nsubject, without such abstraction, becomes necessarily principal, or, at\nall events, ceases to be the architect's concern; its plan must be left\nto the painter after the completion of the building, as in the works of\nVeronese and Giorgione on the palaces of Venice.\n\nXLI. Pure architectural decoration, then, may be considered as limited\nto the four kinds above specified; of which each glides almost\nimperceptibly into the other. Thus, the Elgin frieze is a monochrome in\na state of transition to sculpture, retaining, as I think, the half-cast\nskin too long. Of pure monochrome, I have given an example in Plate VI.,\nfrom the noble front of St. Michele of Lucca. It contains forty such\narches, all covered with equally elaborate ornaments, entirely drawn by\ncutting out their ground to about the depth of an inch in the flat white\nmarble, and filling the spaces with pieces of green serpentine; a most\nelaborate mode of sculpture, requiring excessive care and precision in\nthe fitting of the edges, and of course double work, the same line\nneeding to be cut both in the marble and serpentine. The excessive\nsimplicity of the forms will be at once perceived; the eyes of the\nfigures of animals, for instance, being indicated only by a round dot,\nformed by a little inlet circle of serpentine, about half an inch over:\nbut, though simple, they admit often much grace of curvature, as in the\nneck of the bird seen above the right hand pillar.[14] The pieces of\nserpentine have fallen out in many places, giving the black shadows, as\nseen under the horseman's arm and bird's neck, and in the semi-circular\nline round the arch, once filled with some pattern. It would have\nillustrated my point better to have restored the lost portions, but I\nalways draw a thing exactly as it is, hating restoration of any kind;\nand I would especially direct the reader's attention to the completion\nof the forms in the _sculptured_ ornament of the marble cornices, as\nopposed to the abstraction of the monochrome figures, of the ball and\ncross patterns between the arches, and of the triangular ornament round\nthe arch on the left.\n\nXLII. I have an intense love for these monochrome figures, owing to\ntheir wonderful life and spirit in all the works on which I found them;\nnevertheless, I believe that the excessive degree of abstraction which\nthey imply necessitates our placing them in the rank of a progressive or\nimperfect art, and that a perfect building should rather be composed of\nthe highest sculpture (organic form dominant and sub-dominant),\nassociated with pattern colors on the flat or broad surfaces. And we\nfind, in fact, that the cathedral of Pisa, which is a higher type than\nthat of Lucca, exactly follows this condition, the color being put in\ngeometrical patterns on its surfaces, and animal-forms and lovely\nleafage used in the sculptured cornices and pillars. And I think that\nthe grace of the carved forms is best seen when it is thus boldly\nopposed to severe traceries of color, while the color itself is, as we\nhave seen, always most piquant when it is put into sharp angular\narrangements. Thus the sculpture is approved and set off by the color,\nand the color seen to the best advantage in its opposition both to the\nwhiteness and the grace of the carved marble.\n\nXLIII. In the course of this and the preceding chapters, I have now\nseparately enumerated most of the conditions of Power and Beauty, which\nin the outset I stated to be the grounds of the deepest impressions with\nwhich architecture could affect the human mind; but I would ask\npermission to recapitulate them in order to see if there be any building\nwhich I may offer as an example of the unison, in such manner as is\npossible, of them all. Glancing back, then, to the beginning of the\nthird chapter, and introducing in their place the conditions\nincidentally determined in the two previous sections, we shall have the\nfollowing list of noble characters:\n\nConsiderable size, exhibited by simple terminal lines (Chap. III. Sec. 6).\nProjection towards the top (Sec. 7). Breadth of flat surface (Sec. 8). Square\ncompartments of that surface (Sec. 9). Varied and visible masonry (Sec. 11).\nVigorous depth of shadow (Sec. 13), exhibited especially by pierced\ntraceries (Sec. 18). Varied proportion in ascent (Chap. IV. Sec. 28). Lateral\nsymmetry (Sec. 28). Sculpture most delicate at the base (Chap. I. Sec. 12).\nEnriched quantity of ornament at the top (Sec. 13). Sculpture abstract in\ninferior ornaments and mouldings (Chap. IV. Sec. 31), complete in animal\nforms (Sec. 33). Both to be executed in white marble (Sec. 40). Vivid color\nintroduced in flat geometrical patterns (Sec. 39), and obtained by the use\nof naturally colored stone (Sec. 35).\n\nThese characteristics occur more or less in different buildings, some in\none and some in another. But all together, and all in their highest\npossible relative degrees, they exist, as far as I know, only in one\nbuilding in the world, the Campanile of Giotto at Florence. The drawing\nof the tracery of its upper story, which heads this chapter, rude as it\nis, will nevertheless give the reader some better conception of that\ntower's magnificence than the thin outlines in which it is usually\nportrayed. In its first appeal to the stranger's eye there is something\nunpleasing; a mingling, as it seems to him, of over severity with over\nminuteness. But let him give it time, as he should to all other\nconsummate art. I remember well how, when a boy, I used to despise that\nCampanile, and think it meanly smooth and finished. But I have since\nlived beside it many a day, and looked out upon it from my windows by\nsunlight and moonlight, and I shall not soon forget how profound and\ngloomy appeared to me the savageness of the Northern Gothic, when I\nafterwards stood, for the first time, beneath the front of Salisbury.\nThe contrast is indeed strange, if it could be quickly felt, between the\nrising of those grey walls out of their quiet swarded space, like dark\nand barren rocks out of a green lake, with their rude, mouldering,\nrough-grained shafts, and triple lights, without tracery or other\nornament than the martins' nests in the height of them, and that bright,\nsmooth, sunny surface of glowing jasper, those spiral shafts and fairy\ntraceries, so white, so faint, so crystalline, that their slight shapes\nare hardly traced in darkness on the pallor of the Eastern sky, that\nserene height of mountain alabaster, colored like a morning cloud, and\nchased like a sea shell. And if this be, as I believe it, the model and\nmirror of perfect architecture, is there not something to be learned by\nlooking back to the early life of him who raised it? I said that the\nPower of human mind had its growth in the Wilderness; much more must the\nlove and the conception of that beauty, whose every line and hue we have\nseen to be, at the best, a faded image of God's daily work, and an\narrested ray of some star of creation, be given chiefly in the places\nwhich He has gladdened by planting there the fir tree and the pine. Not\nwithin the walls of Florence, but among the far away fields of her\nlilies, was the child trained who was to raise that headstone of Beauty\nabove the towers of watch and war. Remember all that he became; count\nthe sacred thoughts with which he filled the heart of Italy; ask those\nwho followed him what they learned at his feet; and when you have\nnumbered his labors, and received their testimony, if it seem to you\nthat God had verily poured out upon this His servant no common nor\nrestrained portion of His Spirit, and that he was indeed a king among\nthe children of men, remember also that the legend upon his crown was\nthat of David's:--\"I took thee from the sheepcote, and from following\nthe sheep.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE LAMP OF LIFE.\n\n\nI. Among the countless analogies by which the nature and relations of\nthe human soul are illustrated in the material creation, none are more\nstriking than the impressions inseparably connected with the active and\ndormant states of matter. I have elsewhere endeavored to show, that no\ninconsiderable part of the essential characters of Beauty depended on\nthe expression of vital energy in organic things, or on the subjection\nto such energy, of things naturally passive and powerless. I need not\nhere repeat, of what was then advanced, more than the statement which I\nbelieve will meet with general acceptance, that things in other respects\nalike, as in their substance, or uses, or outward forms, are noble or\nignoble in proportion to the fulness of the life which either they\nthemselves enjoy, or of whose action they bear the evidence, as sea\nsands are made beautiful by their bearing the seal of the motion of the\nwaters. And this is especially true of all objects which bear upon them\nthe impress of the highest order of creative life, that is to say, of\nthe mind of man: they become noble or ignoble in proportion to the\namount of the energy of that mind which has visibly been employed upon\nthem. But most peculiarly and imperatively does the rule hold with\nrespect to the creations of Architecture, which being properly capable\nof no other life than this, and being not essentially composed of things\npleasant in themselves,--as music of sweet sounds, or painting of fair\ncolors, but of inert substance,--depend, for their dignity and\npleasurableness in the utmost degree, upon the vivid expression of the\nintellectual life which has been concerned in their production.\n\nII. Now in all other kind of energies except that of man's mind, there\nis no question as to what is life, and what is not. Vital sensibility,\nwhether vegetable or animal, may, indeed, be reduced to so great\nfeebleness, as to render its existence a matter of question, but when it\nis evident at all, it is evident as such: there is no mistaking any\nimitation or pretence of it for the life itself; no mechanism nor\ngalvanism can take its place; nor is any resemblance of it so striking\nas to involve even hesitation in the judgment; although many occur which\nthe human imagination takes pleasure in exalting, without for an instant\nlosing sight of the real nature of the dead things it animates; but\nrejoicing rather in its own excessive life, which puts gesture into\nclouds, and joy into waves, and voices into rocks.\n\nIII. But when we begin to be concerned with the energies of man, we find\nourselves instantly dealing with a double creature. Most part of his\nbeing seems to have a fictitious counterpart, which it is at his peril\nif he do not cast off and deny. Thus he has a true and false (otherwise\ncalled a living and dead, or a feigned or unfeigned) faith. He has a\ntrue and a false hope, a true and a false charity, and, finally, a true\nand a false life. His true life is like that of lower organic beings,\nthe independent force by which he moulds and governs external things; it\nis a force of assimilation which converts everything around him into\nfood, or into instruments; and which, however humbly or obediently it\nmay listen to or follow the guidance of superior intelligence, never\nforfeits its own authority as a judging principle, as a will capable\neither of obeying or rebelling. His false life is, indeed, but one of\nthe conditions of death or stupor, but it acts, even when it cannot be\nsaid to animate, and is not always easily known from the true. It is\nthat life of custom and accident in which many of us pass much of our\ntime in the world; that life in which we do what we have not purposed,\nand speak what we do not mean, and assent to what we do not understand;\nthat life which is overlaid by the weight of things external to it, and\nis moulded by them, instead of assimilating them; that, which instead of\ngrowing and blossoming under any wholesome dew, is crystallised over\nwith it, as with hoar frost, and becomes to the true life what an\narborescence is to a tree, a candied agglomeration of thoughts and\nhabits foreign to it, brittle, obstinate, and icy, which can neither\nbend nor grow, but must be crushed and broken to bits, if it stand in\nour way. All men are liable to be in some degree frost-bitten in this\nsort; all are partly encumbered and crusted over with idle matter; only,\nif they have real life in them, they are always breaking this bark away\nin noble rents, until it becomes, like the black strips upon the birch\ntree, only a witness of their own inward strength. But, with all the\nefforts that the best men make, much of their being passes in a kind of\ndream, in which they indeed move, and play their parts sufficiently, to\nthe eyes of their fellow-dreamers, but have no clear consciousness of\nwhat is around them, or within them; blind to the one, insensible to the\nother, [Greek: nothroi]. I would not press the definition into its\ndarker application to the dull heart and heavy ear; I have to do with it\nonly as it refers to the too frequent condition of natural existence,\nwhether of nations or individuals, settling commonly upon them in\nproportion to their age. The life of a nation is usually, like the flow\nof a lava stream, first bright and fierce, then languid and covered, at\nlast advancing only by the tumbling over and over of its frozen blocks.\nAnd that last condition is a sad one to look upon. All the steps are\nmarked most clearly in the arts, and in Architecture more than in any\nother; for it, being especially dependent, as we have just said, on the\nwarmth of the true life, is also peculiarly sensible of the hemlock cold\nof the false; and I do not know anything more oppressive, when the mind\nis once awakened to its characteristics, than the aspect of a dead\narchitecture. The feebleness of childhood is full of promise and of\ninterest,--the struggle of imperfect knowledge full of energy and\ncontinuity,--but to see impotence and rigidity settling upon the form of\nthe developed man; to see the types which once had the die of thought\nstruck fresh upon them, worn flat by over use; to see the shell of the\nliving creature in its adult form, when its colors are faded, and its\ninhabitant perished,--this is a sight more humiliating, more melancholy,\nthan the vanishing of all knowledge, and the return to confessed and\nhelpless infancy.\n\nNay, it is to be wished that such return were always possible. There\nwould be hope if we could change palsy into puerility; but I know not\nhow far we can become children again, and renew our lost life. The\nstirring which has taken place in our architectural aims and interests\nwithin these few years, is thought by many to be full of promise: I\ntrust it is, but it has a sickly look to me. I cannot tell whether it be\nindeed a springing of seed or a shaking among bones; and I do not think\nthe time will be lost which I ask the reader to spend in the inquiry,\nhow far all that we have hitherto ascertained or conjectured to be the\nbest in principle, may be formally practised without the spirit or the\nvitality which alone could give it influence, value, or delightfulness.\n\nIV. Now, in the first place--and this is rather an important point--it\nis no sign of deadness in a present art that it borrows or imitates, but\nonly if it borrows without paying interest, or if it imitates without\nchoice. The art of a great nation, which is developed without any\nacquaintance with nobler examples than its own early efforts furnish,\nexhibits always the most consistent and comprehensible growth, and\nperhaps is regarded usually as peculiarly venerable in its\nself-origination. But there is something to my mind more majestic yet in\nthe life of an architecture like that of the Lombards, rude and\ninfantine in itself, and surrounded by fragments of a nobler art of\nwhich it is quick in admiration and ready in imitation, and yet so\nstrong in its own new instincts that it re-constructs and re-arranges\nevery fragment that it copies or borrows into harmony with its own\nthoughts,--a harmony at first disjointed and awkward, but completed in\nthe end, and fused into perfect organisation; all the borrowed elements\nbeing subordinated to its own primal, unchanged life. I do not know any\nsensation more exquisite than the discovering of the evidence of this\nmagnificent struggle into independent existence; the detection of the\nborrowed thoughts, nay, the finding of the actual blocks and stones\ncarved by other hands and in other ages, wrought into the new walls,\nwith a new expression and purpose given to them, like the blocks of\nunsubdued rocks (to go back to our former simile) which we find in the\nheart of the lava current, great witnesses to the power which has fused\nall but those calcined fragments into the mass of its homogeneous fire.\n\nV. It will be asked, How is imitation to be rendered healthy and vital?\nUnhappily, while it is easy to enumerate the signs of life, it is\nimpossible to define or to communicate life; and while every intelligent\nwriter on Art has insisted on the difference between the copying found\nin an advancing or recedent period, none have been able to communicate,\nin the slightest degree, the force of vitality to the copyist over whom\nthey might have influence. Yet it is at least interesting, if not\nprofitable, to note that two very distinguishing characters of vital\nimitation are, its Frankness and its Audacity; its Frankness is\nespecially singular; there is never any effort to conceal the degree of\nthe sources of its borrowing. Raffaelle carries off a whole figure from\nMasaccio, or borrows an entire composition from Perugino, with as much\ntranquillity and simplicity of innocence as a young Spartan pickpocket;\nand the architect of a Romanesque basilica gathered his columns and\ncapitals where he could find them, as an ant picks up sticks. There is\nat least a presumption, when we find this frank acceptance, that there\nis a sense within the mind of power capable of transforming and renewing\nwhatever it adopts; and too conscious, too exalted, to fear the\naccusation of plagiarism,--too certain that it can prove, and has\nproved, its independence, to be afraid of expressing its homage to what\nit admires in the most open and indubitable way; and the necessary\nconsequence of this sense of power is the other sign I have named--the\nAudacity of treatment when it finds treatment necessary, the\nunhesitating and sweeping sacrifice of precedent where precedent becomes\ninconvenient. For instance, in the characteristic forms of Italian\nRomanesque, in which the hypaethral portion of the heathen temple was\nreplaced by the towering nave, and where, in consequence, the pediment\nof the west front became divided into three portions, of which the\ncentral one, like the apex of a ridge of sloping strata lifted by a\nsudden fault, was broken away from and raised above the wings; there\nremained at the extremities of the aisles two triangular fragments of\npediment, which could not now be filled by any of the modes of\ndecoration adapted for the unbroken space; and the difficulty became\ngreater when the central portion of the front was occupied by columnar\nranges, which could not, without painful abruptness, terminate short of\nthe extremities of the wings. I know not what expedient would have been\nadopted by architects who had much respect for precedent, under such\ncircumstances, but it certainly would not have been that of the\nPisan,--to continue the range of columns into the pedimental space,\nshortening them to its extremity until the shaft of the last column\nvanished altogether, and there remained only its _capital_ resting in\nthe angle on its basic plinth. I raise no question at present whether\nthis arrangement be graceful or otherwise; I allege it only as an\ninstance of boldness almost without a parallel, casting aside every\nreceived principle that stood in its way, and struggling through every\ndiscordance and difficulty to the fulfilment of its own instincts.\n\nVI. Frankness, however, is in itself no excuse for repetition, nor\naudacity for innovation, when the one is indolent and the other unwise.\nNobler and surer signs of vitality must be sought,--signs independent\nalike of the decorative or original character of the style, and constant\nin every style that is determinedly progressive.\n\nOf these, one of the most important I believe to be a certain neglect or\ncontempt of refinement in execution, or, at all events, a visible\nsubordination of execution to conception, commonly involuntary, but not\nunfrequently intentional. This is a point, however, on which, while I\nspeak confidently, I must at the same time reservedly and carefully, as\nthere would otherwise be much chance of my being dangerously\nmisunderstood. It has been truly observed and well stated by Lord\nLindsay, that the best designers of Italy were also the most careful in\ntheir workmanship; and that the stability and finish of their masonry,\nmosaic, or other work whatsoever, were always perfect in proportion to\nthe apparent improbability of the great designers condescending to the\ncare of details among us so despised. Not only do I fully admit and\nre-assert this most important fact, but I would insist upon perfect and\nmost delicate finish in its right place, as a characteristic of all the\nhighest schools of architecture, as much as it is those of painting.\nBut on the other hand, as perfect finish belongs to the perfected art, a\nprogressive finish belongs to progressive art; and I do not think that\nany more fatal sign of a stupor or numbness settling upon that\nundeveloped art could possibly be detected, than that it had been _taken\naback_ by its own execution, and that the workmanship had gone ahead of\nthe design; while, even in my admission of absolute finish in the right\nplace, as an attribute of the perfected school, I must reserve to myself\nthe right of answering in my own way the two very important questions,\nwhat _is_ finish? and what _is_ its right place?\n\nVII. But in illustrating either of these points, we must remember that\nthe correspondence of workmanship with thought is, in existent examples,\ninterfered with by the adoption of the designs of an advanced period by\nthe workmen of a rude one. All the beginnings of Christian architecture\nare of this kind, and the necessary consequence is of course an increase\nof the visible interval between the power of realisation and the beauty\nof the idea. We have at first an imitation, almost savage in its\nrudeness, of a classical design; as the art advances, the design is\nmodified by a mixture of Gothic grotesqueness, and the execution more\ncomplete, until a harmony is established between the two, in which\nbalance they advance to new perfection. Now during the whole period in\nwhich the ground is being recovered, there will be found in the living\narchitecture marks not to be mistaken, of intense impatience; a struggle\ntowards something unattained, which causes all minor points of handling\nto be neglected; and a restless disdain of all qualities which appear\neither to confess contentment or to require a time and care which might\nbe better spent. And, exactly as a good and earnest student of drawing\nwill not lose time in ruling lines or finishing backgrounds about\nstudies which, while they have answered his immediate purpose, he knows\nto be imperfect and inferior to what he will do hereafter,--so the vigor\nof a true school of early architecture, which is either working under\nthe influence of high example or which is itself in a state of rapid\ndevelopment, is very curiously traceable, among other signs, in the\ncontempt of exact symmetry and measurement, which in dead architecture\nare the most painful necessities.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE XII.--(Page 149--Vol. V.)\n  FRAGMENTS FROM ABBEVILLE, LUCCA, VENICE, AND PISA.]\n\nVIII. In Plate XII. fig. 1 I have given a most singular instance both of\nrude execution and defied symmetry, in the little pillar and spandril\nfrom a panel decoration under the pulpit of St. Mark's at Venice. The\nimperfection (not merely simplicity, but actual rudeness and ugliness)\nof the leaf ornament will strike the eye at once: this is general in\nworks of the time, but it is not so common to find a capital which has\nbeen so carelessly cut; its imperfect volutes being pushed up one side\nfar higher than on the other, and contracted on that side, an additional\ndrill hole being put in to fill the space; besides this, the member _a_,\nof the mouldings, is a roll where it follows the arch, and a flat fillet\nat _a_; the one being slurred into the other at the angle _b_, and\nfinally stopped short altogether at the other side by the most\nuncourteous and remorseless interference of the outer moulding: and in\nspite of all this, the grace, proportion, and feeling of the whole\narrangement are so great, that, in its place, it leaves nothing to be\ndesired; all the science and symmetry in the world could not beat it. In\nfig. 4 I have endeavored to give some idea of the execution of the\nsubordinate portions of a much higher work, the pulpit of St. Andrea at\nPistoja, by Nicolo Pisano. It is covered with figure sculptures,\nexecuted with great care and delicacy; but when the sculptor came to the\nsimple arch mouldings, he did not choose to draw the eye to them by over\nprecision of work or over sharpness of shadow. The section adopted, _k_,\n_m_, is peculiarly simple, and so slight and obtuse in its recessions as\nnever to produce a sharp line; and it is worked with what at first\nappears slovenliness, but it is in fact sculptural _sketching_; exactly\ncorrespondent to a painter's light execution of a background: the lines\nappear and disappear again, are sometimes deep, sometimes shallow,\nsometimes quite broken off; and the recession of the cusp joins that of\nthe external arch at _n_, in the most fearless defiance of all\nmathematical laws of curvilinear contact.\n\nIX. There is something very delightful in this bold expression of the\nmind of the great master. I do not say that it is the \"perfect work\" of\npatience, but I think that impatience is a glorious character in an\nadvancing school; and I love the Romanesque and early Gothic especially,\nbecause they afford so much room for it; accidental carelessness of\nmeasurement or of execution being mingled undistinguishably with the\npurposed departures from symmetrical regularity, and the luxuriousness\nof perpetually variable fancy, which are eminently characteristic of\nboth styles. How great, how frequent they are, and how brightly the\nseverity of architectural law is relieved by their grace and suddenness,\nhas not, I think, been enough observed; still less, the unequal\nmeasurements of even important features professing to be absolutely\nsymmetrical. I am not so familiar with modern practice as to speak with\nconfidence respecting its ordinary precision; but I imagine that the\nfollowing measures of the western front of the cathedral of Pisa, would\nbe looked upon by present architects as very blundering approximations.\nThat front is divided into seven arched compartments, of which the\nsecond, fourth or central, and sixth contain doors; the seven are in a\nmost subtle alternating proportion; the central being the largest, next\nto it the second and sixth, then the first and seventh, lastly the third\nand fifth. By this arrangement, of course, these three pairs should be\nequal; and they are so to the eye, but I found their actual measures to\nbe the following, taken from pillar to pillar, in Italian braccia, palmi\n(four inches each), and inches:--\n\n                                        Braccia. Palmi. Inches. Total in\n                                                                inches.\n  1. Central door                            8      0     0    = 192\n  2. Northern door   }                       6      3    1-1/2 = 157-1/2\n  3. Southern door   }                       6      4     3    = 163\n  4. Extreme northern space  }               5      5    3-1/2 = 143-1/2\n  5. Extreme southern space  }               6      1    0-1/2 = 148-1/2\n  6. Northern intervals between the doors }  5      2     1    = 129\n  7. Southern intervals between the doors }  5      2    1-1/2 = 129-1/2\n\nThere is thus a difference, severally, between 2, 3 and 4, 5, of five\ninches and a half in the one case, and five inches in the other.\n\nX. This, however, may perhaps be partly attributable to some\naccommodation of the accidental distortions which evidently took place\nin the walls of the cathedral during their building, as much as in those\nof the campanile. To my mind, those of the Duomo are far the most\nwonderful of the two: I do not believe that a single pillar of its walls\nis absolutely vertical: the pavement rises and falls to different\nheights, or rather the plinth of the walls sinks into it continually to\ndifferent depths, the whole west front literally overhangs (I have not\nplumbed it; but the inclination may be seen by the eye, by bringing it\ninto visual contact with the upright pilasters of the Campo Santo): and\na most extraordinary distortion in the masonry of the southern wall\nshows that this inclination had begun when the first story was built.\nThe cornice above the first arcade of that wall touches the tops of\neleven out of its fifteen arches; but it suddenly leaves the tops of the\nfour westernmost; the arches nodding westward and sinking into the\nground, while the cornice rises (or seems to rise), leaving at any rate,\nwhether by the rise of the one or the fall of the other, an interval of\nmore than two feet between it and the top of the western arch, filled by\nadded courses of masonry. There is another very curious evidence of this\nstruggle of the architect with his yielding wall in the columns of the\nmain entrance. (These notices are perhaps somewhat irrelevant to our\nimmediate subject, but they appear to me highly interesting; and they,\nat all events, prove one of the points on which I would insist,--how\nmuch of imperfection and variety in things professing to be symmetrical\nthe eyes of those eager builders could endure: they looked to loveliness\nin detail, to nobility in the whole, never to petty measurements.) Those\ncolumns of the principal entrance are among the loveliest in Italy;\ncylindrical, and decorated with a rich arabesque of sculptured foliage,\nwhich at the base extends nearly all round them, up to the black\npilaster in which they are lightly engaged: but the shield of foliage,\nbounded by a severe line, narrows to their tops, where it covers their\nfrontal segment only; thus giving, when laterally seen, a terminal line\nsloping boldly outwards, which, as I think, was meant to conceal the\naccidental leaning of the western walls, and, by its exaggerated\ninclination in the same direction, to throw them by comparison into a\nseeming vertical.\n\nXI. There is another very curious instance of distortion above the\ncentral door of the west front. All the intervals between the seven\narches are filled with black marble, each containing in its centre a\nwhite parallelogram filled with animal mosaics, and the whole surmounted\nby a broad white band, which, generally, does not touch the\nparallelogram below. But the parallelogram on the north of the central\narch has been forced into an oblique position, and touches the white\nband; and, as if the architect was determined to show that he did not\ncare whether it did or not, the white band suddenly gets thicker at that\nplace, and remains so over the two next arches. And these differences\nare the more curious because the workmanship of them all is most\nfinished and masterly, and the distorted stones are fitted with as much\nneatness as if they tallied to a hair's breadth. There is no look of\nslurring or blundering about it; it is all coolly filled in, as if the\nbuilder had no sense of anything being wrong or extraordinary: I only\nwish we had a little of his impudence.\n\nXII. Still, the reader will say that all these variations are probably\ndependent more on the bad foundation than on the architect's feeling.\nNot so the exquisite delicacies of change in the proportions and\ndimensions of the apparently symmetrical arcades of the west front. It\nwill be remembered that I said the tower of Pisa was the only ugly tower\nin Italy, because its tiers were equal, or nearly so, in height; a fault\nthis, so contrary to the spirit of the builders of the time, that it can\nbe considered only as an unlucky caprice. Perhaps the general aspect of\nthe west front of the cathedral may then have occurred to the reader's\nmind, as seemingly another contradiction of the rule I had advanced. It\nwould not have been so, however, even had its four upper arcades been\nactually equal; as they are subordinated to the great seven-arched lower\nstory, in the manner before noticed respecting the spire of Salisbury,\nand as is actually the case in the Duomo of Lucca and Tower of Pistoja.\nBut the Pisan front is far more subtly proportioned. Not one of its four\narcades is of like height with another. The highest is the third,\ncounting upwards; and they diminish in nearly arithmetical proportion\nalternately; in the order 3rd, 1st, 2nd, 4th. The inequalities in their\narches are not less remarkable: they at first strike the eye as all\nequal; but there is a grace about them which equality never obtained: on\ncloser observation, it is perceived that in the first row of nineteen\narches, eighteen are equal, and the central one larger than the rest; in\nthe second arcade, the nine central arches stand over the nine below,\nhaving, like them, the ninth central one largest. But on their flanks,\nwhere is the slope of the shoulder-like pediment, the arches vanish, and\na wedge-shaped frieze takes their place, tapering outwards, in order to\nallow the columns to be carried to the extremity of the pediment; and\nhere, where the heights of the shafts are so far shortened, they are set\nthicker; five shafts, or rather four and a capital, above, to four of\nthe arcade below, giving twenty-one intervals instead of nineteen. In\nthe next or third arcade,--which, remember, is the highest,--eight\narches, all equal, are given in the space of the nine below, so that\nthere is now a central shaft instead of a central arch, and the span of\nthe arches is increased in proportion to their increased height.\nFinally, in the uppermost arcade, which is the lowest of all, the\narches, the same in number as those below, are narrower than any of the\nfacade; the whole eight going very nearly above the six below them,\nwhile the terminal arches of the lower arcade are surmounted by flanking\nmasses of decorated wall with projecting figures.\n\nXIV. Now I call _that_ Living Architecture. There is sensation in every\ninch of it, and an accommodation to every architectural necessity, with\na determined variation in arrangement, which is exactly like the related\nproportions and provisions in the structure of organic form. I have not\nspace to examine the still lovelier proportioning of the external shafts\nof the apse of this marvellous building. I prefer, lest the reader\nshould think it a peculiar example, to state the structure of another\nchurch, the most graceful and grand piece of Romanesque work, as a\nfragment, in north Italy, that of San Giovanni Evangelista at Pistoja.\n\nThe side of that church has three stories of arcade, diminishing in\nheight in bold geometrical proportion, while the arches, for the most\npart, increase in number in arithmetical, _i.e._ two in the second\narcade, and three in the third, to one in the first. Lest, however, this\narrangement should be too formal, of the fourteen arches in the lowest\nseries, that which contains the door is made larger than the rest, and\nis not in the middle, but the sixth from the West, leaving five on one\nside and eight on the other. Farther: this lowest arcade is terminated\nby broad flat pilasters, about half the width of its arches; but the\narcade above is continuous; only the two extreme arches at the west end\nare made larger than all the rest, and instead of coming, as they\nshould, into the space of the lower extreme arch, take in both it and\nits broad pilaster. Even this, however, was not out of order enough to\nsatisfy the architect's eye; for there were still two arches above to\neach single one below: so at the east end, where there are more arches,\nand the eye might be more easily cheated, what does he do but _narrow_\nthe two extreme _lower_ arches by half a braccio; while he at the same\ntime slightly enlarged the upper ones, so as to get only seventeen upper\nto nine lower, instead of eighteen to nine. The eye is thus thoroughly\nconfused, and the whole building thrown into one mass, by the curious\nvariations in the adjustments of the superimposed shafts, not one of\nwhich is either exactly in nor positively out of its place; and, to get\nthis managed the more cunningly, there is from an inch to an inch and a\nhalf of gradual gain in the space of the four eastern arches, besides\nthe confessed half braccio. Their measures, counting from the east, I\nfound as follows:--\n\n         Braccia. Palmi. Inches.\n\n  1st       3        0      1\n  2nd       3        0      2\n  3rd       3        3      2\n  4th       3        3      3-1/2\n\nThe upper arcade is managed on the same principle; it looks at first as\nif there were three arches to each under pair; but there are, in\nreality, only thirty-eight (or thirty-seven, I am not quite certain of\nthis number) to the twenty-seven below; and the columns get into all\nmanner of relative positions. Even then, the builder was not satisfied,\nbut must needs carry the irregularity into the spring of the arches, and\nactually, while the general effect is of a symmetrical arcade, there is\nnot one of the arches the same in height as another; their tops undulate\nall along the wall like waves along a harbor quay, some nearly touching\nthe string course above, and others falling from it as much as five or\nsix inches.\n\nXIV. Let us next examine the plan of the west front of St. Mark's at\nVenice, which, though in many respects imperfect, is in its proportions,\nand as a piece of rich and fantastic color, as lovely a dream as ever\nfilled human imagination. It may, perhaps, however, interest the reader\nto hear one opposite opinion upon this subject, and after what has been\nurged in the preceding pages respecting proportion in general, more\nespecially respecting the wrongness of balanced cathedral towers and\nother regular designs, together with my frequent references to the\nDoge's palace, and campanile of St. Mark's, as models of perfection, and\nmy praise of the former especially as projecting above its second\narcade, the following extracts from the journal of Wood the architect,\nwritten on his arrival at Venice, may have a pleasing freshness in them,\nand may show that I have not been stating principles altogether trite or\naccepted.\n\n\"The strange looking church, and the great ugly campanile, could not be\nmistaken. The exterior of this church surprises you by its extreme\nugliness, more than by anything else.\"\n\n\"The Ducal Palace is even more ugly than anything I have previously\nmentioned. Considered in detail, I can imagine no alteration to make it\ntolerable; but if this lofty wall had been _set back behind_ the two\nstories of little arches, it would have been a very noble production.\"\n\nAfter more observations on \"a certain justness of proportion,\" and on\nthe appearance of riches and power in the church, to which he ascribes a\npleasing effect, he goes on: \"Some persons are of opinion that\nirregularity is a necessary part of its excellence. I am decidedly of a\ncontrary opinion, and am convinced that a regular design of the same\nsort would be far superior. Let an oblong of good architecture, but not\nvery showy, conduct to a fine cathedral, which should appear between\n_two lofty towers_ and have _two obelisks_ in front, and on each side of\nthis cathedral let other squares partially open into the first, and one\nof these extend down to a harbor or sea shore, and you would have a\nscene which might challenge any thing in existence.\"\n\nWhy Mr. Wood was unable to enjoy the color of St. Mark's, or perceive\nthe majesty of the Ducal Palace, the reader will see after reading the\ntwo following extracts regarding the Caracci and Michael Angelo.\n\n\"The pictures here (Bologna) are to my taste far preferable to those of\nVenice, for if the Venetian school surpass in coloring, and, perhaps, in\ncomposition, the Bolognese is decidedly superior in drawing and\nexpression, and the Caraccis _shine here like Gods_.\"\n\n\"What is it that is so much admired in this artist (M. Angelo)? Some\ncontend for a grandeur of composition in the lines and disposition of\nthe figures; this, I confess, I do not comprehend; yet, while I\nacknowledge the beauty of certain forms and proportions in architecture,\nI cannot consistently deny that similar merits may exist in painting,\nthough I am unfortunately unable to appreciate them.\"\n\nI think these passages very valuable, as showing the effect of a\ncontracted knowledge and false taste in painting upon an architect's\nunderstanding of his own art; and especially with what curious notions,\nor lack of notions, about proportion, that art has been sometimes\npractised. For Mr. Wood is by no means unintelligent in his observations\ngenerally, and his criticisms on classical art are often most valuable.\nBut those who love Titian better than the Caracci, and who see something\nto admire in Michael Angelo, will, perhaps, be willing to proceed with\nme to a charitable examination of St. Mark's. For, although, the present\ncourse of European events affords us some chance of seeing the changes\nproposed by Mr. Wood carried into execution, we may still esteem\nourselves fortunate in having first known how it was left by the\nbuilders of the eleventh century.\n\nXV. The entire front is composed of an upper and lower series of arches,\nenclosing spaces of wall decorated with mosaic, and supported on ranges\nof shafts of which, in the lower series of arches, there is an upper\nrange superimposed on a lower. Thus we have five vertical divisions of\nthe facade; _i.e._ two tiers of shafts, and the arched wall they bear,\nbelow; one tier of shafts, and the arched wall they bear, above. In\norder, however, to bind the two main divisions together, the central\nlower arch (the main entrance) rises above the level of the gallery and\nbalustrade which crown the lateral arches.\n\nThe proportioning of the columns and walls of the lower story is so\nlovely and so varied, that it would need pages of description before it\ncould be fully understood; but it may be generally stated thus: The\nheight of the lower shafts, upper shafts, and wall, being severally\nexpressed by _a_, _b_, and _c_, then _a_:_c_::_c_:_b_ (_a_ being the\nhighest); and the diameter of shaft _b_ is generally to the diameter of\nshaft _a_ as height _b_ is to height _a_, or something less, allowing\nfor the large plinth which diminishes the apparent height of the upper\nshaft: and when this is their proportion of width, one shaft above is\nput above one below, with sometimes another upper shaft interposed: but\nin the extreme arches a single under shaft bears two upper, proportioned\nas truly as the boughs of a tree; that is to say, the diameter of each\nupper = 2/3 of lower. There being thus the three terms of proportion\ngained in the lower story, the upper, while it is only divided into two\nmain members, in order that the whole height may not be divided into an\neven number, has the third term added in its pinnacles. So far of the\nvertical division. The lateral is still more subtle. There are seven\narches in the lower story; and, calling the central arch _a_, and\ncounting to the extremity, they diminish in the alternate order _a_,\n_c_, _b_, _d_. The upper story has five arches, and two added pinnacles;\nand these diminish in _regular_ order, the central being the largest,\nand the outermost the least. Hence, while one proportion ascends,\nanother descends, like parts in music; and yet the pyramidal form is\nsecured for the whole, and, which was another great point of attention,\nnone of the shafts of the upper arches stand over those of the lower.\n\nXVI. It might have been thought that, by this plan, enough variety had\nbeen secured, but the builder was not satisfied even thus: for--and this\nis the point bearing on the present part of our subject--always calling\nthe central arch _a_, and the lateral ones _b_ and _c_ in succession,\nthe northern _b_ and _c_ are considerably wider than the southern _b_\nand _c_, but the southern _d_ is as much wider than the northern _d_,\nand lower beneath its cornice besides; and, more than this, I hardly\nbelieve that one of the effectively symmetrical members of the facade is\nactually symmetrical with any other. I regret that I cannot state the\nactual measures. I gave up the taking them upon the spot, owing to their\nexcessive complexity, and the embarrassment caused by the yielding and\nsubsidence of the arches.\n\nDo not let it be supposed that I imagine the Byzantine workmen to have\nhad these various principles in their minds as they built. I believe\nthey built altogether from feeling, and that it was because they did so,\nthat there is this marvellous life, changefulness, and subtlety running\nthrough their every arrangement; and that we reason upon the lovely\nbuilding as we should upon some fair growth of the trees of the earth,\nthat know not their own beauty.\n\nXVII. Perhaps, however, a stranger instance than any I have yet given,\nof the daring variation of pretended symmetry, is found in the front of\nthe Cathedral of Bayeux. It consists of five arches with steep\npediments, the outermost filled, the three central with doors; and they\nappear, at first, to diminish in regular proportion from the principal\none in the centre. The two lateral doors are very curiously managed. The\ntympana of their arches are filled with bas-reliefs, in four tiers; in\nthe lowest tier there is in each a little temple or gate containing the\nprincipal figure (in that on the right, it is the gate of Hades with\nLucifer). This little temple is carried, like a capital, by an isolated\nshaft which divides the whole arch at about 2/3 of its breadth, the\nlarger portion outmost; and in that larger portion is the inner entrance\ndoor. This exact correspondence, in the treatment of both gates, might\nlead us to expect a correspondence in dimension. Not at all. The small\ninner northern entrance measures, in English feet and inches, 4 ft. 7\nin. from jamb to jamb, and the southern five feet exactly. Five inches\nin five feet is a considerable variation. The outer northern porch\nmeasures, from face shaft to face shaft, 13 ft. 11 in., and the\nsouthern, 14 ft. 6 in.; giving a difference of 7 in. on 14-1/2 ft. There\nare also variations in the pediment decorations not less extraordinary.\n\nXVIII. I imagine I have given instances enough, though I could multiply\nthem indefinitely, to prove that these variations are not mere blunders,\nnor carelessnesses, but the result of a fixed scorn, if not dislike, of\naccuracy in measurements; and, in most cases, I believe, of a determined\nresolution to work out an effective symmetry by variations as subtle as\nthose of Nature. To what lengths this principle was sometimes carried,\nwe shall see by the very singular management of the towers of Abbeville.\nI do not say it is right, still less that it is wrong, but it is a\nwonderful proof of the fearlessness of a living architecture; for, say\nwhat we will of it, that Flamboyant of France, however morbid, was as\nvivid and intense in its animation as ever any phase of mortal mind; and\nit would have lived till now, if it had not taken to telling lies. I\nhave before noticed the general difficulty of managing even lateral\ndivision, when it is into two equal parts, unless there be some third\nreconciling member. I shall give, hereafter, more examples of the modes\nin which this reconciliation is effected in towers with double lights:\nthe Abbeville architect put his sword to the knot perhaps rather too\nsharply. Vexed by the want of unity between his two windows he literally\nlaid their heads together, and so distorted their ogee curves, as to\nleave only one of the trefoiled panels above, on the inner side, and\nthree on the outer side of each arch. The arrangement is given in Plate\nXII. fig. 3. Associated with the various undulation of flamboyant curves\nbelow, it is in the real tower hardly observed, while it binds it into\none mass in general effect. Granting it, however, to be ugly and wrong,\nI like sins of the kind, for the sake of the courage it requires to\ncommit them. In plate II. (part of a small chapel attached to the West\nfront of the Cathedral of St. Lo), the reader will see an instance,\nfrom the same architecture, of a violation of its own principles, for\nthe sake of a peculiar meaning. If there be any one feature which the\nflamboyant architect loved to decorate richly, it was the niche--it was\nwhat the capital is to the Corinthian order; yet in the case before us\nthere is an ugly beehive put in the place of the principal niche of the\narch. I am not sure if I am right in my interpretation of its meaning,\nbut I have little doubt that two figures below, now broken away, once\nrepresented an Annunciation; and on another part of the same cathedral,\nI find the descent of the Spirit, encompassed by rays of light,\nrepresented very nearly in the form of the niche in question; which\nappears, therefore, to be intended for a representation of this\neffulgence, while at the same time it was made a canopy for the delicate\nfigures below. Whether this was its meaning or not, it is remarkable as\na daring departure from the common habits of the time.\n\nXIX. Far more splendid is a license taken with the niche decoration\nof the portal of St. Maclou at Rouen. The subject of the tympanum\nbas-relief is the Last Judgment, and the sculpture of the inferno side\nis carried out with a degree of power whose fearful grotesqueness I can\nonly describe as a mingling of the minds of Orcagna and Hogarth. The\ndemons are perhaps even more awful than Orcagna's; and, in some of the\nexpressions of debased humanity in its utmost despair, the English\npainter is at least equalled. Not less wild is the imagination which\ngives fury and fear even to the placing of the figures. An evil angel,\npoised on the wing, drives the condemned troops from before the Judgment\nseat; with his left hand he drags behind him a cloud, which is spreading\nlike a winding-sheet over them all; but they are urged by him so\nfuriously, that they are driven not merely to the extreme limit of that\nscene, which the sculptor confined elsewhere within the tympanum, but\nout of the tympanum and _into the niches_ of the arch; while the flames\nthat follow them, bent by the blast, as it seems, of the angel's wings,\nrush into the niches also, and burst up _through their tracery_, the\nthree lowermost niches being represented as all on fire, while,\ninstead of their usual vaulted and ribbed ceiling, there is a demon in\nthe roof of each, with his wings folded over it, grinning down out of\nthe black shadow.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE XIII.--(Page 161--Vol. V.)\n  PORTIONS OF AN ARCADE ON THE SOUTH SIDE OF THE CATHEDRAL OF FERRARA.]\n\nXX. I have, however, given enough instances of vitality shown in mere\ndaring, whether wise, as surely in this last instance, or inexpedient;\nbut, as a single example of the Vitality of Assimilation, the faculty\nwhich turns to its purposes all material that is submitted to it, I\nwould refer the reader to the extraordinary columns of the arcade on the\nsouth side of the Cathedral of Ferrara. A single arch of it is given in\nPlate XIII. on the right. Four such columns forming a group, there are\ninterposed two pairs of columns, as seen on the left of the same plate;\nand then come another four arches. It is a long arcade of, I suppose,\nnot less than forty arches, perhaps of many more; and in the grace and\nsimplicity of its stilted Byzantine curves I hardly know its equal. Its\nlike, in fancy of column, I certainly do not know; there being hardly\ntwo correspondent, and the architect having been ready, as it seems, to\nadopt ideas and resemblances from any sources whatsoever. The vegetation\ngrowing up the two columns is fine, though bizarre; the distorted\npillars beside it suggest images of less agreeable character; the\nserpentine arrangements founded on the usual Byzantine double knot are\ngenerally graceful; but I was puzzled to account for the excessively\nugly type of the pillar, fig. 3, one of a group of four. It so happened,\nfortunately for me, that there had been a fair in Ferrara; and, when I\nhad finished my sketch of the pillar, I had to get out of the way of\nsome merchants of miscellaneous wares, who were removing their stall. It\nhad been shaded by an awning supported by poles, which, in order that\nthe covering might be raised or lowered according to the height of the\nsun, were composed of two separate pieces, fitted to each other by a\n_rack_, in which I beheld the prototype of my ugly pillar. It will not\nbe thought, after what I have above said of the inexpedience of\nimitating anything but natural form, that I advance this architect's\npractice as altogether exemplary; yet the humility is instructive, which\ncondescended to such sources for motives of thought, the boldness, which\ncould depart so far from all established types of form, and the life\nand feeling, which out of an assemblage of such quaint and uncouth\nmaterials, could produce an harmonious piece of ecclesiastical\narchitecture.\n\nXXI. I have dwelt, however, perhaps, too long upon that form of vitality\nwhich is known almost as much by its errors as by its atonements for\nthem. We must briefly note the operation of it, which is always right,\nand always necessary, upon those lesser details, where it can neither be\nsuperseded by precedents, nor repressed by proprieties.\n\nI said, early in this essay, that hand-work might always be known from\nmachine-work; observing, however, at the same time, that it was possible\nfor men to turn themselves into machines, and to reduce their labor to\nthe machine level; but so long as men work _as_ men, putting their heart\ninto what they do, and doing their best, it matters not how bad workmen\nthey may be, there will be that in the handling which is above all\nprice: it will be plainly seen that some places have been delighted in\nmore than others--that there has been a pause, and a care about them;\nand then there will come careless bits, and fast bits; and here the\nchisel will have struck hard, and there lightly, and anon timidly; and\nif the man's mind as well as his heart went with his work, all this will\nbe in the right places, and each part will set off the other; and the\neffect of the whole, as compared with the same design cut by a machine\nor a lifeless hand, will be like that of poetry well read and deeply\nfelt to that of the same verses jangled by rote. There are many to whom\nthe difference is imperceptible; but to those who love poetry it is\neverything--they had rather not hear it at all, than hear it ill read;\nand to those who love Architecture, the life and accent of the hand are\neverything. They had rather not have ornament at all, than see it ill\ncut--deadly cut, that is. I cannot too often repeat, it is not coarse\ncutting, it is not blunt cutting, that is necessarily bad; but it is\ncold cutting--the look of equal trouble everywhere--the smooth, diffused\ntranquillity of heartless pains--the regularity of a plough in a level\nfield. The chill is more likely, indeed, to show itself in finished work\nthan in any other--men cool and tire as they complete: and if\ncompleteness is thought to be vested in polish, and to be attainable by\nhelp of sand paper, we may as well give the work to the engine-lathe at\nonce. But _right_ finish is simply the full rendering of the intended\nimpression; and _high_ finish is the rendering of a well intended and\nvivid impression; and it is oftener got by rough than fine handling. I\nam not sure whether it is frequently enough observed that sculpture is\nnot the mere cutting of the _form_ of anything in stone; it is the\ncutting of the _effect_ of it. Very often the true form, in the marble,\nwould not be in the least like itself. The sculptor must paint with his\nchisel: half his touches are not to realize, but to put power into the\nform: they are touches of light and shadow; and raise a ridge, or sink a\nhollow, not to represent an actual ridge or hollow, but to get a line of\nlight, or a spot of darkness. In a coarse way, this kind of execution is\nvery marked in old French woodwork; the irises of the eyes of its\nchimeric monsters being cut boldly into holes, which, variously placed,\nand always dark, give all kinds of strange and startling expressions,\naverted and askance, to the fantastic countenances. Perhaps the highest\nexamples of this kind of sculpture-painting are the works of Mino da\nFiesole; their best effects being reached by strange angular, and\nseemingly rude, touches of the chisel. The lips of one of the children\non the tombs in the church of the Badia, appear only half finished when\nthey are seen close; yet the expression is farther carried and more\nineffable, than in any piece of marble I have ever seen, especially\nconsidering its delicacy, and the softness of the child-features. In a\nsterner kind, that of the statues in the sacristy of St. Lorenzo equals\nit, and there again by incompletion. I know no example of work in which\nthe forms are absolutely true and complete where such a result is\nattained; in Greek sculptures is not even attempted.\n\nXXII. It is evident that, for architectural appliances, such masculine\nhandling, likely as it must be to retain its effectiveness when higher\nfinish would be injured by time, must always be the most expedient; and\nas it is impossible, even were it desirable that the highest finish\nshould be given to the quantity of work which covers a large building,\nit will be understood how precious the intelligence must become, which\nrenders incompletion itself a means of additional expression; and how\ngreat must be the difference, when the touches are rude and few, between\nthose of a careless and those of a regardful mind. It is not easy to\nretain anything of their character in a copy; yet the reader will find\none or two illustrative points in the examples, given in Plate XIV.,\nfrom the bas-reliefs of the north of Rouen Cathedral. There are three\nsquare pedestals under the three main niches on each side of it, and one\nin the centre; each of these being on two sides decorated with five\nquatrefoiled panels. There are thus seventy quatrefoils in the lower\nornament of the gate alone, without counting those of the outer course\nround it, and of the pedestals outside: each quatrefoil is filled with a\nbas-relief, the whole reaching to something above a man's height. A\nmodern architect would, of course, have made all the five quatrefoils of\neach pedestal-side equal: not so the Mediaeval. The general form being\napparently a quatrefoil composed of semicircles on the sides of a\nsquare, it will be found on examination that none of the arcs are\nsemicircles, and none of the basic figures squares. The latter are\nrhomboids, having their acute or obtuse angles uppermost according to\ntheir larger or smaller size; and the arcs upon their sides slide into\nsuch places as they can get in the angles of the enclosing\nparallelogram, leaving intervals, at each of the four angles, of various\nshapes, which are filled each by an animal. The size of the whole panel\nbeing thus varied, the two lowest of the five are tall, the next two\nshort, and the uppermost a little higher than the lowest; while in the\ncourse of bas-reliefs which surrounds the gate, calling either of the\ntwo lowest (which are equal), _a_, and either of the next two _b_, and\nthe fifth and sixth _c_ and _d_, then _d_ (the largest):\n_c_::_c_:_a_::_a_:_b_. It is wonderful how much of the grace of the\nwhole depends on these variations.\n\nXXIII. Each of the angles, it was said, is filled by an animal. There\nare thus 70 x 4=280 animals, all different, in the mere fillings of the\nintervals of the bas-reliefs. Three of these intervals, with their\nbeasts, actual size, the curves being traced upon the stone, I have\ngiven in Plate XIV.\n\n  [Illustration: PLATE XIV.--(Page 165--Vol. V.)\n  SCULPTURE FROM THE CATHEDRAL OF ROUEN.]\n\nI say nothing of their general design, or of the lines of the wings and\nscales, which are perhaps, unless in those of the central dragon, not\nmuch above the usual commonplaces of good ornamental work; but there is\nan evidence in the features of thoughtfulness and fancy which is not\ncommon, at least now-a-days. The upper creature on the left is biting\nsomething, the form of which is hardly traceable in the defaced\nstone--but biting he is; and the reader cannot but recognise in the\npeculiarly reverted eye the expression which is never seen, as I think,\nbut in the eye of a dog gnawing something in jest, and preparing to\nstart away with it: the meaning of the glance, so far as it can be\nmarked by the mere incision of the chisel, will be felt by comparing it\nwith the eye of the couchant figure on the right, in its gloomy and\nangry brooding. The plan of this head, and the nod of the cap over its\nbrow, are fine; but there is a little touch above the hand especially\nwell meant: the fellow is vexed and puzzled in his malice; and his hand\nis pressed hard on his cheek bone, and the flesh of the cheek is\n_wrinkled_ under the eye by the pressure. The whole, indeed, looks\nwretchedly coarse, when it is seen on a scale in which it is naturally\ncompared with delicate figure etchings; but considering it as a mere\nfilling of an interstice on the outside of a cathedral gate, and as one\nof more than three hundred (for in my estimate I did not include the\nouter pedestals), it proves very noble vitality in the art of the time.\n\nXXIV. I believe the right question to ask, respecting all ornament, is\nsimply this: Was it done with enjoyment--was the carver happy while he\nwas about it? It may be the hardest work possible, and the harder\nbecause so much pleasure was taken in it; but it must have been happy\ntoo, or it will not be living. How much of the stone mason's toil this\ncondition would exclude I hardly venture to consider, but the condition\nis absolute. There is a Gothic church lately built near Rouen, vile\nenough, indeed, in its general composition, but excessively rich in\ndetail; many of the details are designed with taste, and all evidently\nby a man who has studied old work closely. But it is all as dead as\nleaves in December; there is not one tender touch, not one warm stroke,\non the whole facade. The men who did it hated it, and were thankful when\nit was done. And so long as they do so they are merely loading your\nwalls with shapes of clay: the garlands of everlastings in Pere la\nChaise are more cheerful ornaments. You cannot get the feeling by paying\nfor it--money will not buy life. I am not sure even that you can get it\nby watching or waiting for it. It is true that here and there a workman\nmay be found who has it in him, but he does not rest contented in the\ninferior work--he struggles forward into an Academician; and from the\nmass of available handicraftsmen the power is gone--how recoverable I\nknow not: this only I know, that all expense devoted to sculptural\nornament, in the present condition of that power, comes literally under\nthe head of Sacrifice for the sacrifice's sake, or worse. I believe the\nonly manner of rich ornament that is open to us is the geometrical\ncolor-mosaic, and that much might result from our strenuously taking up\nthis mode of design. But, at all events, one thing we have in our\npower--the doing without machine ornament and cast-iron work. All the\nstamped metals, and artificial stones, and imitation woods and bronzes,\nover the invention of which we hear daily exultation--all the short, and\ncheap, and easy ways of doing that whose difficulty is its honor--are\njust so many new obstacles in our already encumbered road. They will not\nmake one of us happier or wiser--they will extend neither the pride of\njudgment nor the privilege of enjoyment. They will only make us\nshallower in our understandings, colder in our hearts, and feebler in\nour wits. And most justly. For we are not sent into this world to do any\nthing into which we cannot put our hearts. We have certain work to do\nfor our bread, and that is to be done strenuously; other work to do for\nour delight, and that is to be done heartily: neither is to be done by\nhalves or shifts, but with a will; and what is not worth this effort is\nnot to be done at all. Perhaps all that we have to do is meant for\nnothing more than an exercise of the heart and of the will, and is\nuseless in itself; but, at all events, the little use it has may well be\nspared if it is not worth putting our hands and our strength to. It\ndoes not become our immortality to take an ease inconsistent with its\nauthority, nor to suffer any instruments with which it can dispense, to\ncome between it and the things it rules: and he who would form the\ncreations of his own mind by any other instrument than his own hand,\nwould, also, if he might, give grinding organs to Heaven's angels, to\nmake their music easier. There is dreaming enough, and earthiness\nenough, and sensuality enough in human existence without our turning the\nfew glowing moments of it into mechanism; and since our life must at the\nbest be but a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes\naway, let it at least appear as a cloud in the height of Heaven, not as\nthe thick darkness that broods over the blast of the Furnace, and\nrolling of the Wheel.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE LAMP OF MEMORY.\n\n\nI. Among the hours of his life to which the writer looks back with\npeculiar gratitude, as having been marked by more than ordinary fulness\nof joy or clearness of teaching, is one passed, now some years ago, near\ntime of sunset, among the broken masses of pine forest which skirt the\ncourse of the Ain, above the village of Champagnole, in the Jura. It is\na spot which has all the solemnity, with none of the savageness, of the\nAlps; where there is a sense of a great power beginning to be manifested\nin the earth, and of a deep and majestic concord in the rise of the long\nlow lines of piny hills; the first utterance of those mighty mountain\nsymphonies, soon to be more loudly lifted and wildly broken along the\nbattlements of the Alps. But their strength is as yet restrained; and\nthe far-reaching ridges of pastoral mountain succeed each other, like\nthe long and sighing swell which moves over quiet waters from some\nfar-off stormy sea. And there is a deep tenderness pervading that vast\nmonotony. The destructive forces and the stern expression of the central\nranges are alike withdrawn. No frost-ploughed, dust-encumbered paths of\nancient glacier fret the soft Jura pastures; no splintered heaps of\nruin break the fair ranks of her forests; no pale, defiled, or furious\nrivers rend their rude and changeful ways among her rocks. Patiently,\neddy by eddy, the clear green streams wind along their well-known beds;\nand under the dark quietness of the undisturbed pines, there spring up,\nyear by year, such company of joyful flowers as I know not the like of\namong all the blessings of the earth. It was Spring time, too; and all\nwere coming forth in clusters crowded for very love; there was room\nenough for all, but they crushed their leaves into all manner of strange\nshapes only to be nearer each other. There was the wood anemone, star\nafter star, closing every now and then into nebulae: and there was the\noxalis, troop by troop like virginal processions of the Mois de Marie,\nthe dark vertical clefts in the limestone choked up with them as with\nheavy snow, and touched with ivy on the edges--ivy as light and lovely\nas the vine; and ever and anon, a blue gush of violets, and cowslip\nbells in sunny places; and in the more open ground, the vetch, and\ncomfrey, and mezereon, and the small sapphire buds of the Polygala\nAlpina, and the wild strawberry, just a blossom or two, all showered\namidst the golden softness of deep, warm, amber-colored moss. I came out\npresently on the edge of the ravine; the solemn murmur of its waters\nrose suddenly from beneath, mixed with the singing of the thrushes among\nthe pine boughs; and, on the opposite side of the valley, walled all\nalong as it was by grey cliffs of limestone, there was a hawk sailing\nslowly off their brow, touching them nearly with his wings, and with the\nshadows of the pines flickering upon his plumage from above; but with a\nfall of a hundred fathoms under his breast, and the curling pools of the\ngreen river gliding and glittering dizzily beneath him, their foam\nglobes moving with him as he flew. It would be difficult to conceive a\nscene less dependent upon any other interest than that of its own\nsecluded and serious beauty; but the writer well remembers the sudden\nblankness and chill which were cast upon it when he endeavored, in order\nmore strictly to arrive at the sources of its impressiveness, to imagine\nit, for a moment, a scene in some aboriginal forest of the New\nContinent. The flowers in an instant lost their light, the river its\nmusic[15]; the hills became oppressively desolate; a heaviness in the\nboughs of the darkened forest showed how much of their former power had\nbeen dependent upon a life which was not theirs, how much of the glory\nof the imperishable, or continually renewed, creation is reflected from\nthings more precious in their memories than it, in its renewing. Those\never springing flowers and ever flowing streams had been dyed by the\ndeep colors of human endurance, valor, and virtue; and the crests of the\nsable hills that rose against the evening sky received a deeper worship,\nbecause their far shadows fell eastward over the iron wall of Joux and\nthe four-square keep of Granson.\n\nII. It is as the centralisation and protectress of this sacred\ninfluence, that Architecture is to be regarded by us with the most\nserious thought. We may live without her, and worship without her, but\nwe cannot remember without her. How cold is all history how lifeless all\nimagery, compared to that which the living nation writes, and the\nuncorrupted marble bears! how many pages of doubtful record might we not\noften spare, for a few stones left one upon another! The ambition of the\nold Babel builders was well directed for this world: there are but two\nstrong conquerors of the forgetfulness of men, Poetry and Architecture;\nand the latter in some sort includes the former, and is mightier in its\nreality; it is well to have, not only what men have thought and felt,\nbut what their hands have handled, and their strength wrought, and their\neyes beheld, all the days of their life. The age of Homer is surrounded\nwith darkness, his very personality with doubt. Not so that of Pericles:\nand the day is coming when we shall confess, that we have learned more\nof Greece out of the crumbled fragments of her sculpture than even from\nher sweet singers or soldier historians. And if indeed there be any\nprofit in our knowledge of the past, or any joy in the thought of being\nremembered hereafter, which can give strength to present exertion, or\npatience to present endurance, there are two duties respecting national\narchitecture whose importance it is impossible to overrate; the first,\nto render the architecture of the day historical; and, the second, to\npreserve, as the most precious of inheritances, that of past ages.\n\nIII. It is in the first of these two directions that Memory may truly be\nsaid to be the Sixth Lamp of Architecture; for it is in becoming\nmemorial or monumental that a true perfection is attained by civil and\ndomestic buildings; and this partly as they are, with such a view, built\nin a more stable manner, and partly as their decorations are\nconsequently animated by a metaphorical or historical meaning.\n\nAs regards domestic buildings, there must always be a certain limitation\nto views of this kind in the power, as well as in the hearts, of men;\nstill I cannot but think it an evil sign of a people when their houses\nare built to last for one generation only. There is a sanctity in a good\nman's house which cannot be renewed in every tenement that rises on its\nruins: and I believe that good men would generally feel this; and that\nhaving spent their lives happily and honorably, they would be grieved at\nthe close of them to think that the place of their earthly abode, which\nhad seen, and seemed almost to sympathise in all their honor, their\ngladness, or their suffering,--that this, with all the record it bare of\nthem, and all of material things that they had loved and ruled over, and\nset the stamp of themselves upon--was to be swept away, as soon as there\nwas room made for them in the grave; that no respect was to be shown to\nit, no affection felt for it, no good to be drawn from it by their\nchildren; that though there was a monument in the church, there was no\nwarm monument in the heart and house to them; that all that they ever\ntreasured was despised, and the places that had sheltered and comforted\nthem were dragged down to the dust. I say that a good man would fear\nthis; and that, far more, a good son, a noble descendant, would fear\ndoing it to his father's house. I say that if men lived like men indeed,\ntheir houses would be temples--temples which we should hardly dare to\ninjure, and in which it would make us holy to be permitted to live; and\nthere must be a strange dissolution of natural affection, a strange\nunthankfulness for all that homes have given and parents taught, a\nstrange consciousness that we have been unfaithful to our fathers'\nhonor, or that our own lives are not such as would make our dwellings\nsacred to our children, when each man would fain build to himself, and\nbuild for the little revolution of his own life only. And I look upon\nthose pitiful concretions of lime and clay which spring up in mildewed\nforwardness out of the kneaded fields about our capital--upon those\nthin, tottering, foundationless shells of splintered wood and imitated\nstone--upon those gloomy rows of formalised minuteness, alike without\ndifference and without fellowship, as solitary as similar--not merely\nwith the careless disgust of an offended eye, not merely with sorrow for\na desecrated landscape, but with a painful foreboding that the roots of\nour national greatness must be deeply cankered when they are thus\nloosely struck in their native ground; that those comfortless and\nunhonored dwellings are the signs of a great and spreading spirit of\npopular discontent; that they mark the time when every man's aim is to\nbe in some more elevated sphere than his natural one, and every man's\npast life is his habitual scorn; when men build in the hope of leaving\nthe places they have built, and live in the hope of forgetting the years\nthat they have lived; when the comfort, the peace, the religion of home\nhave ceased to be felt; and the crowded tenements of a struggling and\nrestless population differ only from the tents of the Arab or the Gipsy\nby their less healthy openness to the air of heaven, and less happy\nchoice of their spot of earth; by their sacrifice of liberty without the\ngain of rest, and of stability without the luxury of change.\n\nIV. This is no slight, no consequenceless evil: it is ominous,\ninfectious, and fecund of other fault and misfortune. When men do not\nlove their hearths, nor reverence their thresholds, it is a sign that\nthey have dishonored both, and that they have never acknowledged the\ntrue universality of that Christian worship which was indeed to\nsupersede the idolatry, but not the piety, of the pagan. Our God is a\nhousehold God, as well as a heavenly one; He has an altar in every man's\ndwelling; let men look to it when they rend it lightly and pour out its\nashes. It is not a question of mere ocular delight, it is no question of\nintellectual pride, or of cultivated and critical fancy, how, and with\nwhat aspect of durability and of completeness, the domestic buildings\nof a nation shall be raised. It is one of those moral duties, not with\nmore impunity to be neglected because the perception of them depends on\na finely toned and balanced conscientiousness, to build our dwellings\nwith care, and patience, and fondness, and diligent completion, and with\na view to their duration at least for such a period as, in the ordinary\ncourse of national revolutions, might be supposed likely to extend to\nthe entire alteration of the direction of local interests. This at the\nleast; but it would be better if, in every possible instance, men built\ntheir own houses on a scale commensurate rather with their condition at\nthe commencement, than their attainments at the termination, of their\nworldly career; and built them to stand as long as human work at its\nstrongest can be hoped to stand; recording to their children what they\nhave been, and from what, if so it had been permitted them, they had\nrisen. And when houses are thus built, we may have that true domestic\narchitecture, the beginning of all other, which does not disdain to\ntreat with respect and thoughtfulness the small habitation as well as\nthe large, and which invests with the dignity of contented manhood the\nnarrowness of worldly circumstance.\n\nV. I look to this spirit of honorable, proud, peaceful self-possession,\nthis abiding wisdom of contented life, as probably one of the chief\nsources of great intellectual power in all ages, and beyond dispute as\nthe very primal source of the great architecture of old Italy and\nFrance. To this day, the interest of their fairest cities depends, not\non the isolated richness of palaces, but on the cherished and exquisite\ndecoration of even the smallest tenements of their proud periods. The\nmost elaborate piece of architecture in Venice is a small house at the\nhead of the Grand Canal, consisting of a ground floor with two stories\nabove, three windows in the first, and two in the second. Many of the\nmost exquisite buildings are on the narrower canals, and of no larger\ndimensions. One of the most interesting pieces of fifteenth century\narchitecture in North Italy, is a small house in a back street, behind\nthe market-place of Vicenza; it bears date 1481, and the motto, _Il.\nn'est. rose. sans. epine_; it has also only a ground floor and two\nstories, with three windows in each, separated by rich flower-work, and\nwith balconies, supported, the central one by an eagle with open wings,\nthe lateral ones by winged griffins standing on cornucopiae. The idea\nthat a house must be large in order to be well built, is altogether of\nmodern growth, and is parallel with the idea, that no picture can be\nhistorical, except of a size admitting figures larger than life.\n\nVI. I would have, then, our ordinary dwelling-houses built to last, and\nbuilt to be lovely; as rich and full of pleasantness as may be, within\nand without; with what degree of likeness to each other in style and\nmanner, I will say presently, under another head; but, at all events,\nwith such differences as might suit and express each man's character and\noccupation, and partly his history. This right over the house, I\nconceive, belongs to its first builder, and is to be respected by his\nchildren; and it would be well that blank stones should be left in\nplaces, to be inscribed with a summary of his life and of its\nexperience, raising thus the habitation into a kind of monument, and\ndeveloping, into more systematic instructiveness, that good custom which\nwas of old universal, and which still remains among some of the Swiss\nand Germans, of acknowledging the grace of God's permission to build and\npossess a quiet resting-place, in such sweet words as may well close our\nspeaking of these things. I have taken them from the front of a cottage\nlately built among the green pastures which descend from the village of\nGrindelwald to the lower glacier:--\n\n  \"Mit herzlichem Vertrauen\n  Hat Johannes Mooter und Maria Rubi\n  Dieses Haus bauen lassen.\n  Der liebe Gott woll uns bewahren\n  Vor allem Unglueck und Gefahren,\n  Und es in Segen lassen stehn\n  Auf der Reise durch diese Jammerzeit\n  Nach dem himmlischen Paradiese,\n  Wo alle Frommen wohnen,\n  Da wird Gott sie belohnen\n  Mit der Friedenskrone\n      Zu alle Ewigkeit.\"\n\nVII. In public buildings the historical purpose should be still more\ndefinite. It is one of the advantages of Gothic architecture,--I use the\nword Gothic in the most extended sense as broadly opposed to\nclassical,--that it admits of a richness of record altogether unlimited.\nIts minute and multitudinous sculptural decorations afford means of\nexpressing, either symbolically or literally, all that need be known of\nnational feeling or achievement. More decoration will, indeed, be\nusually required than can take so elevated a character; and much, even\nin the most thoughtful periods, has been left to the freedom of fancy,\nor suffered to consist of mere repetitions of some national bearing or\nsymbol. It is, however, generally unwise, even in mere surface ornament,\nto surrender the power and privilege of variety which the spirit of\nGothic architecture admits; much more in important features--capitals of\ncolumns or bosses, and string-courses, as of course in all confessed\nbas-reliefs. Better the rudest work that tells a story or records a\nfact, than the richest without meaning. There should not be a single\nornament put upon great civic buildings, without some intellectual\nintention. Actual representation of history has in modern times been\nchecked by a difficulty, mean indeed, but steadfast: that of\nunmanageable costume; nevertheless, by a sufficiently bold imaginative\ntreatment, and frank use of symbols, all such obstacles may be\nvanquished; not perhaps in the degree necessary to produce sculpture in\nitself satisfactory, but at all events so as to enable it to become a\ngrand and expressive element of architectural composition. Take, for\nexample, the management of the capitals of the ducal palace at Venice.\nHistory, as such, was indeed entrusted to the painters of its interior,\nbut every capital of its arcades was filled with meaning. The large one,\nthe corner stone of the whole, next the entrance, was devoted to the\nsymbolisation of Abstract Justice; above it is a sculpture of the\nJudgment of Solomon, remarkable for a beautiful subjection in its\ntreatment to its decorative purpose. The figures, if the subject had\nbeen entirely composed of them, would have awkwardly interrupted the\nline of the angle, and diminished its apparent strength; and therefore\nin the midst of them, entirely without relation to them, and indeed\nactually between the executioner and interceding mother, there rises the\nribbed trunk of a massy tree, which supports and continues the shaft of\nthe angle, and whose leaves above overshadow and enrich the whole. The\ncapital below bears among its leafage a throned figure of Justice,\nTrajan doing justice to the widow, Aristotle \"che die legge,\" and one or\ntwo other subjects now unintelligible from decay. The capitals next in\norder represent the virtues and vices in succession, as preservative or\ndestructive of national peace and power, concluding with Faith, with the\ninscription \"Fides optima in Deo est.\" A figure is seen on the opposite\nside of the capital, worshipping the sun. After these, one or two\ncapitals are fancifully decorated with birds (Plate V.), and then come a\nseries representing, first the various fruits, then the national\ncostumes, and then the animals of the various countries subject to\nVenetian rule.\n\nVIII. Now, not to speak of any more important public building, let us\nimagine our own India House adorned in this way, by historical or\nsymbolical sculpture: massively built in the first place; then chased\nwith bas-reliefs of our Indian battles, and fretted with carvings of\nOriental foliage, or inlaid with Oriental stones; and the more important\nmembers of its decoration composed of groups of Indian life and\nlandscape, and prominently expressing the phantasms of Hindoo worship in\ntheir subjection to the Cross. Would not one such work be better than a\nthousand histories? If, however, we have not the invention necessary for\nsuch efforts, or if, which is probably one of the most noble excuses we\ncan offer for our deficiency in such matters, we have less pleasure in\ntalking about ourselves, even in marble, than the Continental nations,\nat least we have no excuse for any want of care in the points which\ninsure the building's endurance. And as this question is one of great\ninterest in its relations to the choice of various modes of decoration,\nit will be necessary to enter into it at some length.\n\nIX. The benevolent regards and purposes of men in masses seldom can be\nsupposed to extend beyond their own generation. They may look to\nposterity as an audience, may hope for its attention, and labor for its\npraise: they may trust to its recognition of unacknowledged merit, and\ndemand its justice for contemporary wrong. But all this is mere\nselfishness, and does not involve the slightest regard to, or\nconsideration of, the interest of those by whose numbers we would fain\nswell the circle of our flatterers, and by whose authority we would\ngladly support our presently disputed claims. The idea of self-denial\nfor the sake of posterity, of practising present economy for the sake of\ndebtors yet unborn, of planting forests that our descendants may live\nunder their shade, or of raising cities for future nations to inhabit,\nnever, I suppose, efficiently takes place among publicly recognised\nmotives of exertion. Yet these are not the less our duties; nor is our\npart fitly sustained upon the earth, unless the range of our intended\nand deliberate usefulness include not only the companions, but the\nsuccessors, of our pilgrimage. God has lent us the earth for our life;\nit is a great entail. It belongs as much to those who are to come after\nus, and whose names are already written in the book of creation, as to\nus; and we have no right, by anything that we do or neglect, to involve\nthem in unnecessary penalties, or deprive them of benefits which it was\nin our power to bequeath. And this the more, because it is one of the\nappointed conditions of the labor of men that, in proportion to the time\nbetween the seed-sowing and the harvest, is the fulness of the fruit;\nand that generally, therefore, the farther off we place our aim, and the\nless we desire to be ourselves the witnesses of what we have labored\nfor, the more wide and rich will be the measure of our success. Men\ncannot benefit those that are with them as they can benefit those who\ncome after them; and of all the pulpits from which human voice is ever\nsent forth, there is none from which it reaches so far as from the\ngrave.\n\nX. Nor is there, indeed, any present loss, in such respect, for\nfuturity. Every human action gains in honor, in grace, in all true\nmagnificence, by its regard to things that are to come. It is the far\nsight, the quiet and confident patience, that, above all other\nattributes, separate man from man, and near him to his Maker; and there\nis no action nor art, whose majesty we may not measure by this test.\nTherefore, when we build, let us think that we build for ever. Let it\nnot be for present delight, nor for present use alone; let it be such\nwork as our descendants will thank us for, and let us think, as we lay\nstone on stone, that a time is to come when those stones will be held\nsacred because our hands have touched them, and that men will say as\nthey look upon the labor and wrought substance of them, \"See! this our\nfathers did for us.\" For, indeed, the greatest glory of a building is\nnot in its stones, or in its gold. Its glory is in its Age, and in that\ndeep sense of voicefulness, of stern watching, of mysterious sympathy,\nnay, even of approval or condemnation, which we feel in walls that have\nlong been washed by the passing waves of humanity. It is in their\nlasting witness against men, in their quiet contrast with the\ntransitional character of all things, in the strength which, through the\nlapse of seasons and times, and the decline and birth of dynasties, and\nthe changing of the face of the earth, and of the limits of the sea,\nmaintains its sculptured shapeliness for a time insuperable, connects\nforgotten and following ages with each other, and half constitutes the\nidentity, as it concentrates the sympathy, of nations; it is in that\ngolden stain of time, that we are to look for the real light, and color,\nand preciousness of architecture; and it is not until a building has\nassumed this character, till it has been entrusted with the fame, and\nhallowed by the deeds of men, till its walls have been witnesses of\nsuffering, and its pillars rise out of the shadows of death, that its\nexistence, more lasting as it is than that of the natural objects of the\nworld around it, can be gifted with even so much as these possess of\nlanguage and of life.\n\nXI. For that period, then, we must build; not, indeed, refusing to\nourselves the delight of present completion, nor hesitating to follow\nsuch portions of character as may depend upon delicacy of execution to\nthe highest perfection of which they are capable, even although we may\nknow that in the course of years such details must perish; but taking\ncare that for work of this kind we sacrifice no enduring quality, and\nthat the building shall not depend for its impressiveness upon anything\nthat is perishable. This would, indeed, be the law of good composition\nunder any circumstances, the arrangement of the larger masses being\nalways a matter of greater importance than the treatment of the smaller;\nbut in architecture there is much in that very treatment which is\nskilful or otherwise in proportion to its just regard to the probable\neffects of time: and (which is still more to be considered) there is a\nbeauty in those effects themselves, which nothing else can replace, and\nwhich it is our wisdom to consult and to desire. For though, hitherto,\nwe have been speaking of the sentiment of age only, there is an actual\nbeauty in the marks of it, such and so great as to have become not\nunfrequently the subject of especial choice among certain schools of\nart, and to have impressed upon those schools the character usually and\nloosely expressed by the term \"picturesque.\" It is of some importance to\nour present purpose to determine the true meaning of this expression, as\nit is now generally used; for there is a principle to be developed from\nthat use which, while it has occultly been the ground of much that is\ntrue and just in our judgment of art, has never been so far understood\nas to become definitely serviceable. Probably no word in the language\n(exclusive of theological expressions), has been the subject of so\nfrequent or so prolonged dispute; yet none remained more vague in their\nacceptance, and it seems to me to be a matter of no small interest to\ninvestigate the essence of that idea which all feel, and (to appearance)\nwith respect to similar things, and yet which every attempt to define\nhas, as I believe, ended either in mere enumeration of the effects and\nobjects to which the term has been attached, or else in attempts at\nabstraction more palpably nugatory than any which have disgraced\nmetaphysical investigation on other subjects. A recent critic on Art,\nfor instance, has gravely advanced the theory that the essence of the\npicturesque consists in the expression of \"universal decay.\" It would be\ncurious to see the result of an attempt to illustrate this idea of the\npicturesque, in a painting of dead flowers and decayed fruit, and\nequally curious to trace the steps of any reasoning which, on such a\ntheory, should account for the picturesqueness of an ass colt as opposed\nto a horse foal. But there is much excuse for even the most utter\nfailure in reasonings of this kind, since the subject is, indeed, one\nof the most obscure of all that may legitimately be submitted to human\nreason; and the idea is itself so varied in the minds of different men,\naccording to their subjects of study, that no definition can be expected\nto embrace more than a certain number of its infinitely multiplied\nforms.\n\nXII. That peculiar character, however, which separates the picturesque\nfrom the characters of subject belonging to the higher walks of art (and\nthis is all that is necessary for our present purpose to define), may be\nshortly and decisively expressed. Picturesqueness, in this sense, is\n_Parasitical Sublimity_. Of course all sublimity, as well as all beauty,\nis, in the simple etymological sense, picturesque, that is to say, fit\nto become the subject of a picture; and all sublimity is, even in the\npeculiar sense which I am endeavoring to develope, picturesque, as\nopposed to beauty; that is to say, there is more picturesqueness in the\nsubject of Michael Angelo than of Perugino, in proportion to the\nprevalence of the sublime element over the beautiful. But that\ncharacter, of which the extreme pursuit is generally admitted to be\ndegrading to art, is _parasitical_ sublimity; _i.e._, a sublimity\ndependent on the accidents, or on the least essential characters, of the\nobjects to which it belongs; and the picturesque is _developed\ndistinctively exactly in proportion to the distance from the centre of\nthought of those points of character in which the sublimity is found_.\nTwo ideas, therefore, are essential to picturesqueness,--the first, that\nof sublimity (for pure beauty is not picturesque at all, and becomes so\nonly as the sublime element mixes with it), and the second, the\nsubordinate or parasitical position of that sublimity. Of course,\ntherefore, whatever characters of line or shade or expression are\nproductive of sublimity, will become productive of picturesqueness; what\nthese characters are I shall endeavor hereafter to show at length; but,\namong those which are generally acknowledged, I may name angular and\nbroken lines, vigorous oppositions of light and shadow, and grave, deep,\nor boldly contrasted color; and all these are in a still higher degree\neffective, when, by resemblance or association, they remind us of\nobjects on which a true and essential sublimity exists, as of rocks or\nmountains, or stormy clouds or waves. Now if these characters, or any\nothers of a higher and more abstract sublimity, be found in the very\nheart and substance of what we contemplate, as the sublimity of Michael\nAngelo depends on the expression of mental character in his figures far\nmore than even on the noble lines of their arrangement, the art which\nrepresents such characters cannot be properly called picturesque: but,\nif they be found in the accidental or external qualities, the\ndistinctive picturesque will be the result.\n\nXIII. Thus, in the treatment of the features of the human face by\nFrancia or Angelico, the shadows are employed only to make the contours\nof the features thoroughly felt; and to those features themselves the\nmind of the observer is exclusively directed (that is to say, to the\nessential characters of the thing represented). All power and all\nsublimity rest on these; the shadows are used only for the sake of the\nfeatures. On the contrary, by Rembrandt, Salvator, or Caravaggio, the\nfeatures are used _for the sake of the shadows_; and the attention is\ndirected, and the power of the painter addressed to characters of\naccidental light and shade cast across or around those features. In the\ncase of Rembrandt there is often an essential sublimity in invention and\nexpression besides, and always a high degree of it in the light and\nshade itself; but it is for the most part parasitical or engrafted\nsublimity as regards the subject of the painting, and, just so far,\npicturesque.\n\nXIV. Again, in the management of the sculptures of the Parthenon, shadow\nis frequently employed as a dark field on which the forms are drawn.\nThis is visibly the case in the metopes, and must have been nearly as\nmuch so in the pediment. But the use of that shadow is entirely to show\nthe confines of the figures; and it is to _their lines_, and not to the\nshapes of the shadows behind them, that the art and the eye are\naddressed. The figures themselves are conceived as much as possible in\nfull light, aided by bright reflections; they are drawn exactly as, on\nvases, white figures on a dark ground: and the sculptors have dispensed\nwith, or even struggled to avoid, all shadows which were not absolutely\nnecessary to the explaining of the form. On the contrary, in Gothic\nsculpture, the shadow becomes itself a subject of thought. It is\nconsidered as a dark color, to be arranged in certain agreeable masses;\nthe figures are very frequently made even subordinate to the placing of\nits divisions: and their costume is enriched at the expense of the forms\nunderneath, in order to increase the complexity and variety of the\npoints of shade. There are thus, both in sculpture and painting, two, in\nsome sort, opposite schools, of which the one follows for its subject\nthe essential forms of things, and the other the accidental lights and\nshades upon them. There are various degrees of their contrariety: middle\nsteps, as in the works of Correggio, and all degrees of nobility and of\ndegradation in the several manners: but the one is always recognised as\nthe pure, and the other as the picturesque school. Portions of\npicturesque treatment will be found in Greek work, and of pure and\nunpicturesque in Gothic; and in both there are countless instances, as\npre-eminently in the works of Michael Angelo, in which shadows become\nvaluable as media of expression, and therefore take rank among essential\ncharacteristics. Into these multitudinous distinctions and exceptions I\ncannot now enter, desiring only to prove the broad applicability of the\ngeneral definition.\n\nXV. Again, the distinction will be found to exist, not only between\nforms and shades as subjects of choice, but between essential and\ninessential forms. One of the chief distinctions between the dramatic\nand picturesque schools of sculpture is found in the treatment of the\nhair. By the artists of the time of Pericles it was considered as an\nexcrescence,[16] indicated by few and rude lines, and subordinated in\nevery particular to the principality of the features and person. How\ncompletely this was an artistical, not a national idea, it is\nunnecessary to prove. We need but remember the employment of the\nLacedaemonians, reported by the Persian spy on the evening before the\nbattle of Thermopylae, or glance at any Homeric description of ideal\nform, to see how purely _sculpturesque_ was the law which reduced the\nmarkings of the hair, lest, under the necessary disadvantages of\nmaterial, they should interfere with the distinctness of the personal\nforms. On the contrary, in later sculpture, the hair receives almost the\nprincipal care of the workman; and while the features and limbs are\nclumsily and bluntly executed, the hair is curled and twisted, cut into\nbold and shadowy projections, and arranged in masses elaborately\nornamental: there is true sublimity in the lines and the chiaroscuro of\nthese masses, but it is, as regards the creature represented,\nparasitical, and therefore picturesque. In the same sense we may\nunderstand the application of the term to modern animal painting,\ndistinguished as it has been by peculiar attention to the colors,\nlustre, and texture of skin; nor is it in art alone that the definition\nwill hold. In animals themselves, when their sublimity depends upon\ntheir muscular forms or motions, or necessary and principal attributes,\nas perhaps more than all others in the horse, we do not call them\npicturesque, but consider them as peculiarly fit to be associated with\npure historical subject. Exactly in proportion as their character of\nsublimity passes into excrescences;--into mane and beard as in the lion,\ninto horns as in the stag, into shaggy hide as in the instance above\ngiven of the ass colt, into variegation as in the zebra, or into\nplumage,--they become picturesque, and are so in art exactly in\nproportion to the prominence of these excrescential characters. It may\noften be most expedient that they should be prominent; often there is in\nthem the highest degree of majesty, as in those of the leopard and boar;\nand in the hands of men like Tintoret and Rubens, such attributes become\nmeans of deepening the very highest and most ideal impressions. But the\npicturesque direction of their thoughts is always distinctly\nrecognizable, as clinging to the surface, to the less essential\ncharacter, and as developing out of this a sublimity different from that\nof the creature itself; a sublimity which is, in a sort, common to all\nthe objects of creation, and the same in its constituent elements,\nwhether it be sought in the clefts and folds of shaggy hair, or in the\nchasms and rents of rocks, or in the hanging of thickets or hill sides,\nor in the alternations of gaiety and gloom in the variegation of the\nshell, the plume, or the cloud.\n\nXVI. Now, to return to our immediate subject, it so happens that, in\narchitecture, the superinduced and accidental beauty is most commonly\ninconsistent with the preservation of original character, and the\npicturesque is therefore sought in ruin, and supposed to consist in\ndecay. Whereas, even when so sought, it consists in the mere sublimity\nof the rents, or fractures, or stains, or vegetation, which assimilate\nthe architecture with the work of Nature, and bestow upon it those\ncircumstances of color and form which are universally beloved by the eye\nof man. So far as this is done, to the extinction of the true characters\nof the architecture, it is picturesque, and the artist who looks to the\nstem of the ivy instead of the shaft of the pillar, is carrying out in\nmore daring freedom the debased sculptor's choice of the hair instead of\nthe countenance. But so far as it can be rendered consistent with the\ninherent character, the picturesque or extraneous sublimity of\narchitecture has just this of nobler function in it than that of any\nother object whatsoever, that it is an exponent of age, of that in\nwhich, as has been said, the greatest glory of a building consists; and,\ntherefore, the external signs of this glory, having power and purpose\ngreater than any belonging to their mere sensible beauty, may be\nconsidered as taking rank among pure and essential character; so\nessential to my mind, that I think a building cannot be considered as in\nits prime until four or five centuries have passed over it; and that the\nentire choice and arrangement of its details should have reference to\ntheir appearance after that period, so that none should be admitted\nwhich would suffer material injury either by the weather-staining, or\nthe mechanical degradation which the lapse of such a period would\nnecessitate.\n\nXVII. It is not my purpose to enter into any of the questions which the\napplication of this principle involves. They are of too great interest\nand complexity to be even touched upon within my present limits, but\nthis is broadly to be noticed, that those styles of architecture which\nare picturesque in the sense above explained with respect to sculpture,\nthat is to say, whose decoration depends on the arrangement of points\nof shade rather than on purity of outline, do not suffer, but commonly\ngain in richness of effect when their details are partly worn away;\nhence such styles, pre-eminently that of French Gothic, should always be\nadopted when the materials to be employed are liable to degradation, as\nbrick, sandstone, or soft limestone; and styles in any degree dependent\non purity of line, as the Italian Gothic, must be practised altogether\nin hard and undecomposing materials, granite serpentine, or crystalline\nmarbles. There can be no doubt that the nature of the accessible\nmaterials influenced the formation of both styles; and it should still\nmore authoritatively determine our choice of either.\n\nXVIII. It does not belong to my present plan to consider at length the\nsecond head of duty of which I have above spoken; the preservation of\nthe architecture we possess: but a few words may be forgiven, as\nespecially necessary in modern times. Neither by the public, nor by\nthose who have the care of public monuments, is the true meaning of the\nword _restoration_ understood. It means the most total destruction which\na building can suffer: a destruction out of which no remnants can be\ngathered; a destruction accompanied with false description of the thing\ndestroyed. Do not let us deceive ourselves in this important matter; it\nis _impossible_, as impossible as to raise the dead, to restore anything\nthat has ever been great or beautiful in architecture. That which I have\nabove insisted upon as the life of the whole, that spirit which is given\nonly by the hand and eye of the workman, never can be recalled. Another\nspirit may be given by another time, and it is then a new building; but\nthe spirit of the dead workman cannot be summoned up, and commanded to\ndirect other hands, and other thoughts. And as for direct and simple\ncopying, it is palpably impossible. What copying can there be of\nsurfaces that have been worn half an inch down? The whole finish of the\nwork was in the half inch that is gone; if you attempt to restore that\nfinish, you do it conjecturally; if you copy what is left, granting\nfidelity to be possible (and what care, or watchfulness, or cost can\nsecure it?), how is the new work better than the old? There was yet in\nthe old _some_ life, some mysterious suggestion of what it had been,\nand of what it had lost; some sweetness in the gentle lines which rain\nand sun had wrought. There can be none in the brute hardness of the new\ncarving. Look at the animals which I have given in Plate 14, as an\ninstance of living work, and suppose the markings of the scales and hair\nonce worn away, or the wrinkles of the brows, and who shall ever restore\nthem? The first step to restoration (I have seen it, and that again and\nagain, seen it on the Baptistery of Pisa, seen it on the Casa d' Oro at\nVenice, seen it on the Cathedral of Lisieux), is to dash the old work to\npieces; the second is usually to put up the cheapest and basest\nimitation which can escape detection, but in all cases, however careful,\nand however labored, an imitation still, a cold model of such parts as\n_can_ be modelled, with conjectural supplements; and my experience has\nas yet furnished me with only one instance, that of the Palais de\nJustice at Rouen, in which even this, the utmost degree of fidelity\nwhich is possible, has been attained or even attempted.\n\nXIX. Do not let us talk then of restoration. The thing is a Lie from\nbeginning to end. You may make a model of a building as you may of a\ncorpse, and your model may have the shell of the old walls within it as\nyour cast might have the skeleton, with what advantage I neither see nor\ncare; but the old building is destroyed, and that more totally and\nmercilessly than if it had sunk into a heap of dust, or melted into a\nmass of clay: more has been gleaned out of desolated Nineveh than ever\nwill be out of re-built Milan. But, it is said, there may come a\nnecessity for restoration! Granted. Look the necessity full in the face,\nand understand it on its own terms. It is a necessity for destruction.\nAccept it as such, pull the building down, throw its stones into\nneglected corners, make ballast of them, or mortar, if you will; but do\nit honestly, and do not set up a Lie in their place. And look that\nnecessity in the face before it comes, and you may prevent it. The\nprinciple of modern times (a principle which I believe, at least in\nFrance, to be _systematically acted on by the masons_, in order to find\nthemselves work, as the abbey of St. Ouen was pulled down by the\nmagistrates of the town by way of giving work to some vagrants,) is to\nneglect buildings first, and restore them afterwards. Take proper care\nof your monuments, and you will not need to restore them. A few sheets\nof lead put in time upon the roof, a few dead leaves and sticks swept in\ntime out of a water-course, will save both roof and walls from ruin.\nWatch an old building with an anxious care; guard it as best you may,\nand at _any_ cost from every influence of dilapidation. Count its stones\nas you would jewels of a crown; set watches about it as if at the gates\nof a besieged city; bind it together with iron where it loosens; stay it\nwith timber where it declines; do not care about the unsightliness of\nthe aid; better a crutch than a lost limb; and do this tenderly, and\nreverently, and continually, and many a generation will still be born\nand pass away beneath its shadow. Its evil day must come at last; but\nlet it come declaredly and openly, and let no dishonoring and false\nsubstitute deprive it of the funeral offices of memory.\n\nXX. Of more wanton or ignorant ravage it is vain to speak; my words will\nnot reach those who commit them, and yet, be it heard or not, I must not\nleave the truth unstated, that it is again no question of expediency or\nfeeling whether we shall preserve the buildings of past times or not.\n_We have no right whatever to touch them._ They are not ours. They\nbelong partly to those who built them, and partly to all the generations\nof mankind who are to follow us. The dead have still their right in\nthem: that which they labored for, the praise of achievement or the\nexpression of religious feeling, or whatsoever else it might be which in\nthose buildings they intended to be permanent, we have no right to\nobliterate. What we have ourselves built, we are at liberty to throw\ndown; but what other men gave their strength, and wealth, and life to\naccomplish, their right over does not pass away with their death; still\nless is the right to the use of what they have left vested in us only.\nIt belongs to all their successors. It may hereafter be a subject of\nsorrow, or a cause of injury, to millions, that we have consulted our\npresent convenience by casting down such buildings as we choose to\ndispense with. That sorrow, that loss we have no right to inflict. Did\nthe cathedral of Avranches belong to the mob who destroyed it, any more\nthan it did to us, who walk in sorrow to and fro over its foundation?\nNeither does any building whatever belong to those mobs who do violence\nto it. For a mob it is, and must be always; it matters not whether\nenraged, or in deliberate folly; whether countless, or sitting in\ncommittees; the people who destroy anything causelessly are a mob, and\nArchitecture is always destroyed causelessly. A fair building is\nnecessarily worth the ground it stands upon, and will be so until\ncentral Africa and America shall have become as populous as Middlesex;\nnor is any cause whatever valid as a ground for its destruction. If ever\nvalid, certainly not now when the place both of the past and future is\ntoo much usurped in our minds by the restless and discontented present.\nThe very quietness of nature is gradually withdrawn from us; thousands\nwho once in their necessarily prolonged travel were subjected to an\ninfluence, from the silent sky and slumbering fields, more effectual\nthan known or confessed, now bear with them even there the ceaseless\nfever of their life; and along the iron veins that traverse the frame of\nour country, beat and flow the fiery pulses of its exertions, hotter and\nfaster every hour. All vitality is concentrated through those throbbing\narteries into the central cities; the country is passed over like a\ngreen sea by narrow bridges, and we are thrown back in continually\ncloser crowds upon the city gates. The only influence which can in any\nwise _there_ take the place of that of the woods and fields, is the\npower of ancient Architecture. Do not part with it for the sake of the\nformal square, or of the fenced and planted walk, nor of the goodly\nstreet nor opened quay. The pride of a city is not in these. Leave them\nto the crowd; but remember that there will surely be some within the\ncircuit of the disquieted walls who would ask for some other spots than\nthese wherein to walk; for some other forms to meet their sight\nfamiliarly: like him who sat so often where the sun struck from the\nwest, to watch the lines of the dome of Florence drawn on the deep sky,\nor like those, his Hosts, who could bear daily to behold, from their\npalace chambers, the places where their fathers lay at rest, at the\nmeeting of the dark streets of Verona.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE LAMP OF OBEDIENCE.\n\n\nI. It has been my endeavor to show in the preceding pages how every form\nof noble architecture is in some sort the embodiment of the Polity,\nLife, History, and Religious Faith of nations. Once or twice in doing\nthis, I have named a principle to which I would now assign a definite\nplace among those which direct that embodiment; the last place, not only\nas that to which its own humility would incline, but rather as belonging\nto it in the aspect of the crowning grace of all the rest; that\nprinciple, I mean, to which Polity owes its stability, Life its\nhappiness, Faith its acceptance, Creation its continuance,--Obedience.\n\nNor is it the least among the sources of more serious satisfaction which\nI have found in the pursuit of a subject that at first appeared to bear\nbut slightly on the grave interests of mankind, that the conditions of\nmaterial perfection which it leads me in conclusion to consider, furnish\na strange proof how false is the conception, how frantic the pursuit, of\nthat treacherous phantom which men call Liberty; most treacherous,\nindeed, of all phantoms; for the feeblest ray of reason might surely\nshow us, that not only its attainment, but its being, was impossible.\nThere is no such thing in the universe. There can never be. The stars\nhave it not; the earth has it not; the sea has it not; and we men have\nthe mockery and semblance of it only for our heaviest punishment.\n\nIn one of the noblest poems[17] for its imagery and its music belonging\nto the recent school of our literature, the writer has sought in the\naspect of inanimate nature the expression of that Liberty which, having\nonce loved, he had seen among men in its true dyes of darkness. But with\nwhat strange fallacy of interpretation! since in one noble line of his\ninvocation he has contradicted the assumptions of the rest, and\nacknowledged the presence of a subjection, surely not less severe\nbecause eternal? How could he otherwise? since if there be any one\nprinciple more widely than another confessed by every utterance, or more\nsternly than another imprinted on every atom, of the visible creation,\nthat principle is not Liberty, but Law.\n\nII. The enthusiast would reply that by Liberty he meant the Law of\nLiberty. Then why use the single and misunderstood word? If by liberty\nyou mean chastisement of the passions, discipline of the intellect,\nsubjection of the will; if you mean the fear of inflicting, the shame of\ncommitting a wrong; if you mean respect for all who are in authority,\nand consideration for all who are in dependence; veneration for the\ngood, mercy to the evil, sympathy with the weak; if you mean\nwatchfulness over all thoughts, temperance in all pleasures, and\nperseverance in all toils; if you mean, in a word, that Service which is\ndefined in the liturgy of the English church to be perfect Freedom, why\ndo you name this by the same word by which the luxurious mean license,\nand the reckless mean change; by which the rogue means rapine, and the\nfool equality, by which the proud mean anarchy, and the malignant mean\nviolence? Call it by any name rather than this, but its best and truest\nis, Obedience. Obedience is, indeed, founded on a kind of freedom, else\nits would become mere subjugation, but that freedom is only granted that\nobedience may be more perfect; and thus, while a measure of license is\nnecessary to exhibit the individual energies of things, the fairness and\npleasantness and perfection of them all consist in their Restraint.\nCompare a river that has burst its banks with one that is bound by them,\nand the clouds that are scattered over the face of the whole heaven with\nthose that are marshalled into ranks and orders by its winds. So that\nthough restraint, utter and unrelaxing, can never be comely, this is not\nbecause it is in itself an evil, but only because, when too great, it\noverpowers the nature of the thing restrained, and so counteracts the\nother laws of which that nature is itself composed. And the balance\nwherein consists the fairness of creation is between the laws of life\nand being in the things governed and the laws of general sway to which\nthey are subjected; and the suspension or infringement of either kind of\nlaw, or, literally, disorder, is equivalent to, and synonymous with,\ndisease; while the increase of both honor and beauty is habitually on\nthe side of restraint (or the action of superior law) rather than of\ncharacter (or the action of inherent law). The noblest word in the\ncatalogue of social virtue is \"Loyalty,\" and the sweetest which men have\nlearned in the pastures of the wilderness is \"Fold.\"\n\nIII. Nor is this all; but we may observe, that exactly in proportion to\nthe majesty of things in the scale of being, is the completeness of\ntheir obedience to the laws that are set over them. Gravitation is less\nquietly, less instantly obeyed by a grain of dust than it is by the sun\nand moon; and the ocean falls and flows under influences which the lake\nand river do not recognize. So also in estimating the dignity of any\naction or occupation of men, there is perhaps no better test than the\nquestion \"are its laws strait?\" For their severity will probably be\ncommensurate with the greatness of the numbers whose labor it\nconcentrates or whose interest it concerns.\n\nThis severity must be singular, therefore, in the case of that art,\nabove all others, whose productions are the most vast and the most\ncommon; which requires for its practice the co-operation of bodies of\nmen, and for its perfection the perseverance of successive generations.\nAnd taking into account also what we have before so often observed of\nArchitecture, her continual influence over the emotions of daily life,\nand her realism, as opposed to the two sister arts which are in\ncomparison but the picturing of stories and of dreams, we might\nbeforehand expect that we should find her healthy state and action\ndependent on far more severe laws than theirs; that the license which\nthey extend to the workings of individual mind would be withdrawn by\nher; and that, in assertion of the relations which she holds with all\nthat is universally important to man, she would set forth, by her own\nmajestic subjection, some likeness of that on which man's social\nhappiness and power depend. We might, therefore, without the light of\nexperience, conclude, that Architecture never could flourish except when\nit was subjected to a national law as strict and as minutely\nauthoritative as the laws which regulate religion, policy, and social\nrelations; nay, even more authoritative than these, because both capable\nof more enforcement, as over more passive matter; and needing more\nenforcement, as the purest type not of one law nor of another, but of\nthe common authority of all. But in this matter experience speaks more\nloudly than reason. If there be any one condition which, in watching the\nprogress of architecture, we see distinct and general; if, amidst the\ncounter evidence of success attending opposite accidents of character\nand circumstance, any one conclusion may be constantly and indisputably\ndrawn, it is this; that the architecture of a nation is great only when\nit is as universal and as established as its language; and when\nprovincial differences of style are nothing more than so many dialects.\nOther necessities are matters of doubt: nations have been alike\nsuccessful in their architecture in times of poverty and of wealth; in\ntimes of war and of peace; in times of barbarism and of refinement;\nunder governments the most liberal or the most arbitrary; but this one\ncondition has been constant, this one requirement clear in all places\nand at all times, that the work shall be that of a school, that no\nindividual caprice shall dispense with, or materially vary, accepted\ntypes and customary decorations; and that from the cottage to the\npalace, and from the chapel to the basilica, and from the garden fence\nto the fortress wall, every member and feature of the architecture of\nthe nation shall be as commonly current, as frankly accepted, as its\nlanguage or its coin.\n\nIV. A day never passes without our hearing our English architects called\nupon to be original, and to invent a new style: about as sensible and\nnecessary an exhortation as to ask of a man who has never had rags\nenough on his back to keep out cold, to invent a new mode of cutting a\ncoat. Give him a whole coat first, and let him concern himself about the\nfashion of it afterwards. We want no new style of architecture. Who\nwants a new style of painting or sculpture? But we want some style. It\nis of marvellously little importance, if we have a code of laws and they\nbe good laws, whether they be new or old, foreign or native, Roman or\nSaxon, or Norman or English laws. But it is of considerable importance\nthat we should have a code of laws of one kind or another, and that code\naccepted and enforced from one side of the island to another, and not\none law made ground of judgment at York and another in Exeter. And in\nlike manner it does not matter one marble splinter whether we have an\nold or new architecture, but it matters everything whether we have an\narchitecture truly so called or not; that is, whether an architecture\nwhose laws might be taught at our schools from Cornwall to\nNorthumberland, as we teach English spelling and English grammar, or an\narchitecture which is to be invented fresh every time we build a\nworkhouse or a parish school. There seems to me to be a wonderful\nmisunderstanding among the majority of architects at the present day as\nto the very nature and meaning of Originality, and of all wherein it\nconsists. Originality in expression does not depend on invention of new\nwords; nor originality in poetry on invention of new measures; nor, in\npainting, on invention of new colors, or new modes of using them. The\nchords of music, the harmonies of color, the general principles of the\narrangement of sculptural masses, have been determined long ago, and, in\nall probability, cannot be added to any more than they can be altered.\nGranting that they may be, such additions or alterations are much more\nthe work of time and of multitudes than of individual inventors. We may\nhave one Van Eyck, who will be known as the introducer of a new style\nonce in ten centuries, but he himself will trace his invention to some\naccidental bye-play or pursuit; and the use of that invention will\ndepend altogether on the popular necessities or instincts of the period.\nOriginality depends on nothing of the kind. A man who has the gift, will\ntake up any style that is going, the style of his day, and will work in\nthat, and be great in that, and make everything that he does in it look\nas fresh as if every thought of it had just come down from heaven. I do\nnot say that he will not take liberties with his materials, or with his\nrules: I do not say that strange changes will not sometimes be wrought\nby his efforts, or his fancies, in both. But those changes will be\ninstructive, natural, facile, though sometimes marvellous; they will\nnever be sought after as things necessary to his dignity or to his\nindependence; and those liberties will be like the liberties that a\ngreat speaker takes with the language, not a defiance of its rules for\nthe sake of singularity; but inevitable, uncalculated, and brilliant\nconsequences of an effort to express what the language, without such\ninfraction, could not. There may be times when, as I have above\ndescribed, the life of an art is manifested in its changes, and in its\nrefusal of ancient limitations: so there are in the life of an insect;\nand there is great interest in the state of both the art and the insect\nat those periods when, by their natural progress and constitutional\npower, such changes are about to be wrought. But as that would be both\nan uncomfortable and foolish caterpillar which, instead of being\ncontented with a caterpillar's life and feeding on caterpillar's food,\nwas always striving to turn itself into a chrysalis; and as that would\nbe an unhappy chrysalis which should lie awake at night and roll\nrestlessly in its cocoon, in efforts to turn itself prematurely into a\nmoth; so will that art be unhappy and unprosperous which, instead of\nsupporting itself on the food, and contenting itself with the customs\nwhich have been enough for the support and guidance of other arts before\nit and like it, is struggling and fretting under the natural limitations\nof its existence, and striving to become something other than it is. And\nthough it is the nobility of the highest creatures to look forward to,\nand partly to understand the changes which are appointed for them,\npreparing for them beforehand; and if, as is usual with _appointed_\nchanges, they be into a higher state, even desiring them, and rejoicing\nin the hope of them, yet it is the strength of every creature, be it\nchangeful or not, to rest for the time being, contented with the\nconditions of its existence, and striving only to bring about the\nchanges which it desires, by fulfilling to the uttermost the duties for\nwhich its present state is appointed and continued.\n\nV. Neither originality, therefore, nor change, good though both may be,\nand this is commonly a most merciful and enthusiastic supposition with\nrespect to either, are ever to be sought in themselves, or can ever be\nhealthily obtained by any struggle or rebellion against common laws. We\nwant neither the one nor the other. The forms of architecture already\nknown are good enough for us, and for far better than any of us: and it\nwill be time enough to think of changing them for better when we can use\nthem as they are. But there are some things which we not only want, but\ncannot do without; and which all the struggling and raving in the world,\nnay more, which all the real talent and resolution in England, will\nnever enable us to do without: and these are Obedience, Unity,\nFellowship, and Order. And all our schools of design, and committees of\ntastes; all our academies and lectures, and journalisms, and essays; all\nthe sacrifices which we are beginning to make, all the truth which there\nis in our English nature, all the power of our English will, and the\nlife of our English intellect, will in this matter be as useless as\nefforts and emotions in a dream, unless we are contented to submit\narchitecture and all art, like other things, to English law.\n\nVI. I say architecture and all art; for I believe architecture must be\nthe beginning of arts, and that the others must follow her in their time\nand order; and I think the prosperity of our schools of painting and\nsculpture, in which no one will deny the life, though many the health,\ndepends upon that of our architecture. I think that all will languish\nuntil that takes the lead, and (this I do not _think_, but I proclaim,\nas confidently as I would assert the necessity, for the safety of\nsociety, of an understood and strongly administered legal government)\nour architecture _will_ languish, and that in the very dust, until the\nfirst principle of common sense be manfully obeyed, and an universal\nsystem of form and workmanship be everywhere adopted and enforced. It\nmay be said that this is impossible. It may be so--I fear it is so: I\nhave nothing to do with the possibility or impossibility of it; I simply\nknow and assert the necessity of it. If it be impossible, English art is\nimpossible. Give it up at once. You are wasting time, and money, and\nenergy upon it, and though you exhaust centuries and treasuries, and\nbreak hearts for it, you will never raise it above the merest\ndilettanteism. Think not of it. It is a dangerous vanity, a mere gulph\nin which genius after genius will be swallowed up, and it will not\nclose. And so it will continue to be, unless the one bold and broad step\nbe taken at the beginning. We shall not manufacture art out of pottery\nand printed stuffs; we shall not reason out art by our philosophy; we\nshall not stumble upon art by our experiments, not create it by our\nfancies: I do not say that we can even build it out of brick and stone;\nbut there is a chance for us in these, and there is none else; and that\nchance rests on the bare possibility of obtaining the consent, both of\narchitects and of the public, to choose a style, and to use it\nuniversally.\n\nVII. How surely its principles ought at first to be limited, we may\neasily determine by the consideration of the necessary modes of teaching\nany other branch of general knowledge. When we begin to teach children\nwriting, we force them to absolute copyism, and require absolute\naccuracy in the formation of the letters; as they obtain command of the\nreceived modes of literal expression, we cannot prevent their falling\ninto such variations as are consistent with their feeling, their\ncircumstances, or their characters. So, when a boy is first taught to\nwrite Latin, an authority is required of him for every expression he\nuses; as he becomes master of the language he may take a license, and\nfeel his right to do so without any authority, and yet write better\nLatin than when he borrowed every separate expression. In the same way\nour architects would have to be taught to write the accepted style. We\nmust first determine what buildings are to be considered Augustan in\ntheir authority; their modes of construction and laws of proportion are\nto be studied with the most penetrating care; then the different forms\nand uses of their decorations are to be classed and catalogued, as a\nGerman grammarian classes the powers of prepositions; and under this\nabsolute, irrefragable authority, we are to begin to work; admitting not\nso much as an alteration in the depth of a cavetto, or the breadth of a\nfillet. Then, when our sight is once accustomed to the grammatical forms\nand arrangements, and our thoughts familiar with the expression of them\nall; when we can speak this dead language naturally, and apply it to\nwhatever ideas we have to render, that is to say, to every practical\npurpose of life; then, and not till then, a license might be permitted;\nand individual authority allowed to change or to add to the received\nforms, always within certain limits; the decorations, especially, might\nbe made subjects of variable fancy, and enriched with ideas either\noriginal or taken from other schools. And thus in process of time and by\na great national movement, it might come to pass, that a new style\nshould arise, as language itself changes; we might perhaps come to speak\nItalian instead of Latin, or to speak modern instead of old English; but\nthis would be a matter of entire indifference, and a matter, besides,\nwhich no determination or desire could either hasten or prevent. That\nalone which it is in our power to obtain, and which it is our duty to\ndesire, is an unanimous style of some kind, and such comprehension and\npractice of it as would enable us to adapt its features to the peculiar\ncharacter of every several building, large or small, domestic, civil, or\necclesiastical. I have said that it was immaterial what style was\nadopted, so far as regards the room for originality which its\ndevelopement would admit: it is not so, however, when we take into\nconsideration the far more important questions of the facility of\nadaptation to general purposes, and of the sympathy with which this or\nthat style would be popularly regarded. The choice of Classical or\nGothic, again using the latter term in its broadest sense, may be\nquestionable when it regards some single and considerable public\nbuilding; but I cannot conceive it questionable, for an instant, when it\nregards modern uses in general: I cannot conceive any architect insane\nenough to project the vulgarization of Greek architecture. Neither can\nit be rationally questionable whether we should adopt early or late,\noriginal or derivative Gothic: if the latter were chosen, it must be\neither some impotent and ugly degradation, like our own Tudor, or else a\nstyle whose grammatical laws it would be nearly impossible to limit or\narrange, like the French Flamboyant. We are equally precluded from\nadopting styles essentially infantine or barbarous, however Herculean\ntheir infancy, or majestic their outlawry, such as our own Norman, or\nthe Lombard Romanesque. The choice would lie I think between four\nstyles:--1. The Pisan Romanesque; 2. The early Gothic of the Western\nItalian Republics, advanced as far and as fast as our art would enable\nus to the Gothic of Giotto; 3. The Venetian Gothic in its purest\ndevelopement; 4. The English earliest decorated. The most natural,\nperhaps the safest choice, would be of the last, well fenced from chance\nof again stiffening into the perpendicular; and perhaps enriched by some\nmingling of decorative elements from the exquisite decorated Gothic of\nFrance, of which, in such cases, it would be needful to accept some well\nknown examples, as the North door of Rouen and the church of St. Urbain\nat Troyes, for final and limiting authorities on the side of decoration.\n\nVIII. It is almost impossible for us to conceive, in our present state\nof doubt and ignorance, the sudden dawn of intelligence and fancy, the\nrapidly increasing sense of power and facility, and, in its _proper\nsense_, of Freedom, which such wholesome restraint would instantly cause\nthroughout the whole circle of the arts. Freed from the agitation and\nembarrassment of that liberty of choice which is the cause of half the\ndiscomforts of the world; freed from the accompanying necessity of\nstudying all past, present, or even possible styles; and enabled, by\nconcentration of individual, and co-operation of multitudinous energy,\nto penetrate into the uttermost secrets of the adopted style, the\narchitect would find his whole understanding enlarged, his practical\nknowledge certain and ready to hand, and his imagination playful and\nvigorous, as a child's would be within a walled garden, who would sit\ndown and shudder if he were left free in a fenceless plain. How many and\nhow bright would be the results in every direction of interest, not to\nthe arts merely, but to national happiness and virtue, it would be as\ndifficult to preconceive as it would seem extravagant to state: but the\nfirst, perhaps the least, of them would be an increased sense of\nfellowship among ourselves, a cementing of every patriotic bond of\nunion, a proud and happy recognition of our affection for and sympathy\nwith each other, and our willingness in all things to submit ourselves\nto every law that would advance the interest of the community; a\nbarrier, also, the best conceivable, to the unhappy rivalry of the upper\nand middle classes, in houses, furniture, and establishments; and even a\ncheck to much of what is as vain as it is painful in the oppositions of\nreligious parties respecting matters of ritual. These, I say, would be\nthe first consequences. Economy increased tenfold, as it would be by the\nsimplicity of practice; domestic comforts uninterfered with by the\ncaprice and mistakes of architects ignorant of the capacities of the\nstyles they use, and all the symmetry and sightliness of our harmonized\nstreets and public buildings, are things of slighter account in the\ncatalogue of benefits. But it would be mere enthusiasm to endeavor to\ntrace them farther. I have suffered myself too long to indulge in the\nspeculative statement of requirements which perhaps we have more\nimmediate and more serious work than to supply, and of feelings which it\nmay be only contingently in our power to recover. I should be unjustly\nthought unaware of the difficulty of what I have proposed, or of the\nunimportance of the whole subject as compared with many which are\nbrought home to our interests and fixed upon our consideration by the\nwild course of the present century. But of difficulty and of importance\nit is for others to judge. I have limited myself to the simple statement\nof what, if we desire to have architecture, we MUST primarily endeavor\nto feel and do: but then it may not be desirable for us to have\narchitecture at all. There are many who feel it to be so; many who\nsacrifice much to that end; and I am sorry to see their energies wasted\nand their lives disquieted in vain. I have stated, therefore, the only\nways in which that end is attainable, without venturing even to express\nan opinion as to its real desirableness. I have an opinion, and the zeal\nwith which I have spoken may sometimes have betrayed it, but I hold to\nit with no confidence. I know too well the undue importance which the\nstudy that every man follows must assume in his own eyes, to trust my\nown impressions of the dignity of that of Architecture; and yet I think\nI cannot be utterly mistaken in regarding it as at least useful in the\nsense of a National employment. I am confirmed in this impression by\nwhat I see passing among the states of Europe at this instant. All the\nhorror, distress, and tumult which oppress the foreign nations, are\ntraceable, among the other secondary causes through which God is working\nout His will upon them, to the simple one of their not having enough to\ndo. I am not blind to the distress among their operatives; nor do I deny\nthe nearer and visibly active causes of the movement: the recklessness\nof villany in the leaders of revolt, the absence of common moral\nprinciple in the upper classes, and of common courage and honesty in the\nheads of governments. But these causes themselves are ultimately\ntraceable to a deeper and simpler one: the recklessness of the\ndemagogue, the immorality of the middle class, and the effeminacy and\ntreachery of the noble, are traceable in all these nations to the\ncommonest and most fruitful cause of calamity in households--idleness.\nWe think too much in our benevolent efforts, more multiplied and more\nvain day by day, of bettering men by giving them advice and instruction.\nThere are few who will take either: the chief thing they need is\noccupation. I do not mean work in the sense of bread,--I mean work in\nthe sense of mental interest; for those who either are placed above the\nnecessity of labor for their bread, or who will not work although they\nshould. There is a vast quantity of idle energy among European nations\nat this time, which ought to go into handicrafts; there are multitudes\nof idle semi-gentlemen who ought to be shoemakers and carpenters; but\nsince they will not be these so long as they can help it, the business\nof the philanthropist is to find them some other employment than\ndisturbing governments. It is of no use to tell them they are fools, and\nthat they will only make themselves miserable in the end as well as\nothers: if they have nothing else to do, they will do mischief; and the\nman who will not work, and who has no means of intellectual pleasure, is\nas sure to become an instrument of evil as if he had sold himself bodily\nto Satan. I have myself seen enough of the daily life of the young\neducated men of France and Italy, to account for, as it deserves, the\ndeepest national suffering and degradation; and though, for the most\npart, our commerce and our natural habits of industry preserve us from\na similar paralysis, yet it would be wise to consider whether the forms\nof employment which we chiefly adopt or promote, are as well calculated\nas they might be to improve and elevate us.\n\nWe have just spent, for instance, a hundred and fifty millions, with\nwhich we have paid men for digging ground from one place and depositing\nit in another. We have formed a large class of men, the railway navvies,\nespecially reckless, unmanageable, and dangerous. We have maintained\nbesides (let us state the benefits as fairly as possible) a number of\niron founders in an unhealthy and painful employment; we have developed\n(this is at least good) a very large amount of mechanical ingenuity; and\nwe have, in fine, attained the power of going fast from one place to\nanother. Meantime we have had no mental interest or concern ourselves in\nthe operations we have set on foot, but have been left to the usual\nvanities and cares of our existence. Suppose, on the other hand, that we\nhad employed the same sums in building beautiful houses and churches. We\nshould have maintained the same number of men, not in driving\nwheelbarrows, but in a distinctly technical, if not intellectual,\nemployment, and those who were more intelligent among them would have\nbeen especially happy in that employment, as having room in it for the\ndevelopement of their fancy, and being directed by it to that\nobservation of beauty which, associated with the pursuit of natural\nscience, at present forms the enjoyment of many of the more intelligent\nmanufacturing operatives. Of mechanical ingenuity, there is, I imagine,\nat least as much required to build a cathedral as to cut a tunnel or\ncontrive a locomotive: we should, therefore, have developed as much\nscience, while the artistical element of intellect would have been added\nto the gain. Meantime we should ourselves have been made happier and\nwiser by the interest we should have taken in the work with which we\nwere personally concerned; and when all was done, instead of the very\ndoubtful advantage of the power of going fast from place to place, we\nshould have had the certain advantage of increased pleasure in stopping\nat home.\n\nIX. There are many other less capacious, but more constant, channels of\nexpenditure, quite as disputable in their beneficial tendency; and we\nare, perhaps, hardly enough in the habit of inquiring, with respect to\nany particular form of luxury or any customary appliance of life,\nwhether the kind of employment it gives to the operative or the\ndependant be as healthy and fitting an employment as we might otherwise\nprovide for him. It is not enough to find men absolute subsistence; we\nshould think of the manner of life which our demands necessitate; and\nendeavor, as far as may be, to make all our needs such as may, in the\nsupply of them, raise, as well as feed, the poor. It is far better to\ngive work which is above the men, than to educate the men to be above\ntheir work. It may be doubted, for instance, whether the habits of\nluxury, which necessitate a large train of men servants, be a wholesome\nform of expenditure; and more, whether the pursuits which have a\ntendency to enlarge the class of the jockey and the groom be a\nphilanthropic form of mental occupation. So again, consider the large\nnumber of men whose lives are employed by civilized nations in cutting\nfacets upon jewels. There is much dexterity of hand, patience, and\ningenuity thus bestowed, which are simply burned out in the blaze of the\ntiara, without, so far as I see, bestowing any pleasure upon those who\nwear or who behold, at all compensatory for the loss of life and mental\npower which are involved in the employment of the workman. He would be\nfar more healthily and happily sustained by being set to carve stone;\ncertain qualities of his mind, for which there is no room in his present\noccupation, would develope themselves in the nobler; and I believe that\nmost women would, in the end, prefer the pleasure of having built a\nchurch, or contributed to the adornment of a cathedral, to the pride of\nbearing a certain quantity of adamant on their foreheads.\n\nX. I could pursue this subject willingly, but I have some strange\nnotions about it which it is perhaps wiser not loosely to set down. I\ncontent myself with finally reasserting, what has been throughout the\nburden of the preceding pages, that whatever rank, or whatever\nimportance, may be attributed or attached to their immediate subject,\nthere is at least some value in the analogies with which its pursuit has\npresented us, and some instruction in the frequent reference of its\ncommonest necessities to the mighty laws, in the sense and scope of\nwhich all men are Builders, whom every hour sees laying the stubble or\nthe stone.\n\nI have paused, not once nor twice, as I wrote, and often have checked\nthe course of what might otherwise have been importunate persuasion, as\nthe thought has crossed me, how soon all Architecture may be vain,\nexcept that which is not made with hands. There is something ominous in\nthe light which has enabled us to look back with disdain upon the ages\namong whose lovely vestiges we have been wandering. I could smile when I\nhear the hopeful exultation of many, at the new reach of worldly\nscience, and vigor of worldly effort; as if we were again at the\nbeginning of days. There is thunder on the horizon as well as dawn. The\nsun was risen upon the earth when Lot entered into Zoar.\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\nNOTE I.\n\nPage 21.\n\n_\"With the idolatrous Egyptian.\"_\n\nThe probability is indeed slight in comparison, but it _is_ a\nprobability nevertheless, and one which is daily on the increase. I\ntrust that I may not be thought to underrate the danger of such\nsympathy, though I speak lightly of the chance of it. I have confidence\nin the central religious body of the English and Scottish people, as\nbeing not only untainted with Romanism, but immoveably adverse to it:\nand, however strangely and swiftly the heresy of the Protestant and\nvictory of the Papist may seem to be extending among us, I feel assured\nthat there are barriers in the living faith of this nation which neither\ncan overpass. Yet this confidence is only in the ultimate faithfulness\nof a few, not in the security of the nation from the sin and the\npunishment of partial apostasy. Both have, indeed, in some sort, been\ncommitted and suffered already; and, in expressing my belief of the\nclose connection of the distress and burden which the mass of the people\nat present sustain, with the encouragement which, in various directions,\nhas been given to the Papist, do not let me be called superstitious or\nirrational. No man was ever more inclined than I, both by natural\ndisposition and by many ties of early association, to a sympathy with\nthe principles and forms of the Romanist Church; and there is much in\nits discipline which conscientiously, as well as sympathetically, I\ncould love and advocate. But, in confessing this strength of\naffectionate prejudice, surely I vindicate more respect for my firmly\nexpressed belief, that the entire doctrine and system of that Church is\nin the fullest sense anti-Christian; that its lying and idolatrous Power\nis the darkest plague that ever held commission to hurt the Earth; that\nall those yearnings for unity and fellowship, and common obedience,\nwhich have been the root of our late heresies, are as false in their\ngrounds as fatal in their termination; that we never can have the\nremotest fellowship with the utterers of that fearful Falsehood, and\nlive; that we have nothing to look to from them but treacherous\nhostility; and that, exactly in proportion to the sternness of our\nseparation from them, will be not only the spiritual but the temporal\nblessings granted by God to this country. How close has been the\ncorrespondence hitherto between the degree of resistance to Romanism\nmarked in our national acts, and the honor with which those acts have\nbeen crowned, has been sufficiently proved in a short essay by a writer\nwhose investigations into the influence of Religion upon the fate of\nNations have been singularly earnest and successful--a writer with whom\nI faithfully and firmly believe that England will never be prosperous\nagain, and that the honor of her arms will be tarnished, and her\ncommerce blighted, and her national character degraded, until the\nRomanist is expelled from the place which has impiously been conceded to\nhim among her legislators. \"Whatever be the lot of those to whom error\nis an inheritance, woe be to the man and the people to whom it is an\nadoption. If England, free above all other nations, sustained amidst the\ntrials which have covered Europe, before her eyes, with burning and\nslaughter, and enlightened by the fullest knowledge of divine truth,\nshall refuse fidelity to the compact by which those matchless privileges\nhave been given, her condemnation will not linger. She has already made\none step full of danger. She has committed the capital error of\nmistaking that for a purely political question which was a purely\nreligious one. Her foot already hangs over the edge of the precipice. It\nmust be retracted, or the empire is but a name. In the clouds and\ndarkness which seem to be deepening on all human policy--in the\ngathering tumults of Europe, and the feverish discontents at home--it\nmay be even difficult to discern where the power yet lives to erect the\nfallen majesty of the constitution once more. But there are mighty means\nin sincerity; and if no miracle was ever wrought for the faithless and\ndespairing, the country that will help itself will never be left\ndestitute of the help of Heaven\" (Historical Essays, by the Rev. Dr.\nCroly, 1842). The first of these essays, \"England the Fortress of\nChristianity,\" I most earnestly recommend to the meditation of those who\ndoubt that a special punishment is inflicted by the Deity upon all\nnational crime, and perhaps, of all such crime most instantly upon the\nbetrayal on the part of England of the truth and faith with which she\nhas been entrusted.\n\n\nNOTE II.\n\nPage 25.\n\n\"_Not the gift, but the giving._\"\n\nMuch attention has lately been directed to the subject of religious art,\nand we are now in possession of all kinds of interpretations and\nclassifications of it, and of the leading facts of its history. But the\ngreatest question of all connected with it remains entirely unanswered,\nWhat good did it do to real religion? There is no subject into which I\nshould so much rejoice to see a serious and conscientious inquiry\ninstituted as this; an inquiry neither undertaken in artistical\nenthusiasm nor in monkish sympathy, but dogged, merciless and fearless.\nI love the religious art of Italy as well as most men, but there is a\nwide difference between loving it as a manifestation of individual\nfeeling, and looking to it as an instrument of popular benefit. I have\nnot knowledge enough to form even the shadow of an opinion on this\nlatter point, and I should be most grateful to any one who would put it\nin my power to do so. There are, as it seems to me, three distinct\nquestions to be considered: the first, What has been the effect of\nexternal splendor on the genuineness and earnestness of Christian\nworship? the second, What the use of pictorial or sculptural\nrepresentation in the communication of Christian historical knowledge,\nor excitement of affectionate imagination? the third, What the influence\nof the practice of religious art on the life of the artist?\n\nIn answering these inquiries, we should have to consider separately\nevery collateral influence and circumstance; and, by a most subtle\nanalysis, to eliminate the real effect of art from the effects of the\nabuses with which it was associated. This could be done only by a\nChristian; not a man who would fall in love with a sweet color or sweet\nexpression, but who would look for true faith and consistent life as the\nobject of all. It never has been done yet, and the question remains a\nsubject of vain and endless contention between parties of opposite\nprejudices and temperaments.\n\n\nNOTE III.\n\nPage 26.\n\n_\"To the concealment of what is really good or great.\"_\n\nI have often been surprised at the supposition that Romanism, In its\npresent condition, could either patronise art or profit by it. The noble\npainted windows of St. Maclou at Rouen, and many other churches in\nFrance, are entirely blocked up behind the altars by the erection of\nhuge gilded wooden sunbeams, with interspersed cherubs.\n\n\nNOTE IV.\n\nPage 33.\n\n_\"With different pattern of traceries in each.\"_\n\nI have certainly not examined the seven hundred and four traceries (four\nto each niche) so as to be sure that none are alike; but they have the\naspect of continual variation, and even the roses of the pendants of the\nsmall groined niche roofs are all of different patterns.\n\n\nNOTE V.\n\nPage 43.\n\n\"_Its flamboyant traceries of the last and most degraded forms._\"\n\nThey are noticed by Mr. Whewell as forming the figure of the\nfleur-de-lis, always a mark, when in tracery bars, of the most debased\nflamboyant. It occurs in the central tower of Bayeux, very richly in the\nbuttresses of St. Gervais at Falaise, and in the small niches of some of\nthe domestic buildings at Rouen. Nor is it only the tower of St. Ouen\nwhich is overrated. Its nave is a base imitation, in the flamboyant\nperiod, of an early Gothic arrangement; the niches on its piers are\nbarbarisms; there is a huge square shaft run through the ceiling of the\naisles to support the nave piers, the ugliest excrescence I ever saw on\na Gothic building; the traceries of the nave are the most insipid and\nfaded flamboyant; those of the transept clerestory present a singularly\ndistorted condition of perpendicular; even the elaborate door of the\nsouth transept is, for its fine period, extravagant and almost grotesque\nin its foliation and pendants. There is nothing truly fine in the church\nbut the choir, the light triforium, and tall clerestory, the circle of\nEastern chapels, the details of sculpture, and the general lightness of\nproportion; these merits being seen to the utmost advantage by the\nfreedom of the body of the church from all incumbrance.\n\n\nNOTE VI.\n\nPage 43.\n\nCompare Iliad [Greek: S]. 1. 219 with Odyssey [Greek: O]. 1. 5-10.\n\n\nNOTE VII.\n\nPage 44.\n\n\"_Does not admit iron as a constructive material._\"\n\nExcept in Chaucer's noble temple of Mars.\n\n  \"And dounward from an hill under a bent,\n  Ther stood the temple of Mars, armipotent,\n  Wrought all of burned stele, of which th' entree\n  Was longe and streite, and gastly for to see.\n  And thereout came a rage and swiche a vise,\n  That it made all the gates for to rise.\n  The northern light in at the dore shone,\n  For window on the wall ne was ther none,\n  Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne\n  The dore was all of athamant eterne,\n  Yclenched overthwart and ende long\n  With yren tough, and for to make it strong,\n  Every piler the temple to sustene\n  Was tonne-gret, of yren bright and shene.\"\n                                                 _The Knighte's Tale._\n\nThere is, by the bye, an exquisite piece of architectural color just\nbefore:\n\n  \"And northward, in a turret on the wall\n  _Of alabaster white, and red corall_,\n  An oratorie riche for to see,\n  In worship of Diane of Chastitee.\"\n\n\nNOTE VIII.\n\nPage 44.\n\n_\"The Builders of Salisbury.\"_\n\n\"This way of tying walls together with iron, instead of making them of\nthat substance and form, that they shall naturally poise themselves upon\ntheir buttment, is against the rules of good architecture, not only\nbecause iron is corruptible by rust, but because it is fallacious,\nhaving unequal veins in the metal, some places of the same bar being\nthree times stronger than others, and yet all sound to appearance.\"\nSurvey of Salisbury Cathedral in 1668, by Sir C. Wren. For my own part,\nI think it better work to bind a tower with iron, than to support a\nfalse dome by a brick pyramid.\n\n\nNOTE IX.\n\nPage 60.\n\nPLATE III.\n\nIn this plate, figures 4, 5, and 6, are glazed windows, but fig. 2 is\nthe open light of a belfry tower, and figures 1 and 3 are in triforia,\nthe latter also occurring filled, on the central tower of Coutances.\n\n\nNOTE X.\n\nPage 94.\n\n_\"Ornaments of the transept towers of Rouen.\"_\n\nThe reader cannot but observe agreeableness, as a mere arrangement of\nshade, which especially belongs to the \"sacred trefoil.\" I do not think\nthat the element of foliation has been enough insisted upon in its\nintimate relations with the power of Gothic work. If I were asked what\nwas the most distinctive feature of its perfect style, I should say the\nTrefoil. It is the very soul of it; and I think the loveliest Gothic is\nalways formed upon simple and bold tracings of it, taking place between\nthe blank lancet arch on the one hand, and the overcharged cinquefoiled\narch on the other.\n\n\nNOTE XI.\n\nPage 95.\n\n\"_And levelled cusps of stone._\"\n\nThe plate represents one of the lateral windows of the third story of\nthe Palazzo Foscari. It was drawn from the opposite side of the Grand\nCanal, and the lines of its traceries are therefore given as they appear\nin somewhat distant effect. It shows only segments of the characteristic\nquatrefoils of the central windows. I found by measurement their\nconstruction exceedingly simple. Four circles are drawn in contact\nwithin the large circle. Two tangential lines are then drawn to each\nopposite pair, enclosing the four circles in a hollow cross. An inner\ncircle struck through the intersections of the circles by the tangents,\ntruncates the cusps.\n\n\nNOTE XII.\n\nPage 124.\n\n\"_Into vertical equal parts._\"\n\nNot absolutely so. There are variations partly accidental (or at least\ncompelled by the architect's effort to recover the vertical), between\nthe sides of the stories; and the upper and lower story are taller than\nthe rest. There is, however, an apparent equality between five out of\nthe eight tiers.\n\n\nNOTE XIII.\n\nPage 133.\n\n\"_Never paint a column with vertical lines._\"\n\nIt should be observed, however, that any pattern which gives opponent\nlines in its parts, may be arranged on lines parallel with the main\nstructure. Thus, rows of diamonds, like spots on a snake's back, or the\nbones on a sturgeon, are exquisitely applied both to vertical and spiral\ncolumns. The loveliest instances of such decoration that I know, are the\npillars of the cloister of St. John Lateran, lately illustrated by Mr.\nDigby Wyatt, in his most valuable and faithful work on antique mosaic.\n\n\nNOTE XIV.\n\nPage 139.\n\nOn the cover of this volume the reader will find some figure outlines of\nthe same period and character, from the floor of San Miniato at\nFlorence. I have to thank its designer, Mr. W. Harry Rogers, for his\nintelligent arrangement of them, and graceful adaptation of the\nconnecting arabesque. (Stamp on cloth cover of _London_ edition.)\n\n\nNOTE XV.\n\nPage 169.\n\n\"_The flowers lost their light, the river its music._\"\n\nYet not all their light, nor all their music. Compare Modern Painters,\nvol. ii. sec. 1. chap. iv. SECTION 8.\n\n\nNOTE XVI.\n\nPage 181.\n\n\"_By the artists of the time of Perides._\"\n\nThis subordination was first remarked to me by a friend, whose profound\nknowledge of Greek art will not, I trust, be reserved always for the\nadvantage of his friends only: Mr. C. Newton, of the British Museum.\n\n\nNOTE XVII.\n\nPage 188.\n\n\"_In one of the noblest poems._\"\n\nColeridge's Ode to France:\n\n  \"Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause,\n    Whose pathless march no mortal may control!\n    Ye Ocean-Waves! that wheresoe'er ye roll,\n  Yield homage only to eternal laws!\n  Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds singing.\n    Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined,\n  Save when your own imperious branches swinging,\n    Have made a solemn music of the wind!\n  Where, like a man beloved of God,\n  Through glooms, which never woodman trod,\n    How oft, pursuing fancies holy,\n  My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound,\n    Inspired, beyond the guess of folly,\n  By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound!\n  O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests high!\n    And O ye Clouds that far above me soared!\n  Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky!\n    Yea, everything that is and will be free!\n    Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be,\n    With what deep worship I have still adored\n      The spirit of divinest Liberty.\"\n\nNoble verse, but erring thought: contrast George Herbert:--\n\n  \"Slight those who say amidst their sickly healths,\n  Thou livest by rule. What doth not so but man?\n  Houses are built by rule and Commonwealths.\n  Entice the trusty sun, if that you can,\n  From his ecliptic line; beckon the sky.\n  Who lives by rule then, keeps good company.\n\n  \"Who keeps no guard upon himself is slack,\n  And rots to nothing at the next great thaw;\n  Man is a shop of rules: a well-truss'd pack\n  Whose every parcel underwrites a law.\n  Lose not thyself, nor give thy humors way;\n  God gave them to thee under lock and key.\"\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTES\n\n\n1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.\n\n2. The original text includes Greek characters. For this text version\nthese letters have been replaced with transliterations.\n\n3. Numbered subscript is represented using underscore. For instance, a_2\nindicates letter a with subscript 2.\n\n4. The original text includes certain characters with overline. For this\nversion, such letters have been preceeded with equals sign enclosed in\nsquare brackets. For instance, [=a] indicates letter a with overline.","title":"The Seven Lamps of Architecture","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":80551}