any requirements be more totally different? In one the great object was
to shut off all communication from without: external windows must be
either wholly avoided or reduced to mere eyelet-holes. In the other the
walls are perforated with windows to the greatest extent which the
strength of the structure would admit. In one the entrance must be
guarded by all possible contrivances; in the other it must, as it were,
open its arms widely to invite the incoming citizens. In the one the
whole expression is one of stern exclusion and frowning defiance; in the
other of busy concourse and festive hilarity. Now, is it possible for
these widely differing demands and contrary expressions to have been
more perfectly embodied than they are in the feudal castle, and in the
halls of the manufacturing cities of Flanders and Germany?
Take, again, the domestic buildings of a convent, and those of the
citizens of a great commercial town. Both, it is true, were human
residences, and must provide for the common wants of our nature. Yet in
one the great principle of the foundation was ascetic gravity and
religious mortification; in the other the objects aimed at were
hospitality, cheerfulness, and family enjoyment: and in each case the
objects were perfectly provided for, as well as expressed in the aspect
of the building. Why, then, should we imagine that because our ideas of
family comfort are more perfect than in the days of our forefathers, the
style of architecture which they so successfully applied to purposes
differing so widely one from another will refuse to accommodate itself
to a more complete form of one of the same purposes? Yet people
continually tell us that Gothic architecture is feudal and monkish! Of
course the castle was feudal and the convent monkish: it would have been
strange if they had not, seeing that one was built for the feudal lord
and the other for monks. But was the town hall or the city residence
monkish? Were the warehouses of Nuremberg or the market-halls of
Flanders feudal? The idea carries absurdity on the face of it. They
were, in fact, built by those very communities who had used their utmost
endeavours to overthrow feudalism, and were ever most strenuously
opposing its authority and influence.
I have in this, and more especially in my last lecture shown you that
the development of Gothic architecture itself was founded, step by step,
upon common sense and upon practical considerations. In like manner were
these made the great principles which guided its application.
In all classes of building, whether ecclesiastical, military, monastic,
civic, domestic, commercial, or rustic, though the architecture was in
reality one and the same, the treatment was absolutely and imperatively
commanded by the purpose, and the expression followed by instinct. As I
have said on other occasions, a Mediæval barn is as good and as true in
its architecture as a cathedral; both are essentially in the same style,
yet one is as obviously a barn and as absolutely subservient to the
requirements of a barn, as the other is a church. One has no windows,
but slits of some 4 inches wide, and yet looks as Gothic as the other,
which has more window than wall.
[Illustration: Fig. 153.--Warehouses at Nuremburg.]
Take, again, two commercial buildings--as the great Cloth Market at
Yprès and the huge warehouses at Nuremburg--one for exhibiting
manufactures, the other for stowing away goods. The first is,
internally, a continuous room or gallery some 30 or 40 feet wide, and
(measuring along its several ranges) about 600 or 700 feet long; its
entire sides occupied by continuous and uniform ranges of large windows,
and the exterior unbroken to express the unity of the interior, and its
[Illustration: Fig. 152.--Cloth Market at Yprès.]
lower storey subdivided into rooms of a small size for more varied uses;
and with all this unbroken uniformity, it would be hard to find a more
wonderfully striking building. The other, being for stowage, demanded
multitudinous storeys and numerous supports. The storeys within are not,
perhaps, more than 8 or 10 feet high, and the floors are carried on
oaken pillars. The windows, being more for ventilation than light, are
small and square, and closed by shutters instead of glass. The crane
houses are made noble structures of timber, but no ornament is admitted,
excepting to the doorways and perhaps the gables. The whole speaks its
purpose so unmistakably that I do not suppose any one ever yet asked
what it was; and though a mere unmasked and almost unadorned warehouse,
it stands forth and asserts--and not in vain--its claims upon public
admiration amongst the admired monuments of that truly interesting city.
To go into the various classes of secular buildings, and to show the
consistency of their treatment, each with its own proper requirements,
would fill a volume, and a volume, if it did any justice to the subject,
well worth reading. I must not now go farther. I will, however, point
out a few developments demanding our notice. I have before alluded to
several points of difference between the windows of secular and
ecclesiastical buildings. These differences were carried farther and
farther according to the demands of the particular building in hand. The
windows were wide or narrow, more or less numerous, subdivided or
undivided, arched or square-headed, and, if arched, had high or low
arches, strictly according to the demands of the rooms within; and
whatever those demands were, the architecture was subordinated to them.
Some buildings had windows few and far between; others were nearly all
window; and of course there were all intermediate varieties. Some
buildings were vaulted in every storey, giving good examples of really
fireproof construction; others were fireproof through one or two
storeys, and timbered above; and others, again, had timber floors
throughout. In secular structures we find trabeated architecture in its
truest form--not stone beams, which, when extended beyond very narrow
limits, go against the nature of the material, but real beams of wood,
used in a thoroughly sensible and constructive manner. I would
particularly call attention to the fact that beams were not merely run
into walls--where, the moment the ends so immured decay, down comes the
floor; but they were aided by stone corbels, and not only so, but by
timber corbels, lying on them; or if the bearings were very great,
braces were added, which will carry the beams even when the ends are
rotted off.
This is trabeated architecture in a very genuine form. I dare say both
Greeks and Romans may have used it so, too; but as their timbers have
gone to dust, the Renaissance has lost its precedents, and has too often
imitated stone construction in wood, or in more modern works, in lath
and plaster; for wood, having disappeared from among the precedents, has
of late been to a great extent eschewed as a visible architectural
material.
Then, again, we have another common-sense development--the fireplace.
The Romans had a number of good methods of warming their buildings; but
the straightforward, honest fireplace--the social palladium of the
Englishman--we owe, I believe, to the Mediæval builders--the men who are
said to have known nothing of modern comforts. There are fireplaces in
old Norman castles--Conisborough, for instance--as good as in a
Belgravian house, and the chimney-pieces were often a great deal
handsomer. With the fireplace came that other modern feature, the
chimney-shaft. Look how consistently with common sense, and with the
principle of decorating what was demanded by utility, that was treated!
The oriel window or bay window was another Mediæval invention, and it
would be difficult to find a feature more conducive to comfort and
cheerfulness. It is often very sensibly translated into other styles;
but, like the fireplace and the chimney, it belongs to the style of
those “_comfortless_” ages of which we are treating.
The dormer window is another invention of this _window_ age. The high
roof was not to be thrown away--it must be utilised by being formed into
attic storeys; windows, therefore, must be contrived wholly or in part
in the roofs. Hence that highly picturesque and useful feature, which,
though like the oriel, now translated into other styles, was invented in
the middle ages, and, like all their inventions, originated in common
sense.
I have spoken of the construction of floors, but omitted to notice the
ceilings. Great scope was given to variety in their treatment. Sometimes
all the timbers were shown, and, perhaps, decorated with colour, the
wood-work being more or less ornamented, as the character of the
building demanded. For lofty rooms this often gives a noble covering; in
other cases, the beams and binding joists are shown, and the intervening
spaces panelled; in others, again, the whole is panelled, and in each
case any amount of decorative painting used which might be desired.
There is no doubt that the ceilings in Gothic buildings were, in many
cases, the types which suggested those of the earlier Renaissance
buildings before people began to imitate stone construction in plaster,
and to make quasi-constructive features in hollow cradling. In the
middle ages, either constructive parts were exposed to view, or the
decorations which concealed them were designed simply _as decorations_,
without in any degree professing to be constructive--plain honest common
sense being the ruling principle, as it ought to be, and once was in
other styles.
One of the most striking ways in which this principle of common sense is
displayed is in the absolute freedom exercised in planning, or, more
correctly speaking, the absolute subordination of external design to the
practical requirements of the interior. There was no love of
irregularity for its own sake among the Mediæval builders; on the
contrary, they had no objection at all to general uniformity where the
circumstances of the case did not suggest a departure from it; and where
irregularity was demanded for use, they did not carry it beyond what the
demand required; but when the practical requirements naturally led to
irregularity, they fearlessly followed them, without any of that morbid
striving after forced uniformity which characterises--I will not say
Classic works, for the ancients also acted on more natural
principles--the great majority of modern buildings. That they did not
capriciously strive after irregularity is proved by such buildings as
the great market halls of Bruges and Yprès, the latter of which has a
front of 450 feet long, without one deviation from uniformity, simply
because the practical requirements in each wing were identical. That,
when the internal requirements but slightly differed, they carried
irregularity no farther than the demands of reason suggested, is proved
by such fronts as that of the ducal palace at Venice, and of a very
great number of street houses and palaces in different countries, where
the normal idea is uniform, but the windows placed to suit rooms of
varying size; but that, when the practical requirements had no reference
to uniformity, they fearlessly acted on them, without any of those
sickly repinings which would so sadly disturb the peace of the modern
architect, still more without any torturing of the internal arrangements
to make them fit to a preconceived elevation (which is the usual
practice in these more enlightened days), is abundantly proved by many
of the noblest works which our forefathers have bequeathed to us.
Now, far be it from me to say that this honesty of treatment belongs
exclusively to Gothic architecture. It does not. It is the leading
principle of all true architecture; and I have no doubt, indeed we have
indisputable proof, that it was acted on by the Greeks and Romans, as
well as by our own forefathers. The contrary practice seems to be an
error rather of our own age than of the genuine periods of Classic art;
but when the defenders of the revived Classic art use it as an objection
against Mediæval architecture, we then have a full right to point out
its true principles, and to show that it is an exercise of common sense
so obvious and reasonable, that any style of art which refused it would
stand self-condemned, as rejecting the plain demands of reason; and,
though I do not hold that Classic architecture stands so condemned, it
would be so if we were to admit against it the accusations of some of
its own advocates. At any rate, it is fair on the part of Gothic
architecture to say that in this great principle of the subordination of
external design to internal requirement, it not only follows the great
styles of architecture which preceded it, but that, in the opinion of
its opponents, it carries out the great utilitarian principle even to an
excess.
There can be no doubt that the principle is pre-eminently in harmony
with the genius of Gothic architecture; more so, probably, than with any
other; and if those who think it a vice desire to saddle it exclusively
on our style, they cannot complain if we, who hold it to be a virtue, at
the least, claim for that style the lion’s share of the credit.
I do not for a moment dispute that there is room for excess, even in
acting on a principle so reasonable. If we were to make it an excuse for
careless planning; if we were so affected as to seek excuses for
irregularity when the arrangement, if carefully considered, offered
none; or if we neglect reasonable means of avoiding them when it can be
done without any injury to the arrangement, we are clearly open to the
charge of excess; but, on the other hand, if we were to avoid
irregularity by making two essentially different parts look alike, at
the sacrifice of their practical demands; if we place windows in
inconvenient or unsightly positions in the interiors of our rooms, for
the sake of making them match some windows in an opposite wing, or to
form a regular range, disagreeing with internal divisions; if we make
sham windows where none are wanted, or omit real ones where they would
be useful; or if we torture and displace our rooms to obtain uniformity;
or play any of the thousand tricks which are too current amongst us to
make our exteriors uniform where our interiors are the contrary; surely
we are guilty of a far more culpable excess in the opposite direction,
for the exaggeration of common sense is unquestionably a more venial sin
than its renunciation. However this may be, Gothic architecture, whether
rightly or wrongly, looks to internal requirements as paramount to
external regularity; places its windows rather with reference to the
rooms within than to the elevations without; and rejoices in making the
exterior express in some degree the changes of purpose in the internal
arrangement: but it does not reject uniformity where compatible with
truth and utility, nor refuse to admit of careful artistic combinations
of parts, so long as they are made subservient to, or at least do not
militate against, practical requirements. As I have said before, I
believe that in this it only reflects, and carries out more perfectly,
the principles of true Classic art; and that, if these principles are
often forgotten or rejected, it is in the main an abuse of modern date.
It is, however beyond all question inherent upon that form of revived
Classic art with which we are surrounded.
The same may, in fact, be said of truthfulness in minor things. It would
be unjust to father the contemptible and endless fallacies of our own
day upon Classic architecture. It is true that they pervade and saturate
many of the modern productions of that style, and that the revival of
Gothic architecture has somehow led to their exposure; but the
truthfulness which we are proud to claim as one of its great and leading
stars, we freely yield as the property, not of one style, but of all
noble architecture.[62]
Did time permit, I might follow up the _rationale_ of the style under
consideration as evinced in the judicious employment, treatment of, and
the mode of workmanship applied to, different materials as well as
different branches of artistic decoration. The Mediæval architect
adopted the material he could most readily obtain, and adapted his
design to suit its peculiar qualities.
If he used block-stone throughout his work, or united it with rough
walling-stone or rubble, or if his building were of brick, or flint, or
pebbles, he studied to use them so as to look well and to aid the effect
by their variety; as instances of this I will refer to the exquisite
stone and flint structures in the eastern counties, and the
interstratification of block stone with the thinnest rubble in some of
the oolitic districts; to the domestic brick architecture of Norfolk,
or Northern Germany, and of Lombardy, to the timber structures of
innumerable districts and cities; to the variously-coloured stones in
the buildings in Auvergne; and last, but not least, to the magnificent
marble structures, with their inlayings and mosaics, which delight us
when in Italy. The great principle was how best to utilise the materials
which Nature had provided: where Nature had been chary in her gifts,
even external plaster was not despised, but truthfully made use of;
where she had been lavish, even precious stones were used as building
materials, as at Prague, where there is a chapel whose interior is faced
with a kind of rubble-work of polished amethyst, the stones being cut
through, but otherwise unshaped, the irregular jointings being covered
with embossed gilding.
In metal-work each metal was treated on its own merits and its own
natural characteristics.
In decoration--frescoes, mosaics, tapestry, needlework, embossed
leather, metal-work, enamels, etc., were profusely used when funds
permitted. Indeed, nothing was rejected, either on the score of
homeliness or expense, provided it suited the work in hand and the means
at command.
But what, I may be asked, is the utility of tracing out evidences of a
fact so probable on the face of it as that our forefathers acted upon
reason when engaged on so practical a thing as architecture? I would
reply that its utility is twofold. In the first place, we have too much
lost sight of the _rationale_ of architecture, and of the necessity of
acting upon it. I do not wish to rip open old sores, or to object
against other errors of which we are all of us guilty. Let us each
examine ourselves, and ask ourselves how far we act upon truth and
reason in our designs; and if compelled to admit our derelictions, a
review like that on which we have been engaged may not be otherwise than
useful--quite apart from any question about what style we are working
in.
In the second place, it is an undoubted fact, that we are at a
transitional period of our art, that we are dissatisfied with the
present and aiming at an altered future, and that some of us are
following up that aim on the basis of a revival of the style of which I
have been treating, while there is a _vis inertiæ_ in art which is not
easily overcome, but yields reluctantly to change; how important, then,
is it to us to know that the style we are reviving was itself based, as
all good architecture must be, on the firm rock of common sense, and how
essential to our success that we should place our revival on the same
basis! Shall we, then, secure this object by doing only _what_ our
forefathers did? By no means; rather, as I have urged in a former
lecture, let us do _as_ they did: that is, _act upon reason_. They
thoroughly suited all their works to their varied objects. Let us do the
same, how much soever more varied our requirements may be. They made
their houses comfortable to the extent of their habits; let us make ours
so to the greatly increased extent of our own habits. They welcomed
every invention as it arose: let us do the same by the inventions of our
own prolific age. They utilised every material which presented itself to
them: let us do so by all the materials which modern science or
ingenuity has placed at our command; only let us do all this truthfully
and consistently with reason; for example, if we meet with an invention
suited to the surface decoration of rooms but devoid of constructive
strength, let us use it _as_ a surface decoration, and not, as is too
commonly done, make troughs and pipes of it, and pass them off for beams
and columns! If we admire a vaulted construction, by all means let us
use it, but do not let us emulate the vaulting of Diocletian’s Baths and
Westminster Abbey or the domes of the Pantheon or St. Sophia in lath and
plaster! If we want plaster casts of ancient monuments, let us place
them in our museums, but, for goodness sake, let our buildings
themselves be real!
The conditions to be demanded of our future architecture, whether
destined to be based upon the Classic or the Gothic Renaissance, or
whether they are to continue ever, as now, to assert side by side their
rival claims, are:--a perfect and unhesitating fulfilment of practical
demands, whether of construction, convenience, or comfort; an equally
unhesitating adoption of the materials, inventions, and mechanical and
constructive appliances of the age; a capability of reasonable economy
or of judicious magnificence in all degrees and proportion; a character
at once noble and in harmony with the country and climate, and with
national associations; a perfect freedom of treatment, united with
perfect truthfulness; and a free admission of the sister arts in their
highest and most perfected forms. How happy would it be for art if we
could proclaim an armistice between rival styles, while the advocates of
each devote heart and soul to the realisation of these conditions, so
obviously demanded by reason and common sense!
That Gothic architecture is in its spirit well fitted to unite these
conditions, I think may be judged by much that I have shown you in this
and the preceding lecture. It lays claim in a pre-eminent degree to the
character of _Freedom_. Free in its use of arcuated or trabeated
construction, as may best suit each particular case; free in the form of
its arches, which, in addition to those used in other styles, take other
and excellent forms, which enable them to assume all possible
proportions of height to span; free in its vaulting, which has peculiar
facilities for adapting itself to every possible space and span; free in
the proportions, as well as infinite in the varieties, of its columns;
free as air in the sculpture it applies to their capitals, as well as to
other architectural uses; free in the pitch of its roofs; in the size,
number, form, and grouping of its windows; and, above all, absolutely
free in its planning, in which the practical requirements of the
interior have undisputed sway irrespective of external design--it seems
as if it could not be otherwise than suited to an age in which freedom
is the great point to be aimed at in all we undertake. Convinced that
such is the case, let us devote ourselves, heart and hand, to the task;
let us bring all our energies to rendering the style we select as our
groundwork really and absolutely subservient to the wants and to the
spirit (so far as it is a healthful and a truthful spirit) of our age;
let us apply to the work all our reasoning powers, and ground all we do
upon common sense. But let me not be mistaken: this cannot be done by a
mere abstract effort of the mind: let me, therefore, urge upon you who
are students to exercise your reason and common sense in another way,
and to be assured of this, that you cannot succeed in the practice of
art, unless, in addition to all the practical considerations I have had
occasion to allude to, you make yourselves, in the strictest sense of
the word, ARTISTS.
A Digression concerning Windows.