style in _decorating construction_, and in converting structural and
useful features into elements of beauty. The arch, its normal feature,
supplies to it an endless store of beauty. The vault supplies another
inexhaustible fund, and assumes forms unrivalled in any other style. The
window, comparatively neglected by the ancient architects, and even
hated by the Greeks, was, in the hands of the Gothic builders, a perfect
treasury of architectural loveliness; and the introduction of
window-glass, an invention nearly unknown to the ancients, became the
source of an entirely new and most enchanting art, and one which
exercised the most surprising influence upon architecture. The buttress,
the natural but unpromising accompaniment of an arcuated style, became
in their magic hands, a source of stateliness and varied beauty. The
roof, unwillingly shown by the Classic builders, adds solemn dignity to
the works of their Northern successors; while, if need be, its timbers
are made to contribute liberally to the effect of the interior. The
campanile, a structure resulting wholly from practical necessity, became
the greatest ornament of Christian cities, and supplied an endless
variety of majestic forms, which had no parallels in ancient
architecture; and generally, whatever feature, whether homely or
otherwise, construction or utility demanded, was at once enlisted, and
that with right goodwill and heartiness, among the essential elements of
the design.
Carrying out the same spirit, no material was either too rich or too
rustic to find an honourable place in the works of these truly Catholic
builders. The varied marbles of the Appenines, the polished amethysts of
Bohemia, the glass mosaics of the Byzantines, with gold and silver,
enamel, brass, and iron, were all brought under tribute to make their
richer works glorious; yet they were equally at home in the use of
brick, or flint, or rubble, and did not despise even a homely coating of
plaster, if only it were honestly and truthfully used. And, what is more
remarkable, they excelled in the use of nearly every one of these
materials, and varied their design with instinctive precision to meet
every one of their individual conditions.
Carrying on the same spirit a step further, Gothic architecture shapes
itself instinctively to varied climate and local tradition, and that
without sacrificing its leading principles. It is true that its great
normal types are found in Northern Europe, and that the north of France
may, perhaps, be considered as its central province; yet how admirably
does it shape itself to the varied conditions of Italy or Spain, to the
valleys of Switzerland or the inhospitable shores of Scandinavia! while
in every country where it prevailed it assumes a national type, and in
every province a local variety.
In the same way, again, it suits itself to every grade and every class
of building to which it is applied. It is equally at home in the humble
chapel of the rustic hamlet as in the metropolitan cathedral. The
traveller through Lincolnshire is no less charmed by the village
churches which rise in such profusion from its level surface than with
the majestic minster, which, from its lofty site, surveys the whole
county; nor are we, after wondering at the stupendous grandeur of York,
the less disposed to be delighted with the little village chapel at
Skelton; and even the rudest structures of the most obscure district
possess a truthfulness and a sentiment which does more than compensate
for their rusticity. To pass again to different classes of building, the
Mediæval castles, though belonging to a class which the altered modes of
warfare have rendered obsolete, are in their degree as noble and as
thoroughly suited to their purpose as the sacred structures. The
manor-house, the farm, and the cottage, show equal appropriateness of
treatment. The timber street-fronts of Coventry or Brunswick; the brick
houses of Lubeck or of the Lombard cities, or those of stone at
Nuremberg--all evince the same power of meeting the conditions of
purpose or material; while the vast warehouses of the commercial cities
of Germany, the town halls of Flanders, and the tithe barns of an
English village are, in their way, as admirable and as appropriate as
the minster at Rheims or the castle at Carnarvon.
Again, Gothic architecture unites all arts in one, more, perhaps, than
has been effected by any other style, or, to say the least, fully as
much so.
In its normal form a stone architecture, it does not make all other
materials conform to this condition, but treats them each according to
its own demands. It is almost equally successful in its timber roofs as
in its stone construction, and equally perfect in wood as in stone
carving; it treats iron and brass in a manner perfectly suited to the
varying conditions; it brings in painted decorations of the richest or
the simplest character, as best suits the building; it has introduced
one all-pervading art entirely of its own--I mean painted glass; and no
art perhaps ever contributed in so large a degree to the increase of
architectural effect: its jewellery, enamels, ivory carving, embroidery,
tapestry, and all other arts are in perfect harmony; and though it fell
short of the Classic styles in the perfection of its figure sculpture,
it possessed even here a solemn and severe dignity, hardly equalled at
any period, and its draperies often exceeded in beauty those of the
Classic sculptors.
In describing the sculptures at Wells Cathedral, our revered professor,
who possesses, in a greater degree than any one whom it is my privilege
to know, the happiness of being susceptible of enthusiastic emotion from
the beauties of a rival school of art to that to which he has especially
devoted himself, makes the following remarks:--
“Regarded in the right spirit, we shall wonder at the inexhaustible
resources of the artist in delineating the various and opposite
characters of his multifarious composition--in which no two are to be
found alike, and in each of which we find the appropriate idea--and the
fulness of embodiment which sustains the _dramatis personæ_ throughout,
with an untiring energy of impersonation in costume, symbol, and action,
which excites our warmest admiration.
“We have the sanctity of the Monk, the meekness and abstraction of the
supreme Pontiff; the Archbishop; the pious energy of the Bishop in the
act of benediction; the prudent Abbot; the devoted Anchorite; the
haughty and imposing King; the stark conqueror fiercely justifying his
usurpation; the placid and impassible Confessor administering his good
old laws ...; the inspired Evangelist or the malignant sprite;--each and
all discovering a racy energy of conception which the informed artist
may envy.”
Again: “The Mediæval artist appealed sometimes to the imagination, and
sometimes to the conscience; and thus gave a degree of sentiment to his
works, which the moderns can scarcely attempt,--much less attain....
“But it is the moral understanding of the artist which is most affected
by the contemplation of so vast an assemblage of Christian art, as
contrasted with the Classical, contained in our museums or in ancient
monuments. Habituated to the Grecian model, in which the pride of life,
the sensuality of beauty, a superhuman energy, or an unreal Elysium are
assumed, deluding with a _beau-ideal_, and disappointing to all human
experience, he is brought here to the full admission of the realities
and true conditions of human existence--probation by the sweat of the
brow, and the grand achievement of eternal life. Art is here employed
to impress the great lessons of Truth, the warfare of the world, the
subjugation of the natural to the spiritual man, the honest employment
of the intellect in the great cause of religion.... No characters enter
into this picture which have not been signalised by some great good to
society, or some great triumph over all-absorbing self. Wisdom in its
true sense, and varying energies of personal or intellectual strength,
in a great cause, are the only passports to admission in these records.”
I need not apologise for quoting at so much length from him who has so
often and so eloquently addressed you from this place, and cannot
refrain from adding the following admirable reflections to which the
work he was describing gave rise:--
“The poetic faculty, the fine sense of beauty, grace, and humour, are
the gifts of nature: technical and mechanical skill may be acquired by
academy and happy circumstances. The union of these qualifications,
which is requisite to perfection in a work of art, is indeed a rare
felicity: their separate existence is a melancholy fact, exhibited by
the history of schools; in which, for the most part mechanism and
technicality usurp the higher attainment, and the wide distinction
between the professional practitioner and the inborn artist is made
apparent to us. But the end of all sound criticism should be to
recognise these distinctions; to seize the poetical conception, however
encumbered with a faulty execution; and to appreciate in their true
merit the more exalted and the rarer qualities; else the poet descends
to the grammarian, and the intellectual artist to the handicraftsman.”
In foliated sculpture the Mediæval artists exceeded those of, perhaps,
any other period. In their works you find the finest specimens of
conventional or imaginary foliage,--founded on natural principles, yet
not imitated from nature,--the best instances of the introduction of
natural foliage, either wholly or united with the conventional,--and the
most admirable examples of conventionalising nature, or, as Mr. Ruskin
defines it, “bringing it into service,” so as to suit it to the material
and to the forms, conditions, and purposes of architectural decoration,
whether in relief or in painting. And not the least valuable of the
lessons we learn from them is the acknowledgment of the mind and
imagination of the art workman, who was not, as in classic architecture,
employed to make for his capitals, or other features, an indefinite
number of facsimiles of a single model, much less, as in most modern
works, to copy in a hundred buildings a model which its author never
meant to be used but in one; but after having acquired a due amount of
skill in the arrangement and execution of his foliage, and a due
knowledge of the general tone and feeling which the architect desired to
express, was then left, under only general guidance, to the indulgence
of his own inventive and artistic faculties, and thus rendered every
capital, every boss, and every cusp a distinct and separate work of art,
though all in harmony with the ideal of the whole design.
In variety of expression Gothic architecture is excelled by none, being
equally capable of the sternest and most majestic severity, and the most
exquisite and refined elegance, as well as of all the intermediate
varieties.
In beauty of external outline no other style of architecture approaches
it; and in the variety, depth, and refined delicacy of the profiles of
its mouldings it stands unrivalled. Time would fail me to tell of the
wonderful manner in which our style shapes itself to every accidental
requirement; grapples with every difficulty, and converts it into a
source of beauty; disdains, on the one hand, all artificially effected
symmetry, nor, on the other, fears to submit to the most rigid
uniformity, should the conditions of the case require it, being equally
noble in the castle, where no two parts are alike or, as in the Hall at
Ypres, where scarcely any two are different; how it meets every
emergency with the utmost frankness and honesty; how it disdains all
deception; thus contrasting itself, not with other genuine styles, for
none really systematically admit of shams, but with the despicable
trickiness which our modern architects have learned from their own
plasterers and house-painters. Nor have I time to treat of the boldness,
freedom, and originality of its conceptions. But, above all, its great
glory is the solemnity of religious character which pervades the
interior of its temples. To this all its other attributes must bend, as
it is this which renders it so pre-eminently suited to the highest uses
of the Christian Church. It was this probably which led Romney to
exclaim, that if Grecian architecture was the work of glorious men,
Gothic was the invention of gods.
Having--I fear at too great length--sketched out the claims of Mediæval
architecture upon your study, I will conclude with a few remarks as to
the spirit with which that study should be undertaken, the manner in
which it should be pursued, and the practical objects for which it
should be followed up.
In the first place, I will premise that your studies should not be
undertaken in a spirit of mere antiquarianism. We owe very much to
antiquaries, and far be it from me to depreciate the value of their
researches; on the contrary, I think that the enlightened system on
which they are followed up is one of the things of which our age has to
be proud, and one for which, as lovers of art, we have great cause for
gratitude; nor do I wish to discourage the pursuit of such
investigations by architects. It is, in some degree, a necessary
accompaniment to their studies, and will always add interest to them.
What I wish to suggest is that our own proper subject is _art_ rather
than antiquity. The fact that the types from which we have to study have
grown old is accidental: their merits and their value are perfectly
irrespective of their age, and would have been as great had they been
erected in our own day; nay, more so, for then we should be following
up, as in former days, the works of our own immediate predecessors, and
should not be suffering, as now, from a great and unnatural _hiatus_ in
the history of our art. In the second place, our studies should not be
undertaken in a spirit of mere philosophical investigation: that, too,
is very useful in its place, and is an important element in the study of
art, though somewhat too cold to suit the feelings which belong to the
true artist.
I would suggest two classes of sentiments as especially suited to our
own studies, somewhat opposite in their character, and each calculated
to temper and correct any tendency to undue excess in the other. On the
one hand, I would urge that your studies should be the earnest following
up of the genuine impulses of the heart;--that their primary
characteristics should be warmth, enthusiasm, veneration, and love.
“Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of
life.” Never repress in yourselves, nor ridicule in others, the generous
impulses of enthusiasm. They are the very soul of art; they are the
fresh spring flowers of the youthful mind, the life-spring of every
noble thought and action: without them art would cease to exist, and we
should sink under the bondage of an iron age. Above all, cultivate these
feelings now that you are young: guard and cherish them as you would the
choicest and tenderest of flowers; for, depend upon it, the chilling
blasts of advancing years, and the deadening contact of a hard and
unsentimental world, will have sufficient tendency to nip the precious
bud almost before it has time to burst into bloom. On the other hand, it
is necessary that the exercise of this zeal, heartiness, and veneration,
should be regulated by sound and discriminating judgment,--a perfect and
unfettered freedom of thought, and an eye to real beauty of form and
reasonableness of construction and design; so that our generous
enthusiasm may not betray us into forming erroneous judgments.
However perfect a style of art may be, its productions are not all
perfect nor all of equal merit; while every human art has had its period
of rise, culmination, and decline; and, enthusiastic and heart-stirring
as must be our feelings towards any art in which we hope to excel, and
intense as may be our veneration for the skill and noble sentiment of
its original masters, these feelings should in no degree be permitted
to blunt the sensitiveness of our own instinctive perception of beauty,
whether positive or relative, nor to bias the freedom of our judgment as
in the comparative truthfulness, propriety, or genuineness of the works
of different periods or of different hands. We must keep a constant
balance between our zeal and our judgment--not repressing the exercise
of either, but giving each its full play, and exercising each in its
highest and noblest degree.
I now come to the _manner_ in which Mediæval architecture should be
studied.
In the first place, though books and prints are very useful in their
degree, let me impress upon you, in the strongest manner, that all real
study should be at the fountain head. You may derive information as to
the history of art from books, but knowledge of art itself must be
derived from works of art. The knowledge derived from books and prints
comes to you at second hand--you are seeing through other men’s eyes;
the really useful information is that which you obtain at the first
hand, and through your own eyes. If you learn a fact from a book, be
never satisfied till you have proved it by your own observation; if you
are impressed with the beauty of a building from a drawing or a print,
make sure of its being really beautiful by examining it for yourselves.
Investigate every theory, however rudimental, by actual examination of
the _data_ on which it is founded, so that none of your knowledge shall
be merely taken upon trust from others.
During a genuine and natural state of art, every one learned it from,
and developed it upon, the works of his immediate predecessors. This
natural course having been broken up, the most reasonable substitute for
it is to study the actual works which surround us, and which were
produced while art was still genuine and unbroken. We have not to visit
distant shores, and to investigate obscure fragments,--the works of
races which have vanished from the face of the earth: we are surrounded
on every side by original examples of the arts which we would study;
they are the productions of our own country and our own race. The
temples from which our authorities are derived are not those of an
ancient and bygone nation, but those in which we ourselves worship, and
within and around whose hallowed walls sleep the remains of our own
forefathers. We study no outlandish or exotic architecture, but that of
buildings which from our infancy we have been taught to venerate. We
have, then, no excuse if we neglect to obtain our knowledge from the
fountain head.
The choice and order of the particular buildings which we select for our
studies must depend much upon accidental circumstances; but, as a
general rule, I would advise each student to begin with those which are
readiest to his hand. If your home is in the country, visit, study, and
sketch from your own parish church, and from those immediately
surrounding you, widening your circle as you proceed; generally studying
the simpler specimens before you venture upon the more magnificent. If
you live in London the case is different. The humbler specimens have
mostly perished, but the earnest student will still find out many of
which the public are ignorant. Here, however, you must for the most part
attend to the more magnificent works, and reserve the humbler for your
rural excursions; and, above all, you must diligently study the glorious
abbey church of Westminster--internally, perhaps, the finest in England,
but which, from its proximity, is made nothing like so much use of as it
ought to be. Though the village churches round London have suffered more
than almost any others, you would still do well to make pedestrian
excursions among them, and carefully sketch what remains of them; and by
extending your excursions to Waltham and St. Alban’s, to Eltham and
Hampton Court, you will find objects of study of the highest merit and
the most thrilling interest. I would, however, recommend, as the most
profitable mode of following up the subject, more lengthened excursions;
as, for instance, pedestrian tours through particular counties or
districts, walking from village to village, and carefully sketching
everything worthy of note to be found in it, whether ecclesiastical or
domestic. This should be repeated over and over again in different
districts. If you wish to direct your attention to the nobler
productions of architecture, you must seat yourselves down in some
cathedral town, and follow it up patiently from day to day, till your
time is exhausted. A hasty view to these noblest of structures is of but
little use.
Especially would I entreat your attention to those beauteous but
melancholy ruins which still mark the sites of ancient monastic
institutions. You may find in them the finest and best studied examples
of your art--works designed and carried out, not in the bustle and busy
hum of cities, but under the quieting influence of learned retirement:
they are the works of the most thoughtful spirits of their age, and have
received their utmost study and consideration. Not only are they
intrinsically among the most beautiful specimens you can visit, but
their present condition is calculated to impress them the most deeply
upon the imagination and memory.
It is well to visit these remains _alone_; to stay long at them; to
study them thoroughly, and not to repress the emotions to which they are
calculated to give rise. I would also plead for them on another ground.
There are many of them fast mouldering away or tottering to their fall.
A few years more, and many of them will have perished. Lend, then, a
friendly hand while they still exist, and rescue from oblivion their
noble details by making careful and measured drawings of every part; so
that, when the reality is no more, the truthful representation at least
will be preserved.
I need hardly say that no works of art can be really profitably studied
without _drawing_ from them. The memory will not retain its impressions
by mere abstract study and observation. I would not advise hasty and
careless sketching, unless your time is so short as to render more
impossible, but would urge upon you the necessity of carefully and
assiduously drawing whatever strikes you as worthy of it, making
measured drawings whenever you can, and noting down your impressions as
to the merits or the defects of the work. So study what you see as
thoroughly to learn it,--as if no one had ever made drawings of it
before. Never buy prints or photographs of it as substitutes for your
own work; though they are most useful when you have done all you can for
yourself. In this way you will in a few years obtain a good knowledge of
the architecture of your own country, and this is the best preparation
for studying the contemporary works of other lands.
I would never encourage a student to go too early abroad. Study well our
own examples first, and follow up foreign ones later.
When you go abroad, begin with France. It is the great centre of
Mediæval art. Perhaps the best course is to take Normandy first, as
being most allied to our own country; but still more important is the
district round Paris--the old royal domain--which seems to be the heart
from which Gothic architecture diffused itself throughout Europe. The
architecture of this central district, particularly in works of the
thirteenth century, demands the closest and the most diligent study; it
is the great standard and type of the style, and, without a good
knowledge of it, your studies would be not only incomplete, but
defective at the most vital part.
After France, I would recommend Germany. Pointed architecture in Germany
is a direct emanation from France, far more so than is the case with
that of our own country. Yet it has a character of its own which it is
well to study, and the later Romanesque of Germany, which is
contemporary with the early Pointed architecture of France and England,
is replete with beauty and suggestiveness.