change in the form of the arch, because the great majority of writers
treat it purely as a matter of taste and of altered fashion; indeed,
some excellent writers on the history of Mediæval architecture have
strangely imagined that the pointed arch had a greater outward thrust
than the round, and that the increased projection of the buttresses was
necessitated by its use, instead of the two being simultaneously
introduced as a double means of avoiding the evils experienced from the
great thrust of the round arch and the small buttresses by which it had,
during the Romanesque period, been accompanied.
I will now close my present lecture, but hope in the next to carry on
the same inquiry into a number of other details, as well as into the
general spirit and principles of the architecture of which I am
treating, and to add some practical remarks on the application of the
_rationale_ thus traced out to our present revival of the style, and
such developments as it may give rise to.
LECTURE VII.
The Rationale of Gothic Architecture--_Continued_.
The bases of a thirteenth century church indicate the plan and
construction of the vaulting--The system of mouldings--Windows,
their development--Rationale of stained glass--A general principle
of ornamentation common to all good architecture--The roof--Secular
buildings--Cloth market Yprès--Warehouses, Nuremburg--Windows in
secular and ecclesiastical buildings--Trabeated architecture in its
truest forms--Fireplaces--Chimney-shafts--Oriel and Dormer
windows--Ceilings--Subordination of external design to internal
requirements--Designs adapted to the materials most readily
obtained--Conditions demanded of our future architecture--Gothic
architecture well fitted to unite these conditions.
In my last lecture I traced out the _rationale_ of a number of the
leading features, both of Romanesque as distinguished from Roman
architecture, and subsequently of Gothic as distinguished from
Romanesque. I will endeavour to avoid wearying you by carrying the
inquiry into too great a multiplicity of details, but I must,
nevertheless, ask your indulgence while I pursue them somewhat further
than I have yet done.
Nothing would, perhaps, do more to show the reasonableness of the
various developments in question than to trace out the details of the
vaulting system; to show the varieties it exhibited in different
countries and provinces and at different periods, the various modes
adopted for effecting a given purpose and the many mechanical and other
difficulties to be contended with, and the methods adopted of meeting
them. This is, however, so extensive and so intricate a subject, that,
if I had devoted these two lectures exclusively to it, I could barely
have done it justice. I will, therefore, at present content myself with
referring those of you who are anxious to make yourselves acquainted
with it, to an admirable and elaborate essay on the subject by Professor
Willis, in the Transactions of the Institute of British Architects, and
to the article “Construction,” in the fourth volume of Viollet le Duc’s
Dictionary. No one who has not gone carefully and practically into the
subject can have any idea of the amount of forethought which it demands;
so much so that, as Viollet le Duc says, the design for a vaulted
building has to be commenced at the top and worked downwards; and we may
often form a pretty correct idea, from the bases of a thirteenth century
church, of what was the plan and construction of its vaulting.
This principle of designing each part from the first with reference to
its ultimate intention is very strongly marked in French works of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and in those of the transitional
period in England. The form, not only of the capital, but even of the
base of each shaft, usually indicates the direction of the arched rib or
order which it is destined to carry.
This was, however, lost in English works on the introduction of the
circular abacus, and I must say that much expression and emphasis was
lost with it. Not only, indeed, did the abacus in French work face or
point in the direction of the arched rib, but its plan was often made to
fit to it in the most direct manner, and even the direction of the
principal stalks of the foliage had reference to the supported rib (Fig.
148).
[Illustration: Fig. 148.--Laon Cathedral. Respond in Choir Aisle.]
The system of moulding, again, follows out the same laws of reason. An
arch-moulding, for instance, is founded on what is supposed to be the
original section of the order or rib. Thus, if the normal section of the
rib be square, the section of the mouldings is made to fit to that
figure (Fig. 149); if chamfered or a part of an octagon, the mouldings,
again, fit to it (Fig. 150); the abacus in each case taking the normal
plan of the ribs.
[Illustration: Fig. 149.]
[Illustration: Fig. 150.]
[Illustration: Fig. 151.]
As to æsthetical forms, the mouldings were studiously arranged so as to
produce in some parts the greatest contrasts, in others the most elegant
gradations of light and shade. The heaviness of large roll mouldings was
often relieved by fillets or by raised edges or “keels,” by which
diversity was gained without loss of mass (Fig. 151).
Hollows, again, were relieved by the insertion of sparkling ornaments,
such as the toothed ornament, the rosette, the ball-flower, the
four-leaved flower, and many others; and in other instances by the
introduction of bands of foliage. The sections of moulding differed
entirely from those of Roman architecture, being far more free and less
mechanical, and at once more delicate in feeling and more carefully
studied with reference to light and shade. They resembled Greek
mouldings, in fact, far more than Roman.
Enriched mouldings differed from the usual practice in antique work in
this respect, that the enrichment was added to instead of being cut out
of the original moulding; its practical use being to strengthen the
hollows rather then to enrich the rounds. In this respect the practice
of the Romanesque builder had been different; and perhaps a union of the
two systems would be better than a close adherence to either.
Mouldings which receive much rain, as copings, cills, tops of cornices
etc., were very much more sloped than in Classic work, so as to throw
off the wet more rapidly. The custom in modern Classic buildings, where
the stone is not very hard, of putting lead on the upper surface, as
well as the damage often sustained when this is neglected, show the
reasonableness of this increased slope. They had to do with a more rainy
climate, and generally with softer stone, than the ancients, and they
designed their work accordingly. The under sides, again, of projecting
mouldings, as string-courses, drip-stones, water-tables, cills, etc.,
were carefully designed so as to prevent the wet from running round
them. Base mouldings round buildings were designed in such a manner as
both really and apparently to give it a substantial footing, and at the
same time to add greatly to its beauty; many of them are as noble
combinations as could easily be conceived.[60]
In short, it may be asserted, without fear of contradiction, that in no
style of architecture has a system of moulding been generated so full of
variety and so capable of suiting itself to every position; and not only
to provide for the practical demands of each position, but to give to
each just that kind of effect which it most demanded.
Let us now proceed to consider the _window_. In the days of ancient
Greece, and in the earlier days of Rome, windows were necessarily kept
in a very undeveloped form, through the non-existence of window glass;
so much so, that in Classic architecture the window seems a thing
shunned as an unhappy necessity; and the imperfect manufacture and
dearness of this material, no doubt, influenced, in a considerable
degree, the architecture of the later Roman and the immediately
succeeding periods. In churches and other vaulted buildings, another
cause would lead to the use, during the last-named (_i.e._, the
Romanesque) period, of as small windows as would just answer the
purpose. The unaided thickness and the whole length of the wall being
relied on for the abutment of the vaulting, it naturally followed that
perforations were as much avoided as possible, as tending to reduce the
abutting mass. Accordingly, as buttresses increased in projection,
greater and greater openings in the curtain wall were ventured on,
simply because there was strength sufficient to admit of them, till,
when Pointed architecture received its full development, and the
pressure of the vaults was entirely concentrated upon the buttresses,
the whole intervening space might, if needful, be converted into
windows.
Simultaneously with this change, the increasing use of stained glass
_necessitated_ a corresponding increase in the area of window opening,
so that we have one development _facilitating_, and the other _rendering
necessary_, the constant enlargement and multiplication of the windows.
The _primâ facie_ mode of obtaining increased window light would be by
widening the openings; but as this, if carried too far, would at once
injure the beauty of the window and cause inconvenience in glazing it,
the more usual course adopted was to increase the number. Hence the
couplets, triplets, and more numerous groups of the Early English
windows. These groups, when placed in a side wall and under a level
roof-plate, would naturally assume the form of arcades of equal height;
but when under a gable, an arched roof, or a vaulted bay, they increased
in height towards the centre,--thus giving us the two most familiar
forms of grouping. The sections of the jambs were arranged (as in the
earlier period) in the manner best suited to the admission of
light--care being taken externally to avoid deep shadows upon the glass,
and internally, to disperse the light as readily as possible through the
building.
In domestic buildings, where windows have to serve the double purpose of
admitting the light and facilitating external view, they were not
usually grouped as above described, but were made wider in their
openings, the unpleasant effect which might otherwise arise from it
being obviated, and the glazing and opening of the window rendered more
easy by the use of thin mullions or pillars dividing the window into two
or more lights. This system offered advantages so obvious that it was
very soon adopted for churches also; so that, instead of obtaining
increased light, as heretofore, by the indefinite multiplication of
comparatively small windows, it became customary now, _for the first
time in the history of architecture_, to make windows of _any_ size
which their position or utility might dictate; the whole end of a church
and the entire bays of its flanks being occupied, if need be, by single
windows.
Now, nothing could be more rational than this development. The mode of
glazing in use was most conveniently applicable to spaces of moderate
width. It is true that by the more extended use of iron it was then, as
it has often been in modern times, applied to openings of 6, 8, or even
10 feet in width; but narrower spaces were much more convenient. The
lights, however, at Westminster Abbey (which is one of the earlier
buildings in which this kind of window is systematically used in this
country), are 4½ feet wide, and in France they are generally much more.
The prevailing practice of placing a massive pier between each of such
lights was obviously imperfect. The concentration of pressure upon the
buttresses now allowed of openings of almost any size; what, then, was
more reasonable than to make extensive openings, and then to subdivide
them by light mullions into compartments at once sightly and convenient?
That this practice has sometimes, from caprice, been carried to a
vicious excess in no degree militates against its _rationale_; indeed,
with all our modern facilities for glazing and opening our windows, we
continually find the same expedient resorted to for convenience, and
invariably so when any extraordinary amount of light, and consequent
width of window, is needed.
The next question which would arise is, how is the arch to be filled in?
This we find done at first by a plate or tympanum of stone as thick as
the depth of the mullions, each light being arched, and the tympanum
pierced at pleasure with such openings as suited the builder’s taste;
and, later on, we find these piercings connected together into those
systematic groups which we call tracery; thus converting the window into
a perfectly novel and most beautiful architectural feature.
As I shall have more to say on the subject of windows when we come to
secular architecture, I will limit myself to two remarks. One is this;
that in positions in which there is not much height, where there is no
great load to be sustained, and where the termination of the wall
internally and externally is horizontal, the Mediæval architects by no
means held themselves bound to the arched form, but reserved perfect
liberty to put square heads to their windows; the other is a passing
remark on the _rationale of stained glass_. I do not conceive it to be
simply a decoration or a means of adding rich colouring, but that it
also arose from an unconscious feeling that it was necessary to the
perfect effect of an architectural interior that it should be
_self-inclosed_. In a living-room one wishes not only for admission of
light, but for facility of looking out at the windows; and this
necessity prevents us from seeing the windows well as architectural
features, because the focus of the eye has constantly to be changed in
passing from the window itself to the view beyond. In a church, on the
contrary, you do not wish to look out at the window, and it is better
that it should be filled with a medium only semi-transparent, and which,
being at about the same distance from the eye with the surrounding
architecture, at once does away with the necessity of a change of focus,
and supplies a beautiful decoration to the medium by which that object
is effected.
I have not yet noticed one of the leading features of the style, and one
in which it assumes a character most peculiarly its own: I mean the
_roof_.
All previous styles of architecture with which we are acquainted, having
originated in Southern countries, had roofs of a low pitch. I have no
doubt that in many of those countries there were occasions in which a
higher pitch would have answered better; but as the lower line
harmonised better with the generally horizontal lines of their
architecture, and was found to answer, they naturally adopted it. The
Romanesque architecture of Southern Europe had also somewhat low roofs,
and when first imported into Germany the roofs were by no means high.
Gradually, however, as men forgot its connection with Italy, and viewed
it as belonging to themselves, they would naturally use with it the form
of roof they had found most serviceable and were most accustomed to in
their ordinary buildings; and thus the high roof of the North became
engrafted upon the Romanesque style, and became conspicuous feature in
external architecture. Happily this change harmonised well with its
general character. The arch seemed to suggest a higher pitch of roof
than did trabeated construction, and when greater height was generally
introduced, and the pointed arch took the place of the round, the high
pitch of the roof would be found better to harmonise with it.
I view, then, the high roof as partly the result of climate and partly
of the æsthetic tendency of the style. But is it to be considered as an
essential characteristic of Gothic architecture? By no means. The true
characteristic of the style is _liberty_; and in the roof, as in every
other feature, perfect freedom is reserved; so that we find roofs
varying from almost perfect flatness to a very high pitch, a preference
being given, _cæteris paribus_, to the high roof where there was not
some decided objection to its use.
In internal construction also the roof was founded on rational
principles, good construction being always considered before beauty, but
the latter made very generally to result from it.
Gothic timber roofs would form a subject which could hardly be done
justice to under one or two lectures, so I will not go farther into them
now. Modern carpentry has shown us how to construct roofs with less
timber than was used in these structures (there was then less necessity
for the economy of timber), but we have never done anything to compete
with the noble pieces of ornamented carpentering bequeathed to us by our
Mediæval forefathers. As to covering of roofs, I may just mention, in
passing, that though the Mediæval builders made use of every material
which it is customary to use for this purpose, there are several which
cannot be made use of with any but a high pitch, and are therefore
unusable with low roofs such as are used in other styles, as, for
instance, plain tiles, ordinary stone slate, shingle, and thatch.
The next point in the _rationale_ of Gothic architecture is one which I
by no means claim as its peculiar property, inasmuch as it is common to
all _good_ architecture, though certainly our style is somewhat
pre-eminent in its adoption of it. I refer to that general principle of
ornamentation which trusts mainly for beauty to the useful and
constructive features of the building, rather than to those which are
introduced directly for appearance.
Thus, in a noble Gothic building, the ornamental character arises from a
greater or less richness in the _doorways_, in the _windows_, the
_buttresses_, the _cornices_, _parapets_, or other parts needful for the
uses or construction of the building. This belongs to all noble
architecture, but is more thoroughly, I think, carried out in Gothic
than in other styles, and perhaps less so in modern Italian, especially
in what is commonly called Paladian, than in any other. I do not lay
claim to it as an argument in favour of one style above another, for all
_ought_ to possess it alike; but the absence of it in a very great deal
of modern architecture is at least a proof that much reformation is
needed among ourselves; and the strong degree in which it was adopted as
a maxim by the Gothic architects is a proof of the reasonableness of the
principles on which they acted.
There are, of course, in all styles of architecture decorations of a
merely gratuitous kind, and when largeness of means leads to profusion,
they are likely to be carried to excess; but in Gothic architecture of
the best periods the beauty of a building (after good proportion,
outline, etc., are secured) depends not on this deliberate
ornamentation, but on the artistic treatment of the necessary features.
Whatever parts were dictated by practical necessity were the chief
objects on which decoration was expended, and to which the architect
trusted for the beauty of his building.
More especially was it, _par eminence_, a _window_ style. Of all the
objects provided for, the _admission of light_ was the first and
chiefest; accordingly, the window was made, both within and without, the
leading source of beauty. It is by the design of the _windows_ that we
define the gradations of style. It is chiefly by the _windows_ that we
describe a building, and the first question asked about a Gothic
building generally relates to its _windows_. On them, therefore, was
expended a large portion of the architectural decoration. How
marvellous, then, is the inconsistency which we meet with!--people with
one breath objecting to Gothic architecture--the offspring of Northern
climes--as not admitting light enough, and urging the use of Southern
architecture to obviate the imagined defect; and then telling you of the
beauties of a modern building,[61] the great characteristic of which is,
that its principal façade has no windows at all!
Next to the windows, the _doorways_ claim the most careful attention.
Indeed, in some respects, they had the precedence, inasmuch as of all
parts of a building the doorway is that which challenges the closest
inspection. The decorations, consequently, of doorways are those which
contain the greatest amount of actual sculptured art. It is a great
principle to place sculpture where it will be best seen; and as every
one who enters a building must of necessity obtain a close view of the
doorways, they were naturally made the great vehicles for sculpture. In
France especially, every part of the doorway frequently is sculptured.
Take, for example, the western portals of Amiens: the pedestal or
basement of the jambs is decorated with medallions, illustrating Bible
history by bas-reliefs; the jambs contain colossal statues of saints;
the central pillar of the great double doorway contains the chief
statue; the tympanum is filled with subjects, and the orders of the arch
with angelic figures; so that the entire doorways are alive with
sculpture.
The buttresses, again, those naturally uncouth projections--mere inert
masses to resist the pressure from within--are rendered beautiful by
their stately proportions and architectural details, the niches and
statues which adorn their receding stages, and the aspiring pinnacles by
which they are crowned.
The stone roof-plate, enriched with mouldings and foliage, and, perhaps,
supported on sculptured corbels, becomes the crowning horizontal
feature; and the parapet--the defence of the workmen engaged on the
roofs--is pierced into tracery, or forms a miniature arcade, giving
delicacy and lightness of effect to the generally massive structure;
while the bell-tower, raised high to make its voice heard from afar,
becomes the culminating ornament of the whole exterior. So completely
was it the recognised principle of the architecture to render the useful
and constructive parts sources of decoration, that, where any deliberate
decoration was made use of, it was often formed of imitations of
constructional features, such as window tracery, arcades, gables,
pinnacles, columns, etc.
I am not prepared to say that this is in itself to be applauded; indeed,
I think it ought, at the least, to be kept within moderate limits; but
it nevertheless owed its origin to the firm hold which the principle of
rendering construction the leading source of decoration had upon the
architects. Being accustomed to decorate construction, they got into the
habit of using constructive forms as decorations.
My illustrations have hitherto, perhaps, for the most part, been taken
from churches, but the same principle of common sense applies equally to
secular structures. Each is treated in a manner suited to its class and
purpose. Those classes and purposes differ, as a matter of course, in a
majority of cases, from their correlatives at the present day, as they
did in different periods of the Middle Ages themselves, and in the
different countries of Europe, at any given period; so that the mere
fact of such differences existing is no argument against any lesson we
may learn from them. I presume, for example, that no great analogy can
be established between a Roman villa and one of the nineteenth century
in England, and not much between an Italian Renaissance palace of the
fifteenth century and a London mansion of the nineteenth. Even in
Germany and in France at the present day the houses differ greatly from
those in England. The question of the _rationale_ of a style is rather
whether it is so flexible and so essentially founded on common sense and
reason that it will readily shape itself to meet practical demands,
however varied they may be.
Now, it is scarcely possible for a building of the Middle Ages and one
for a kindred purpose at the present day to differ more widely in their
requirements than did different buildings of the same age; and if the
most varied demands of one period are equally met by a given style, why
should we fear that the same style would fail to meet variations
proceeding from a change of manners and habits?