however, been too lengthened to allow this imagined connection with the
old but disused chain to hold good. People began to investigate and to
philosophise and to write books about the style. All phases soon began
to be equally known, and people could not help entertaining preferences.
Rickman had awarded the palm to the Decorated; others preferred the
Early English; and after a time all agreed that the latest link was the
worst, and must not be adopted as the starting-point. Some tried
Norman, some Early English, some Decorated. The Cambridge Camden Society
seemed at first to favour Early English; but soon they laid their ban
upon it, and preached a crusade against all but the sacred “Middle
Pointed,” and even defined with minute accuracy the precise period of
that style which they would stamp with their approval. It was to be the
earliest phase of the later form of Middle Pointed; or, as a friend of
mine jokingly defined it for them, the “_Early late Middle Pointed_.”
Some, however, preferred the “late Early,” some the earliest Middle
Pointed; and though a few still strayed into the heterodoxy of “First
Pointed,” or even into deadlier errors, it came, after a time, to be a
generally received opinion that the Middle style was the best groundwork
for us to go upon, and that it might fairly be viewed that this had been
so completely revived and re-adopted as to become _the_ style of our
Gothic Renaissance.
Though there was a good deal of nonsense current about it at the time,
as if it were almost an article of religious faith, an “_Articulus
stantis aut cadentis Ecclesiæ_,” there was, I must say, a great deal of
common sense in the choice.
The early transitional style, though gloriously noble and vigorous,
could not reasonably be re-adopted as a groundwork inasmuch as it _was_
a transition, and that from a state of things with which we have a
little or nothing in common. The developed Early Pointed had very strong
claims, but failed of being what Dr. Whewell calls “_complete_ Gothic.”
Its fault was that there were certain features which, once known, could
not be rejected, but which the Early Pointed _had not_. Its merits were
_positive_ and of the highest order; its defects were purely _negative_.
The later Pointed had been pretty generally voted to be the production
of the decline of the style, and the later half of the Middle Pointed
showed unquestionable evidences that during its period the way for that
decline had been preparing. The _Early_ Middle Pointed was thus come to
by an exhaustive process, as being at once “_complete_” and _not_ on the
decline, though some felt (and I confess to being of the number) that it
might with advantage be invigorated by importing into it a good deal of
the detail, and, even, perhaps, some whole features of the earlier
style.
This general conclusion having been tacitly consented to, people
naturally came to think that we ought to adhere to it as closely as
might be, and for this reason: that the principle of a _revival_ was
only defensible in an extreme case, and nothing could defend it from the
charge of frivolity if the revivers went on the principle of now
reviving one style and now another; but that if all by general consent
should determine on reviving _one and the same_ style, as the groundwork
for the future development of a style of our own, the revival would
become invested with _reality_, _reason_, and _vigour_. The choice,
then, of one style, and the adherence to it _as a groundwork_, seems to
me to have been _right_, and I am very much disposed to believe that the
choice come to, though its enforcement at that time bordered on
fanaticism, was _right_ also; at least in the _main_.
This promising theory, not to mention occasional tokens of rebellion at
the somewhat tyrannical way in which it was attempted to be pressed,
received a rude shock some ten years back through the competition for
the erection of the cathedral at Lille. We had been in the habit in this
country of speaking rather pityingly of the error of the French
revivalists in selecting an earlier type for their groundwork than we
had adopted; but the programme of this great European competition
_prescribed_ this early style, and our talented countrymen who won the
palm leaped over the traces to such an extent, as absolutely to
luxuriate in the till now forbidden art, even beyond what was demanded
by the conditions, and beat the French out of the field in the intensity
of their following out of the Early French style.
This was received with unlooked-for indulgence by those whose laws it
set at nought; but so marked a condonation seemed to have been viewed as
an act of emancipation, for, from that time forward, every one began to
do that which was right in his own eyes.
There was at once a violent revulsion of feeling in favour of the
earliest periods; and at the same time the long pent-up feelings of
favour to the continental styles, excited by Mr. Ruskin and by foreign
travel, were given their full swing, and for a time nothing could be
early enough--nothing foreign enough--to satisfy the emancipated
cravings. We _all_ felt this, and acted on it in a greater or a less
degree, and those who chose the _less_ degree were heartily despised by
those who chose the _greater_.[88] As time, however, rolled on, and
cool reflection began to assert her sway, we again remembered that we
were Englishmen, and that there was an English language in architecture,
and we began again also to recollect that the course of Gothic
architecture did not cease to create noble productions in the very
period of its coming into existence. Some, on awakening to this
consciousness, ran at once into the opposite extreme--condemning every
lesson they had learned abroad, eschewing the early styles to which they
had so recently sworn exclusive allegiance, and despising (according to
prescribed custom) all who did not go so far in their new direction as
they did themselves; but, on the whole, people now seem likely to settle
down into a _via media_, in which I trust that common sense will be
found to reside.
I would not have gone through this list of peccadilloes but for the
purpose of warning you against their repetition. We have, I hope, “sown
our wild oats.” Let us now take a steady and sensible course.
During the state of chaos which I have alluded to, our revival has
suffered seriously from the follies, not so much of its own champions,
as of a number of _pretenders_ who had never studied the subject at all,
but who, taking advantage of a period of disorder, palmed off upon the
public designs, especially in domestic architecture, which--really the
offspring of ignorance--were put forward as that of the prevailing
taste--as original developments founded on something _very_ early and
_very_ foreign; _so_ early, indeed, and _so_ foreign as to have never
and nowhere existed. These productions have disfigured our streets and
done more than anything to bring discredit on our revival.
Let us now consider what is the course which it becomes us to take in
the selection of our groundwork.
I think that our experience of the last few years has suggested to us:
first, the expediency of returning in some modified degree to the rule
from which we had departed, of adopting as our normal type the
architecture of _one_ period, and that not the very earliest though
still an _early_ period; but, secondly, the desirableness of not making
our self-imposed rule too strait; of, thirdly, making our revival
distinctly _English_; though, fourthly, not refusing to enrich and
amplify our English revival with the spoils of our foreign study.
I would, then, suggest that, while your basis should be the earliest
form of what has been called “_complete_ Gothic” (such, for example, as
that of Westminster Abbey, the eastern part of Lincoln, Newstead Abbey,
and the nave of Lichfield), this should be taken rather in a
_representative_ than in a _literal_ sense; that your revived style and
its developments should, in short, be based on the earlier and more
vigorous half of Mediæval architecture, which earlier half should be
_represented_ by its central point, _as a nucleus_ round which it
rallies, and into which the beauties of the _whole_ may be collected;
that the point chosen should be _inclusive_ of much which preceded and
followed it, and _exclusive_ of nothing with which it will consistently
amalgamate. Nor would I condemn as latitudinarian an occasional
departure, either forward or backward, from this _point de départ_; only
asking that the early styles may be, in a certain degree, viewed as
_one_ in our revival, rather then split up into _many_, and their
details, with proper judgment and self-restraint, be considered capable
of being united, when occasion seems really and distinctly to call for
it, in one work, or the earlier and less early forms be used, as may be
preferred, for buildings intended to express more of vigour or of
delicacy. I would not, however, advocate too free a use of this liberty,
and would therefore propose that the early “completed” style, of which
Westminster Abbey is our great type, should be always viewed as our
_central and normal type and rallying-point_.[89]
Then, again, I would recommend a return, loyally and unreservedly, to
_English_ types. That is to say, that when there is nothing to call for
a deviation from it, we should design as a matter of course _in
English_. In doing this, however, I would act as a well-instructed and
sensible English _writer_ would act. He would (except under
extraordinary circumstances) write in his _own language_, but would
never be so suicidal as to refuse to enrich his mind, and through it his
writings, by the study of foreign literature. He would, however, express
thoughts thus learned _in English_; any passage adopted from foreign
writers he would probably translate into English, excepting only where
its _ipsissima verba_ were of the essence of the quotation. So with the
English _architect_. The architecture of his own country should be his
normal type, but it would be madness for him to refuse the lessons he
can learn abroad. The results of these lessons should, however, for the
most part be translated into English, unless such translation would
destroy their vigour and their meaning. He should, as I have often
observed, do--not necessarily _what_, but--as the old architects did. It
is patent that our Norman, our transitional Pointed, our traceried
windows, and many of our minor details partake more or less of a foreign
origin. True, they were not really imported from abroad, but our
architects and those of France were working hand in hand and mutually
aiding in the development of their common architecture; but our old
builders never scrupled, nay, earnestly sought, to gather ideas wherever
they went; and yet their productions, replete as they were with the
riches gathered in foreign travel, were so unquestionably _English_ that
we detect any departure from them at once as a foreign interpolation.
Let _us_ endeavour in the same manner so to work in our foreign
gatherings as not to disturb the homogeneous character of the whole,
much less to suggest the idea that we are designing in a foreign
dialect. We _then_ need not fear even to learn and make use of the rich
arts of Italian decoration, and still less the more kindred lessons
taught us in France by the men who worked side by side with our own old
architects.
We are all too apt to run into extremes. We run wildly into early or
late, foreign or English work, according to the rage of the moment; and
perhaps hate that which we last doted on, and despise in their turn all
who hold opinions we once held ourselves or shall soon entertain. I do
not condemn _in toto_ a little of this tendency to mania, as it keeps up
our zeal, but I would wish to restrain it and bring it within the range
of reason; and I think that such a broad and liberal rule as I have
suggested will tend to this end, without imposing a galling restraint or
narrowing either our range of study or the wholesome variety of our
practice.
In our own earliest style, and in the French examples down to a far
later date, there is one feature which I confess I have a great love
for--I mean the square and angular abacus. I think it is probably the
feeling for this feature which has, more than any other, led to our
tendency to follow French types. I would mention, however, that it is
not necessarily a _foreign_ feature, as it is found in our own earlier
style, and sometimes (as in the side chapels of the nave at Chichester)
is continued later; nor is it necessarily a very _early_ form, as it was
in France continued to a comparatively late date. I do not, therefore,
see that we need deny ourselves its use. I would only _moderate_ it, and
use it and our own more typical _round_ abacus, and our own _moulded_
capital, as frequently as, and on at least equal terms with, the other.
In the form of _arches_, though keeping to typical forms as a rule, I
would not deny myself the use of the _round_ arch nor the plain segment
where there is any practical reason for their introduction, only I would
not use the abnormal forms frivolously or without a reason. I would
assert the greatest liberty in such matters, yet restrain myself by
common sense in the exercise of the liberty I claim.
I would again advise (particularly in the use you make of your _foreign_
studies) the avoiding of _queer, odd-looking_ features, for which there
has of late been so eager an appetite. I believe that most of those we
see in modern works are pure inventions for the sake of novelty and
apparent cleverness. The little stumpy columns with gigantic capitals,
and all the thousand-and-one pieces of quirkiness which one sees, are
things which, I confess, I have rarely if ever found in old work in any
country or of any period. We have really become so French of late, in
our own imagination, that no Frenchman would recognise his native style
as seen in our exaggerations of it. All this is a _vulgar_ vice, and
should be repudiated as a person of taste would all that is _loud_ and
_vulgar_ in dress or in anything else.[90]
All this has led to much neglect of our own examples, and, when we use
them, to our going too much in the contrary direction; and, from want of
familiarity with the endless variety they contain, we have got into the
way of confining ourselves to their most typical forms, whereas a
careful study of our old examples would supply us with an infinity of
varieties of the most charming kind.
It has for years been a question _sub judice_, whether architectural
foliated carving, etc., ought to represent natural or purely
conventional forms. I am not going to open up this controversy, but I
think it right to urge upon you in your studies to follow up _both_, and
to aid them by careful study of the actual objects of nature which are
suggestive either of one or the other. The period I have recommended as
our central rallying-point was just that at which the two kinds of
foliage were used together and on equal terms. My own opinion is that no
art can be a _living_ one which founds its ornamentation wholly upon a
_bygone conventionalism_. This does not, however, prove that we ought
directly to copy nature as it comes before us. If we demand
conventionalisms, though we _may_ adopt those of our predecessors, we
_ought_ to be able to conventionalise for ourselves.
For my own part, as I equally admire several of the forms of foliated
ornament I find in the range of works I claim as our types, I am content
to use them each in their turn; but I cannot reject _nature_ as the
_great guide_, though the more we are able so far to conventionalise her
productions and to “_bring into service_,” and suit them to the uses to
be made of them, the better will our work be.
In _sculpture_ I hold that we ought to be able to follow what is good
and noble in the form of that art which belonged to the finest period of
our architecture, and yet to unite it with the most perfect art which
can be produced. _Greek_ art unites perfectly with Gothic, but both
demand the spirit and soul of the true artist, aided by the use of what
he sees in actual life. I confess, however, that so little opportunity
is allowed us for cultivating this art in connection with architecture,
and so small the funds at our disposal, that we have fallen into the sin
of putting our sculpture into the hands of men of a very inferior
class--extemporised, in fact, from amongst our ordinary carvers; and the
only wonder to me is, _not_ that they do so badly, but _so well_ as they
do. This is a _noble_ subject on which to follow out a new and higher
aim, and the students of the Royal Academy might especially devote
themselves to its realisation. I fear that we older architects shall not
succeed, but we may claim aid of _you_ who have better opportunities;
and I would, as a help, suggest a course of study from the finest and
purest Greek side by side with the best Gothic sculpture, endeavouring
to unite their qualities, and to add to them what is to be gathered from
the study of nature--not only the usual study of the human figure, but
rather the importing into sculpture touches of nature and fact as they
come before us.
To this also we need to add the study of _animal_ sculpture, a point in
which such artists as we are able to employ are usually, though not
always, equally behind-hand.
Much the same may be said of figure _painting_ when used in connection
with architecture. We ought only to employ those who are _really
artists_, but these should train themselves especially for the subject;
and if the architect could fit _himself_ for the work, so much the
better, if he really does it well; though this can never become again
the general practice.
I have said a little in my last lecture on the study of the old examples
and fragments of _painted glass_ which you fall in with; I would wish
more formally and urgently to press this upon you.
The foreign fever, from which we are but now recovering, has told most
severely upon this class of art; for not only has English stained glass
been neglected as our practical guide--not only has the study of it been
almost wholly abandoned--but its very _conservation_ has been little
cared for; and not only in the churches which contain beautiful
fragments have they been contemptuously neglected as guides to the
characters of new windows introduced, but they have been constantly and
systematically _expelled_ from the windows in which they exist, and for
which expressly they were designed, to make way for new glass, designed
without any reference to their character. We have long been in the habit
of abusing, and justly, the village glaziers who turn out the beautiful
fragments of ancient glass which occupy the heads of lights and the
openings of tracery, to make way for uniform quarry glazing; but our
_glass painters_ are daily doing the same thing without remorse, and are
the more inexcusable inasmuch as they cannot plead ignorance, and if
they chose could make the design of their new windows a restoration of
the old, and retain the old fragments in their proper places. It usually
happens, however, that they _never see_ the windows for which they
prepare the glass, and are culpably innocent of all knowledge of whether
they or others in the church retain remnants of the works of those who
are, or ought to be, their masters.[91]
I have, in more than one instance, known that some of our best glass
painters, when called on to introduce windows into our finest minsters,
have completed their work without any knowledge of the fact that there
remained exquisite remnants of the ancient and coeval glass belonging
to windows corresponding with those they were supplying, and that of the
finest periods of the art; and have consequently failed to assimilate
their work to what was intended by the original builders.
The clergy, too, are often greatly to blame in this. Their eagerness for
_new_ glass often expels from their minds all care for the _old_. I have
heard of a good-natured[92] archdeacon in one of the southern counties,
who is ready to give to any friend specimens of the ancient glass he has
supplanted by new in his “restored” church.
All this makes it incumbent on you to note and carefully to draw every
fragment of stained glass which you meet with where it is exposed to be
lost or neglected; and I would further urge on you the systematic and
minute study of the better known examples, so that your knowledge of
glass painting, as of architecture, may be based upon _English_
examples. Our glass painters are open to the double charge of adhering
to old precedent too religiously in its _weakest_ point, and too lightly
in its _strongest_; for though their works are far from being generally
very close followings of the actual decorative designs of old glass, and
particularly of _English_ glass, they affect to follow the grotesque
drawing of the old glass painters, and often greatly exaggerate it. I
would rather reverse this, for the decorative portions of old glass are
so perfect that it is impossible to surpass their beauty, while the
figure drawing, though often full of deep and noble sentiment, is
usually quaint and even grotesque.[93]
In respect, however, of the figure drawing, I am very far indeed from
advising the repudiation _in toto_ of the ancient manner. It is only the
_correction_ of the drawing that I advocate. I would adhere rigidly to
the principle of representing the figures mainly (though not wholly) by
means of _sharp hard outline_. We know from the Greek Vases (if, indeed,
any proof were wanting where the fact is so obvious) that an outline may
be as absolutely artistic as a finished painting. I would further adhere
to the _general sentiment_ and _artistic style_ of the old glass, but I
would urge that the sentiment and style should be followed out with _as
perfect drawing_ (were it possible) as an old Greek artist would have
brought to bear upon it. As an imaginary illustration of what I mean, I
would endeavour to realise what the result would be if pencil outline
copies of the best thirteenth century figure subjects were placed in the
hands of such a man as Flaxman, or any really high-class artist, capable
of appreciating their sentiment and well versed in Greek art of the
noblest period, for the purpose of _simply correcting_ their drawing
without changing their sentiment and motive. It is just such drawing as
one may suppose to result from such a process that I would wish to see
in our modern church windows. In _secular_ works I would not oppose
some departure from the rigidity of such a style, nor a little further
addition of shading and high finish, though never to the concealment of
the outline; and in both I would avoid all that is _grotesque_ or
over-_quaint_ (excepting in subjects or figures which demand it, and
where it is of the essence of the motive), as these qualities introduced
into serious subjects are, to say the least, contrary to the general
spirit of the age, and are, therefore, false and unreal.
In painted decorations on walls, etc., much greater liberty may be
allowed. We have not here the _material_ limiting the class of art made
use of, and the treatment may therefore suit itself freely to the
conditions suggested--first, by the purpose of the building; secondly,
by its scale of decorative character and the limits of cost; and
thirdly, by the more or less _functional_ nature of the surface
occupied. We may, in fact, vary from outline pure and simple to
perfectly finished paintings, and from a severe and solemn treatment to
any reasonable degree of lightness and freedom, according to the
conditions: ever remembering that the more functional the surface, the
less must be the apparent relief. A painting in a panel may have any
amount of shadow and distance, while that occupying a wall, a pier, or a
vault must be kept sufficiently flat as to avoid disturbing the
functional character of the object which is the ground of the painting.
A great deal has been said about _development_ in architecture, and a
good deal of harm has resulted from it: not that development is to be
objected to--far from it; but because true and genuine development will
never be the result of direct and deliberate effort.
The true developments we have to look for are such as will be
continually forced upon us by the necessities of new materials, new
modes of construction, new requirements, and the altered habits and
feelings of the age in which we are living; by the different modes of
decoration which will from time to time offer themselves to our notice,
and the importing into English architecture arts which had previously
been peculiar to that of other countries and perhaps to wholly different
styles. The conditions also prescribed by works in different
climates--as in India, in North America, or in Australia--demand special
development.