ARCHITECTURE has been termed the Art of Necessity, in contradistinction
to Sculpture and Painting, which have been distinguished as the
offspring of elegance and luxury. To the first, the remark of the
ancient poet has been deemed most peculiarly applicable,
'Hinc variæ venîre artes--labor omnia vicit
Improbus, et duris urgens in rebus egestas.'
If there be, however, distinction in the first origin, it ceases long
before any of these can become the object of refined or useful inquiry.
The principles of all, considered in the rank of arts, originate in
the mind, though a sentiment of intelligent curiosity, or a sense of
corporeal weakness, and the desire of protection, first give visible
action to the latent germs of feeling and of ingenuity. Here, then,
appears the accidental, not distinctive character, in the originating
impulse, and in the species of imitative design thence resulting,
which is afterwards to call forth the most refined evidence of human
thought and genius. Man's first care would evidently be directed to the
discovery or construction of means of shelter against the inclemencies
of the sky under which his lot was cast. His best affections, no less
than his natural wants, would prompt him to this. But the cave of the
Troglodyte, or the hut of the savage, are not more connected with
science and forethought, than is the den of the tiger, or the lair of
the wolf, or the still more artful structure of the fowl. For no sooner
is the human creature thus established, his physical desires stilled,
not gratified, than begin the ceaseless aspirings of the spirit within;
the workings of that wondrous maze of understanding and of feeling, of
thought and volition, which so mysteriously bind, and so irresistibly
direct him to his higher and better destinies. Thence, and only thence,
springs, as a bright and pure emanation, though darkened for a while
in struggling through an imperfect medium, every effort thereafter to
instruct or to adorn a happier world.
In conformity with these views, it has appeared, that the first
attempts at sculptural or pictorial representation were dedicated to
piety, and to the social affections of the heart. In like manner, the
earliest and rudest erections of architecture now existing, as well
as the most perfect and magnificent, are temples to the Deity, or
memorials of the dead. There is, in these respects, indeed, a striking
proof of the existence of this law of mind,--not of mere instinct,
and, at the same time, of self-denial, in favor of the generous and
the holy in man's nature. Not only do we find, that, wherever the
human foot has been stayed, there is the altar, the temple, and the
tomb; but we meet these amid the destitution of every approach to that
luxury to which the arts have been ascribed; and, finally, we discover
a vast disproportion between the efforts dedicated to these tributes
of gratitude and affection, and those directed to personal comfort
or splendor. Jacob, while yet a wanderer in tents, consecrated, by a
pillar,--the first monument on record,--the spot where reposed his
beloved Rachael. Over the whole of the inhabited globe, not excepting
the dark heaths of our native land, are the last resting-places of the
dead, which must have required a union of care and labour given only
to a duty, everywhere held inviolably sacred. Even in the wilds of the
New World, there are sepulchres of like laborious structure, to which,
with a steadiness surer than that of the needle, the distant tribe
tracks its way though pathless woods. Compare, again, the evidence of
congregated energy, and even science, in the Druidical temples only,
with the glimpses we possess of the accommodations of common life. The
religious edifices of Egypt even yet fill the mind with admiration;
while the probable monuments of their dead, faithless, indeed, to their
individual trust, shall only sink amid the ruins of the world, enduring
testimonies of the power of religion and of futurity over the mind of
man, and of the vain attempt to convert that power into an instrument
of selfish aggrandisement. From all this, something better may be
deduced than even refuting the idea, that the sublimest objects of
taste indicate, in their origin, a grovelling necessity, and, in their
progress, owe their most graceful improvements to an idle luxury. In
this inseparable union of the primitive arts of taste with feelings of
religious service and of human affection, we perceive that man, even in
a state of natural darkness, is not the selfish, the irreligious being,
represented by a cold and material philosophy, equally the enemy of
taste as of religion.
Beyond these remarks it is not here necessary to trace the first origin
of Architecture. In this art are certainly to be detected the very
links of connexion, joining the knowledge of the descendants of Adam
with that of the families of Noah. We learn from Scripture, that soon
after the Flood, while yet the remembrance of that catastrophe was
fresh in the mind, the building of a city and a tower was commenced.
Such design could not have been entertained without some previous
model, or, at least, assurance that it might be accomplished. Such
model or such assurance could be derived only from antediluvian
experience or tradition; for it is in the highest degree improbable
that either could have originated, or been brought to such maturity,
in so short a space as intervenes between the descent of Noah from
the Ark, and the gigantic undertaking of his posterity. Again, the
materials were artificial; and of such perfection, well-burnt brick,
as we do not find mankind to have used in the same countries many
centuries afterwards. The construction, too, of that mysterious
relic of two worlds, which 'floated on the waters of the abyss,'
is a proof of high advance in the arts of the first. Subsequently,
all researches are at fault. From this state of intelligence and
union, mankind suddenly sink into the most wretched ignorance, and
disperse in wild confusion. A cause, such as the one in Sacred Writ,
could alone produce this effect. Broken fragments and glimmerings
of ancient knowledge, no doubt, remained with the scattered tribes
of the human family. But to trace usefully the extent, reunion, and
improvement of these imperfect elements, would be here a vain task.
The few valuable and only authentic memorials of the very early ages
are to be found in Scripture, which ascribes the origin of monuments
that may be termed architectural, to ratify contracts,--to mark the
place of the dead,--to indicate some remarkable event--to the altar
of stone; also, it contains the descriptions of regular buildings
of a later period, which have now passed away, as the walled cities
which the Israelites found in Canaan; their own early labours,--the
Temple of Solomon, the Palace of Lebanon, the 'House of Dagon,' and
other heathen temples incidentally mentioned in Scripture, to which
reference is made. All these erections and notices are confined to
that part of Asia which extends from the Black Sea to the mouth of the
Euphrates, and from the Mediterranean to the extremities of Persia.
Over the once magnificent architecture of the whole of this extensive
tract, including the seats of the most powerful and ancient monarchies
of Asia,--the Assyrian, Median, Babylonian, and Persian,--except what
can be gathered from scattered heaps of brick, utter forgetfulness
reigns. Later information is supplied by Herodotus and the Greek
writers; but, except the comparatively recent remains at Persepolis,
Baalbec, and Palmyra, already noticed, nothing exists that can throw
light upon our subject. A very different aspect, however, is presented
in Egypt and in India, where monuments of the most remote antiquity
remain, interesting in themselves, and as they tend to illustrate the
progress and the revolutions of Architecture in its more modern forms.
From an examination of the former, we shall be enabled to discover
the germs of the more perfect Greek modes, while, in the combinations
of Arabian with Indian forms, we seem to detect the rudiments of that
singular style, which, under the various appellations of Arabic,
Saracenic, Gothic, has extended over the whole of Europe, and a
considerable portion of Asia. Thus, one of the first and one of the
last departments of the present subject, one of its purest and one of
its most complicated systems, originates probably in countries now to
be considered, and whose monuments are coeval with the first reunion
of intelligence and society among men. But, before entering upon the
inquiry which is to trace this connexion through the history of the
art, it becomes necessary to explain certain common and preliminary
principles.
There are three grand causes of structure and form in
Architecture,--three leading principles, which not only originated
the primeval elements of design, but which, to a great degree, have
governed all the subsequent combinations of these. This influence also
extends not merely to the essentials of stability, equilibrium, and
strength, but, as will afterwards appear, has suggested the system of
ornament. These master dispositions, which it thus becomes necessary to
bear along with the commencement, are, first, _the purpose_--secondly,
_the material_ of Architecture--and thirdly, _the climate_.
The purpose for which any building was erected, or the uses which it
was contemplated to serve, would necessarily determine the magnitude,
and to a certain extent, the form. Again, these considerations would
suggest the most appropriate means of accomplishing the requisite ends,
which, once accomplished, would constitute permanent distinctions.
The materials, again, employed in architecture, have influenced
most decidedly its forms and character. This has been the case, not
only in the peculiar styles which have separately been adopted in
different countries, but in the general and essential principles of
the science. The materials of which buildings, in all ages, have been
chiefly constructed, are stone, wood, and factitious substances,
are tiles and bricks. The first adopting of these materials, and,
of course, the style of building, must have been recommended by the
resources of the country. The law, however, which determines their
arrangement is universal, arising from exigencies over which taste,
and even ingenuity, exert limited control. This evidently arises from
the nature of the question; for, since a mass of stone is heavier in
all, and weaker in most positions, than timber of equal dimensions,
the whole congeries of supporting and supported members--that is,
the whole system of architecture will be affected as the one or the
other material is employed. Thus, in wooden erections, the supporting
members may be much fewer and less massive than in structures of
stone; because, in the former, the horizontal or supported parts are
both lighter, and will carry an incumbent weight--as a roof--over a
much wider interval than in the latter. It is apparent, also, even for
the ordinary purposes of stability, that, in constructing edifices
of stone, whether of the perpendicular or horizontal members, the
dimensions would be greater than in elevations of wood; and in the
case of columnar structures, that the altitude, in proportion to the
diameter, would be far less in stone than in timber supports. Hence,
the two grand characteristics of a massive or solemn, and a light
or airy, architecture. Hence, also, when genius and taste had begun
to consider the arrangements of necessity and use in the relations
of effect and beauty, new combinations would be attempted, which
approached to one or other of these leading divisions. It must,
however, be obvious, that the field of these experiments is narrowed
by the very principles on which they would be first suggested. In the
art we are now considering, the human agent has less power over the
inertness of matter than in any other. Imagination comes in contact
with reality at every step, and the laws of nature impress the
boundaries of that reality, not at the risk of absurdity, but of very
being. Beauty becomes here, not the creation of fantasy--a something
pleasing only as it reflects our associations, or harmonizes with our
feelings; but is more especially the creation of science--the object
of demonstrative wisdom. Hence, perfect architectural beauty is the
most sublime and the most rational of the objects of taste; because,
while the susceptibilities of mind are awakened, the powers of judgment
are gratified, by the certainty with which the sources of pleasure can
be traced. We feel the arrangement to be beautiful; we know that it is
necessary. Hence, also, the perfect modes--the true combinations of the
art--are few; the error in departing from them great.
These refined perceptions do not indeed pertain to the period now
contemplated; but the facility with which they can be connected with
the first practice of the art, evinces how deeply rooted are the real
and substantial precepts of architectural design. The leading views,
also, in regard to the influence of material upon form, proportion, and
distribution of parts, are supported by early history.
In Egypt, a country destitute of wood, the most ancient erections
were in imitation of the natural caves in which the rude inhabitants
had sought a wretched shelter. In a later age, yet one which far
transcends the authentic researches of history, were reared those
mysterious edifices, still standing as landmarks between known and
unknown time. In the ponderous members of these solemn piles, the
narrowness of the intervals, the crowded pillars, the massive base,
and the lessened perpendicular, is found every principle previously
assumed as characteristic of that architecture, which would be governed
by necessity before the sensation of beauty had been felt, or at least
methodized. Here, also, appears the first species of architectural
design. Again, in that region of Asia, already noticed as the scene of
the earliest recorded labours of the art, wood was abundant. From the
descriptions of Holy Writ we accordingly find, that this material was
much employed even in their most sacred and important buildings. Thus,
though few details capable of giving any just architectural notions,
are preserved of Solomon's Temple, it is yet plain, that cedar wood
was the chief material both for roofs and columns, that is, both for
supported and supporting members. Hence, the temples of Palestine,
and of Syria generally, by which we understand the Asia of the Old
Testament, already described, were more spacious, but less durable than
those of Egypt, and with fewer upright supports. Of this, a singularly
striking proof occurs in the catastrophe of the House of Dagon, when
Samson, by overturning only two columns, brought down the whole fabric.
As with the force of winds and waters pent,
When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars,
With horrible convulsion, to and fro
He tugg'd, he shook, till down they came, and drew
The whole roof after them, with bursts of thunder:
The vulgar only 'scaped who stood without.
In an edifice constructed on the plan of the Egyptian Temple, where
pillar stands crowded behind pillar, in range beyond range, to give
support to the ponderous architrave and marble roof, the overturning of
two of these columns would produce but a very partial disintegration.
The very circumstance, also, of there being no remains in a country
where once stood the most renowned cities, proves the perishable nature
of the substance chiefly employed. There is evidence, also, that
stone and wood were often, perhaps usually, combined--the first as a
columnar or pier-like support, for horizontal beams of the latter. This
plainly appears to have been the case in the oldest ruin existing in
this part of the world, namely, Persepolis, where the marble columns
evidently bear marks of having been connected by cross beams of wood,
and to have supported a roof of the same light structure. Hence the
easy conflagration of this abode of the Persian kings, in a debauch
of Alexander. The columns are loftier, further apart, and fewer
in number, than in Egypt. Had not the illustration of the general
subject been of more importance in the establishment of this point,
reference might at once have been made to the early temples of Greece,
which, even to the age of Xerxes, were structures of wood; and to the
well-known difference of style between them and those of Egypt. Thus
we have the second species of architectural design; and again find the
facts, recounted by history, according with deductions from _a priori_
consideration of the nature, objects, and origin, of the art itself.
It may afford illustration of the certainty with which the principles
of reasoning operate, while the fact is singular, that ancient writers
describe the huts of the nomadic tribes on their dispersion, or, at
least, the earliest recorded residences of mankind, as composed of
poles, formed of the branches of trees, fixed in the earth, enclosing
a circular space, and meeting at top, the sloping sides being covered
with leaves, reeds, or skins. This is exactly the wigwam of the
aboriginal inhabitant of America. So much is man the creature of the
same instincts, under similar circumstances.
Climate will necessarily operate a considerable effect upon the
external arrangements of architecture. According to the latitude of
the situation, buildings will be contrived to admit or exclude the
sun, to give shelter from biting cold, or to secure against scorching
heat, or merely to yield shade, without immediate reference to either
extreme. All these, however, will not affect the internal harmonies
or proprieties of the constituent parts. Climate, therefore, is only
modifying, not creative, as the two preceding causes; it may suggest
composition, but hardly design; for, with the exception of the pointed
or flat roof, according to the humidity or dryness of the atmosphere,
consequently the angular pediment surmounting the horizontal lines
of the entablature, little of real form or order has been added, or
materially influenced, by climate. This cause, however, has given rise
to, or permitted, many picturesque combinations.
Purpose, besides the constitutional effects upon the science already
described, necessarily occasions the various classes under which
the labours of the architect may be arranged. Architecture, by this
principle, is separated into two grand divisions--Civil and Military.
The former of these, from its greater variety of purpose, is further
subdivided into subordinate heads, namely, placing each in the order of
its probable antiquity, Sacred, Monumental, Municipal, and Domestic.
These modifications of purpose do not, indeed, give novel principles,
nor do they affect any of the conclusions already explained; they
have only, though strongly, influenced the practice of the art. In
presenting an abstract of the history of the science of Architecture,
then, it is not requisite to dwell particularly upon these divisions,
nor to be guided by them in the future arrangement of our matter.
But as we may occasionally revert, by a passing word, to the obvious
distinctions which are thus perceived, a short explanation, especially
as several scattered particulars of very early times can thus be
properly assembled, will here be useful.
_Sacred Architecture_ is a term sufficiently expressive of its own
import. It was the primitive effort of the present race of man; the
first impress of his existence left upon the soil, yet moist from the
waters of the deluge, was the erection of an altar; and the noblest
evidence of his most accomplished skill has been a temple:
----'His greatest ornament of fame,
And strength, and art.'
From the 'altar builded by Noah,' how interesting to follow out the
effects of one uncontrollable, but, when unguided, erring sentiment
in the steadfast piles--'works of Memphian kings,' in the glorious
proportions of Greece, where
----'Doric pillars,
Cornice, and frieze, with bossy sculptures graven,'
rear their graceful height, looking tranquil magnificence--down even to
the rude circle of grey stones on the bleak heath! For this inquiry,
visible materials are indeed wanting; but does not the Word of Truth
supply the general inference, 'The imaginations of man's heart are
wicked--he has sought out many inventions--but I will be honored among
the generations of men?'
Incidental allusion has already been made to the marvellous fabric
reared by Solomon, which, if not in grace, in splendor of decoration
appears to have exceeded all the erections of the early ages, and
is the first of which written notice remains. The descriptions of
this building enable us to form a reunion of the arts of Sculpture
and Architecture at the commencement of the tenth century before
Christ. This date, however, we consider to be at least six hundred
years later than the era of any Egyptian monument, not of brick, now
extant throughout the whole course of the Nile. In considering, also,
the countries whence Solomon obtained workmen, will be remarked the
confirmation of the preceding observations on the originating causes of
styles in architecture. The hewers of stone, we are informed, were from
Egypt; and the solid substructions of the Jewish temple, the massive
proportions of the separate parts--resemblances still more striking
in Josephus' account of the second edifice--show exactly the same
principles and practice as can to this day be traced in the Egyptian
structures. From Phoenicia, again, a country abounding in timber, were
brought the most skilful 'hewers of wood,' that is, workmen instructed
in the arts of the joiner and carpenter, and also, as may be inferred
from various descriptions of the ornamental appendages, of the carver
or sculptor in wood,--'and the cedar of the house within was carved
with open knops and flowers;' again, and 'he made two cherubims of
olive tree.' These sculptures, however, might have been finished, and,
from the state of art in that country, most probably were the work of
artists from Egypt. There can be no doubt that the 'House,' as the
magnificent pile is emphatically termed, was of a quadrangular outline,
erected upon a solid platform of stone, bearing a strong resemblance to
the ancient temples still extant. Indeed, there is, in this respect,
a most striking analogy between the dimensions as given in Scripture,
and those of the oldest Greek temples, especially of Ægina and Pæstum.
This latter we have examined, and, agreeing to the fidelity of the
grounds upon which Wilkins has founded his reasonings, in the admirable
dissertation on this subject in his preface to the 'Antiquities of
Magna Grecia,' we cannot coincide in the final conclusion, that the
Greeks borrowed the Doric order from this ancient temple of Solomon.
Reference to this subject is hereafter to be made. In the meantime,
while facts are fresh in the mind, it must be obvious to the reader,
that, since the shell or carcass of the temple of Jerusalem was of
stone, and built by Egyptian workmen, alone skilled in that material,
the general arrangements would resemble those of the Egyptian temples.
Consequently, the Greeks and the Jews, deriving their leading orders
from one source, would naturally, though unconsciously, imitate each
other. Again, since wood was employed in every part of the roof and
interior by Solomon, on the principles already explained, the relative
proportions of the parts, and the number of the supports, would
necessarily be different, compared with the similar members of Egyptian
art. But the Greeks also in part followed the laws of wooden structure;
consequently both differing, on similar principles, from the original
model, would yet preserve mutual resemblance in that very difference.
_Monumental Architecture_, deriving its origin from allied feelings
and associations, would be coeval, or nearly so, with the origin of
sacred. Indeed, it is not possible always to separate the two distinct
purposes. Monuments have two objects in view--to honor the memory
of the dead, and to preserve remembrance of the transactions of the
living; both of which are recorded in Scripture. The material of a
monumental erection, and consequently its design, will always, in early
times, be determined by the circumstances of the vicinity, with the
sole exception of wood. Hence pillars of stone, and mounds of earth,
are the primitive records of both life and death. In a more advanced
age, when stone could not be readily procured, brick would be employed.
The magnitude and beauty will accord with the skill of the times. Hence
arise sources of determining the relative antiquity of monuments, and
the circumstances of the age. Under almost every privation of means,
and in all countries, 'heaped earth' would present a durable and an
accessible material. Hence the universality of this species of monument
throughout the globe. This primitive accumulation of efforts--for
an earthen mound can be considered as nothing more--seems to have
given origin to the most gigantic labours of human architecture. The
pyramids of Egypt, and the cognate structures of India, seem to be
imitations, wonderful indeed, of the more ancient barrow. They are,
in fact, but mounds of higher art and more valuable materials. Their
intermediate forms, indeed, may be traced in both countries, at least
in the curve which would bound the perpendicular section of the mound.
In India, however, pyramids seem, from the extent of the interior, and
the facility of access, to have been chiefly intended for places of
crowded resort--most likely, therefore, temples. In Egypt, again, the
single chamber, the imperviously closed entrance, appear to indicate
with precision their original destination to have been sepulchral.
It has already been remarked, that the Arts are themselves their own
best interpreters, and that little faith is to be placed in the remote
analogies of philology, which have too frequently been admitted in
evidence beyond their value; but it has often been matter of surprise,
that two words, belonging to the most ancient forms of the Syriac
language, should have been overlooked in the numerous derivations of
the word pyramid. _Peer_ and _Muid_, as the words in question may be
rendered in our characters, united, as in Eastern languages, forming
compound expressions, would give almost identical sound, and in
signification, 'the hill or mountain of the dead,' would be nearer the
purpose and appearance than any derivation with which we are acquainted.
Under the head of _Municipal Architecture_ is included every
application of the science to those purposes of social life not
included under the former heads, such as public buildings of all
descriptions connected with the civil business of life, up to the
arrangements of entire cities. Men, therefore, must have been assembled
together for some time, they must have agreed upon certain compacts
and regulations of society, before this branch could have made any
progress in the world. Yet we find, that not more than a century after
the flood, a city was begun, a fact already attempted to be explained;
and to what was then said it may be farther added, that the Tower
of Babel, which belonged to this city, was clearly monumental--it
was 'to make a name.' Although no vestiges of the ancient cities of
Asia or of Egypt remain, sufficient from inspection to corroborate
the descriptions of history, these lead to the belief, that, in many
instances, the plan and architecture were both regular and grand. The
reader, however, ought to be on his guard against the amplifications
of Scriptural and Homeric accounts contained in later authorities, in
as far as the former describe relatively, according to the state of
things in their own age and experience; whereas the latter, too often
forgetting this distinction, convey the impression, that grandeur
and magnificence were absolute. Yet, even with this abatement, there
remains sufficient ground of admiration in the ideas excited of Thebes,
Babylon, Nineveh, or Memphis. There appears, in this respect, a very
striking difference between the cities of the second age, after the
arts had migrated into Europe. Many circumstances tend to confirm the
opinion, that, even in Greece, Municipal Architecture in general was
not much studied, and that there were few, if any, really fine cities
among the numerous capitals of that country. Their magnificence was
concentrated in particular spots--in their agorai, or squares. Their
temples usually stood apart; so that, like the cities of modern Italy,
whatever might be the beauty, or the romantic effect of their distant
appearance, internally, they often appear to have been little more
than an irregular assemblage of narrow winding streets. Such we know
Athens to have been to a very late period. Sparta was long an unwalled
village. Argos, Thebes, or Corinth, cannot be placed in comparison
with the before mentioned capitals of Asia and Egypt. Even Rome, to
the age of Nero, was crowded, unwholesome, and mean, over a great
portion of its less important surface. In one respect, however, it
seems to have differed greatly from every other ancient city of which
we read, namely, in the great elevation of the houses; in almost every
other instance we are led to an opposite inference, which is further
corroborated by the present appearance of Pompeii.
With the _Domestic Architecture_ of the primitive ages, to which our
accounts have hitherto been confined, the acquaintance to be obtained
is exceedingly limited. In the description of Solomon's Palace, and
in various passages of Homer, considerable details are given of the
palatial dwellings; but how the greater part of mankind were lodged,
few means of determining remain. Protection against the vicissitudes
of climate would first employ the instinctive ingenuity of man; next,
conveniency would be consulted, by enlarging the dimensions of his
abode. Both these objects might be obtained, while yet the original
circular area was retained. As some ideas, however, of the comforts
and decencies of life prevailed, seclusion of the different orders and
sexes in the members of the family would be sought; and hence division
of one common apartment into separate portions. But as circular space
admits of division very imperfectly, and with loss, this new necessity
would introduce, or at least render permanent, the rectangular shape of
the domestic abode.
_Military Architecture_ is but little connected with the history of the
science, from the peculiar nature of those principles of construction
which it recognises. Here design is regulated by circumstances
external to the art, and which, therefore, though enriched by novel
combinations in its later and more impure modes, received originally
no component elements, from a branch which has universally and largely
engrossed the attention of mankind. The application of architecture
to the purposes of defence, would not take place till a comparatively
later period in the history of the species. Men would previously have
acquired ideas of the right and value of property, and divided into
separate communities by political or moral distinctions. Mere defence
would be the first object in military erections; a wall, a rampart, or
barrier, of altitude and strength sufficient to resist, or rather to
disappoint, any sudden attack, would be all for some time required;
and, subsequently, with facility of access to the summit, for the
purpose of hurling stones from vantage ground upon the assailants,
these defences for long would be complete, by the obvious addition of
a ditch. As the arts of violence, and especially as missile warfare
improved, experience would point out the impossibility of defending,
even with a ditch, a long unbroken line of wall, consistently with the
safety of the defenders, who, in the attempt to overlook the whole,
would necessarily be exposed to the hostile weapons. To obviate this
defect, and that the whole line might be seen, and the approaches
commanded from points within itself, towers projecting beyond the face
of the wall were constructed, thus finishing the whole of the science
of ancient fortification. Cities, with towers and battlements on this
plan, were found by the Jews in Syria, where they had existed for ten
centuries before. The same was the system of the Greeks and Romans; and
all the varieties of feudal defences are but applications, and even the
inventions now in use are but modifications of the primeval fortress,
which, in adaptations to the exigencies and science of the time, have
also removed from it all picturesque effect and all scenic grandeur,
such as the fortalice of old, even in its 'ruins grey,' yet produces.
Such is a rapid sketch of the origin and principles of architectural
design; and such the extent to which, in practice, history informs us
they had been carried in the ancient world. The details, necessarily
very imperfect, now given, belong to what may be termed the first age
in the history of the art. The second era commences with the earliest
appearances of regular architectural science in Europe, marked by the
erection of temples in Greece, soon after, or nearly contemporary with,
the labours of Solomon, which were commenced 1015 B. C.
Before entering upon European art, it will be useful, as formerly
hinted, briefly to examine the monuments still existing in Egypt of
the architecture of the first age,--the probable sources of those
primitive modes, which, adopted in rudeness, by Grecian taste refined
and matured, have become immutable. In addition to what has already
been stated in the first article, and in reference to the present
subject, it will be necessary merely to explain the general character
and principles of these aboriginal structures, with the view of
ascertaining whether, and to what extent, these have influenced the
subsequent and more perfect science of the Grecian architect.
Of ancient Egypt, the government was not only peculiar, but
contemplated peculiar results--pursued, too, with undeviating purpose,
through an unknown succession of ages. Hence the enduring greatness of
the works it has left; but as the ends were, from the commencement, so
fixed as to forbid progressive means, hence the uniformity of imperfect
character in these labours, exhibiting much of the elements, but none
of the perfections of taste.
The eternal durability to which, in all things, the hierarchy aspired,
pointed out a style of architecture, especially in their sacred
buildings, retaining, as most substantial, only the simplest forms and
the largest masses. Hence, in these mysterious structures, whatever
deficiency may be perceived in beauty or grace, is compensated by
vastness and simplicity, the most powerful elements of the grand.
In beholding these mighty fabrics, then, even laying aside the
associations of unnumbered centuries, if neither the most refined nor
agreeable emotions be experienced, the imagination is exalted to a high
pitch of awe, astonishment, and admiration. Long withdrawing lines,
unbroken surfaces, simple contours, immense blocks, even while the
individual forms are destitute of proportion, harmony, or grace, will
ever produce a solemn sublimity of effect.
But it now occurs to inquire, before the merit of rational design can
be granted, or these architectonic labours admitted among the works
of genius,--Do these lofty effects arise from principle, or are they
purely accidental? Are they the meditated results of science and taste,
or are they merely inevitable consequences of the large and enduring
style which the political system recommended?
Upon the nature of the reply to these questions will, in a great
measure, depend the rank of the Greeks, as original inventors and
refiners of taste in architecture. Now, there can be no doubt that in
these, to use Strabo's expression, 'barbarous monuments of painful
labour,' the sublimity and imposing solemnity of the general effect
is incidental, not inherent. It is the grandeur of mass, not of
proportion. The imagination is subdued, indeed, by vastness, but
neither is the fancy delighted by tracing a well preserved resemblance
to any acknowledged prototype, nor is the judgment instructed
by the contemplation of a harmony consistent in itself, though
deriving its elements from no immediate source. We discover neither
imitation nor creative taste, for imitation is ever destroyed by
some monstrous incongruity, and originality becomes aimless through
interminable variety of accessories. As a science, then, beyond the
rules necessarily imposed by the leading intention of durability, we
detect nothing in the architecture of Egypt like the universal harmony
given to it in Greece. The same is the character of Indian art, with
still more of incongruous union; for here the massive simplicity of
the original, or at least earliest source, for so we have already
shown Egyptian art to be, is broken down and loaded with frittered
and pretending ornament, Syria, or the vast district lying between,
furnishes nothing beyond conjecture, or rather in the only instance,
that of Solomon's labours, where we attain some information on which
implicit reliance may be placed--clear manifestations are discovered
of mixed art, in which that of Egypt predominated. Thus, in the whole
of the ancient world, about a thousand years before our present era,
and when the Greeks first, or soon after, began to erect temples, there
existed no science complete in itself, or whose principles even had
been elicited from the chaotic mass of materials, by which they could
have been directed, in their own matchless monuments. Whatever of
grace and of beauty--of dignity and truth--of sublimity and harmonious
proportion,--whatever of architectonic excellence, grounded on the
most profound principles of taste, and established on the sure basis
of geometry,--whatever of all this can be discovered in the building
of Greece, she owes it to the superiority of native genius. Yet the
obligations to Egyptian predecessors were neither few nor unimportant.
The rectangular area, in which the breadth should bear a proportion
less to the length, a shape of all others best adapted to beauty and
convenience, was introduced. A still less obvious source of almost
every higher beauty in the science--columnar architecture--was there
practised so early, that whether it originated in the country, or was
introduced, is unknown. Even the system of ornament may, in its rise
at least, be traced in these primeval remains; for not a single detail
afterwards introduced may not, in a rudimental, often nearly perfected
state, be remarked; especially the beautiful idea of floral ornaments.
Lastly, in the works of Egyptian art, very perfect examples of
mechanical practice, both in dressing and laying the materials, might
be observed in almost every instance. All these elements, however, the
last excepted, jarring among themselves, whether as wholes or parts,
were to be selected, arranged, methodized, and animated by grace,
harmony, nobleness,--in short, the science of architecture was yet to
be created.