IN my last chapter I compared tradition in art to a golden chain, and
the striking individualities which arise from time to time as the
jewels upon such a chain. The history of art and the evolution of
design may be regarded either from the point of view of the jewels
or from the point of view of the ordinary links; and if we wish to
take a just and comprehensive view I think we must not only consider
the luminous points, but the system--the links--by which they are
connected and related. Looking out into the clear night we see a vast
mass of brilliant stars of all degrees of magnitude apparently flung
into space without order or relation, but the studies of astronomers
have revealed that they are the central suns of systems around which
revolve planets invisible to us; but these star-suns themselves become
lost, and merged in the countless myriads that form the silvery
cloud we call the milky way. So it is in the history of art and the
evolution of design. At first we are attracted by the brilliant
personalities, surrounded by satellites, that seem to sum up in their
work whole epochs, and remain typical and central points in the wide
spaces of time; but further research reveals their relation to other
personalities not so distinct, on whom the full light of popular favour
has not flashed, and presently we get beyond personalities altogether,
and in the work of remote antiquity see only the results of the labours
of generations, purely typical forms of art, the monumental record of
races, of nations, of dynasties, the work, not of individual men, but
of collective _man_.
Of such we may find examples in the art of ancient Egypt, of Assyria,
of Persia, and in the archaic and primitive art of all kinds, from the
fragments of pottery from the plain of Troy to the carved paddles of
the Polynesian islanders.
The art and craft of building--architecture, the fundamental art, can
only be traced back to its primitive forms in different countries
as practised among different races and peoples. The origin of its
distinctive styles, and its principal constructive features, were
determined long ago under the influence of climate and local materials,
by the collective thought and co-operative labour of mankind schooled
by necessity and experience.
Yes, it is a history of constant adaptation to conditions and united
labour and invention from our primitive ancestor, who improved upon
the natural shelter of the tree by interlacing its pendent branches
with other branches and stakes fixed in the ground; who burned the ends
of their timbers, so that as piles they could be driven more easily
into the mud to support the platforms of the wattled lake dwellings,
when there were no steel axes. From the early colonists of our race,
the Aryan wagoners, who perhaps took the idea of the primitive gable
and roof timbers from the tilt of the wagon, or the supports of the
tent-coverings; from the ingenuity of the Mongolian settlers by the
riverside, making the framing of their houses and supporting their
roofs by the bamboo, utilizing the hollow canes for the jointing and
bracketing of the supports, and terminating the ends ornamentally
by inserting grotesquely carved heads. The chain of invention is
unbroken up to modern scientific engineering and calculated principles
of building construction, which but sums up and systematizes the
collective experience of ages.
We see, too, the collective hand of tradition and the adherence to
accustomed forms in the adoption or imitation of features of timber
construction in stone construction and ornament by the ancients; as,
for instance, in the form of the Persian capital from Persepolis, and
in the dentil ornament of classical architecture mentioned in the
preceding chapters.
Out of necessity springs construction; out of construction springs
ornament. We cannot find the individual in either, both being the
result of slow and gradual evolution, requiring long periods of
time and continuity of custom, life, and habit, and the continuous
associated labour of communities, wherein the individual is of less
importance than the maintenance of the social organism. At first the
preservation of the gens, the tribe, the protection and service of the
village community, the handing on of tradition and folk-lore, until,
with conquest and extension and consolidation into a nation, settled
industries, and religious faith and ritual, the desire arises to clothe
the mythical and spiritual ideas of a people in permanent monumental
form and colour.
A cathedral represents the collective art, work, and thought of
centuries. The names of its builders, its masons, its carvers, its
glaziers, are lost; the heads and hands that carried out the work,
whose invention and feeling, whose very life have been wrought into
the stone and the wood and the glass, have left no other record. An
abbot's or a bishop's name may be given as having planned or raised
the money for this choir or that porch at different times, but the
artists and craftsmen who did the work generally remain unknown. They
worked in their craft in harmony with the workers in kindred crafts,
and as brother members of their guild, and instead of building up
merely personal reputations really evolved collectively the distinctive
architectural style and decorative types of their age.
This is one reason why a Gothic cathedral is so impressive. We see the
growth of an organic style, starting, perhaps, with the round arch
and massive Norman pier, and passing through the transition to the
lancet arch of the early pointed to the moulded arch and the clustered
shaft and foliated capital, with the ribbed, vaulted roof covering
the long nave with a network of recurring constructive lines, and
meeting overhead in carved bosses, or spreading into Tudor fans. Or we
may mark the gradual evolution of the window from the round headed,
deep-set loop-hole of the Byzantine and Norman period into the long
lancet-pointed panel of geometric glass; and see then how by degrees
the light, first divided into two by a shaft, suggested the clustering
of many lights together, as in great western or eastern windows,
dividing them by mullions breaking into geometric tracery in the
pointed heads; and thus raising a beautiful pierced screen of stone to
hold the coloured glass and reveal its splendour against the full light
of the sky.
Can we name the inventors of these changes, the evolvers of these
beauties of our constructive art? Do we not feel that by their very
nature they could not have been claimed by any individual mind alone
or have reached perfection in a single lifetime? They are the natural
result of a free and vital condition in art, moved by the unity of
faith and feeling, wherein men work together as brothers in unity, each
free in his own sphere, but never isolated, and never losing his sense
of relation to the rest.
Thus we get the harmonious effect of a great orchestra, where, though
every variety of instrument may be played, all are subordinated, or
co-ordinated, to the musical scheme, and produce that impression of
power and sweetness by cadences that may be now soft as the whispers of
the summer winds over a field of wheat, and anon sweep like a tempest
with the fury of thundering waves upon the utmost shores of sound.
The emotions produced by such forms of collective art lift the mind
out of the personal region altogether; they are akin, indeed, to the
feelings awakened in the presence of wild nature. We seem to hear the
voice of Time himself out of the caverns of the past, the song of
life, like that of a child in the sunlight, and the half-articulate,
pathetic murmur of the voices of birds and beasts; the hush of the wood
at noon-tide, the transfiguration of the afterglow, and the mystery of
night.
In the primitive ornament of all peoples we find the same or similar
typical forms constantly recurring, the germs of pattern design
afterwards developed, complicated, and refined upon: the chequer,
the zigzag, the fret, the circle, the spiral volute, the twisting
scroll--can we ascribe their invention to any individual mind or hand?
Can the mechanician tell us who were the inventors of the wheel, the
lever, the mode of producing fire, the canoe, the paddle, the spade,
the plough, the vessel of clay, the axe, the hammer, the needle, or
even spinning and weaving? Yet they are inventions of incalculable
importance to human life, which without them could not maintain itself,
much less build upon them, as it were, the vast and complex structure
of modern invention, of science, and of art.
A form in ornament once found, however, is repeated. The eye grows
accustomed to it, takes delight in it, and expects its recurrence.
It becomes established by use and wont, and is often associated
with fundamental ideas of life and the universe itself. Thus we get
traditional ornament, handed on from generation to generation, its
origin and meaning perhaps lost--like the pictorial significance of the
individual letters of our alphabet, which everybody uses, but which
require a special kind of study and research to explain their real
meaning and original forms.
Side by side with this liking for the accustomed, this demand for the
expected, appears to have grown up another feeling, a love of change
and variety equally natural and human.
[Illustration: NATURAL VARIATION IN REPETITION OF ORNAMENTAL FORMS.
PRIMARY SCHOOL CHILDREN DRAWING ON THE BLACKBOARD, PHILADELPHIA.]
[Illustration: NATURAL VARIATION IN REPETITION OF ORNAMENTAL FORMS.
PRIMARY SCHOOL CHILDREN DRAWING ON THE BLACKBOARD, PHILADELPHIA.]
In ornament variation may at first be unconscious, and might have
arisen from the natural tendency of the hand to vary a form in
repeating it (as our own experience will tell us), while it requires
an effort to reproduce its exact counterpart. This tendency to vary the
same form, in repeating it, by different individuals is illustrated
by the little American children cultivating their facility of hand by
drawing on the blackboard. This natural variation, having a rich and
pleasant effect, is encouraged until conscious and studied invention
and ingenuity of individual artists in the varying of designs take its
place.
Tradition in design may no doubt be largely attributed to the influence
of the workshop, or what we should now call technical necessities,
the use of certain tools and materials giving a certain character of
their own in the rendering of form, as one may see even in the case of
such a matter as quality of outline (important enough in all design)
if we compare the differences between a form drawn with the pencil,
the pen, with the brush, or with charcoal. A certain typical treatment
becomes naturally evolved in the course of practice which seems proper
to each method, while the treatment is sure to be slightly varied in
the hands of every individual. Of course a strong artistic personality
may greatly modify tradition in any art, though such an one is seldom
entirely free from its influence; and the greatest artists in past
times have generally built upon it, and have become what they are
rather because of an existing vital tradition admitting of individual
variation.
This was largely the case, I think, with the great masters of
the Italian Renascence, some of whom I spoke of in the previous
chapter. The general standard of excellence was maintained by their
contemporaries. A great individual artist arises and only by degrees
distinguishes himself by his personal choice and treatment, his
variation of practice or method, grafting on to the stem perhaps
some new rare flower. He raises the standard higher, he imports new
elements, he influences tradition, and the lamp is handed on.
Giotto's art would not have been what it was but for the Byzantine
influence under which he was trained. Without losing certain fine
qualities of the dignity and serenity of the earlier art, he infused
fresh life and prepared the way for the greater freedom and naturalism
of his successors. The various schools of painting are closely linked,
and if the links were complete we should perhaps be more struck with
the resemblances, the similarities, than the differences.
The great structure of style is raised stone by stone: the labour of
generations of artists gradually advances the standard of excellence.
Now and then a greater mind appears, and by some new thought or method,
fresh sentiment or point of view, raises the standard higher, and so an
epoch is marked in art.
Great cleavages from time to time occur which disturb the orderly
progression and connection, like cataclysms in nature--earthquakes
and upheavals which break the continuity of the geologic beds and
throw them upon different levels; but the strong social and collective
tendency in man is always to repair and reform, to re-unite scattered
fragments and to form new traditions both in life and art.
In an age which has seen the development of an organized industrial
system of extraordinary and minute division of labour under the factory
system, and has now entered an epoch of further specialization of
labour with the invention and use of complicated machinery driven by
steam and electric power, in association with which labour becomes not
only specialized but almost automatic, we perhaps hardly need reminding
of the collective influence, since for the effective supply of the big
world-market _all_ products are the result of collective human labour.
Such an organization of machine production as every effective factory
displays, of collective labour, though not organized for the collective
benefit, but rather wastefully contending with other factories
for private profit-making in a fierce and unscrupulous warfare of
commercial competition--such organizations can hardly be favourable
to the production of fine and beautiful art. The art, the wonder, the
invention, if anywhere, must really be sought in the means rather
than the ends. The machines which produce our wares are marvels of
ingenuity, of mechanical adaptation, of economy of force, but the
finished product is often most depressing. One may see in print works,
for instance, those wonderful colour printing machines capable of
printing seven, and even twelve, colours from the rollers in succession
upon the cloth as it passes through, often turning out extremely tame
and commonplace patterns on cheap material, which look much more
interesting as engraved upon the polished copper roller than they ever
do on the cloth.
Well, it may be said, the remedy is with us--with the designers.
We have only to use our invention in producing good and attractive
designs, adapted to the process and material, and the factory and the
machine will do the rest.
[Illustration: AXMINSTER CARPET WEAVING.]
It is conceivable, certainly, that where the object is _solely_ to
produce something at once beautiful and serviceable, by a chain of
associated and intelligent labour, with the most ingenious machines at
the command of the designers, wonderful things might be done; but it
is a question whether, if a design be ever so good, we should not grow
tired of it if we saw it produced in enormous quantities. Yet _that_,
after all, is the object of our factories, of our improved machinery,
to produce in enormous quantities--not primarily to supply the world's
needs either, but in order to sell at a profit. Art, however, is only
concerned with quality--to make everything as good of its kind as
possible, to seek variety, beauty, appropriateness.
[Illustration: TAPESTRY CARPET WEAVING.]
We have yet to see whether industrial production, organized on the
modern system, is equal to the old handicraftsman with his simple
methods, as far as artistic results are concerned.
So far the Indian, with his hand-block printing his pattern on his
strip of muslin or cotton, or dipping his tied cloth into the dye,
produces more artistic results than all our wonderful machinery.
Mechanical perfection is one thing, and artistic feeling quite another,
and the more as an end a people seeks after the first the less it is
likely to care for or understand the other.
The chain of production, too, may be mechanically complete, as in our
best factories it may be said to be as far as organization goes, yet
we may be still far from the finer sympathetic chain of _artistic_
association by means of which the best work is produced. In this
we must include the stimulus of external beauty and harmonious
surroundings, as well as individual freedom.
Such a condition of things might have been found in any craft's-guild,
and seen in full working order in any workshop of the Middle Ages.
Such an interior as is pictured by Etienne Delaune, a celebrated
goldsmith of Paris, as late as the sixteenth century, of his own
atelier, engraved by himself, shows us a group of artist craftsmen
working together with all the tools and implements of their art around
them. Of the three seated at the bench one is engraving or chasing;
another at work upon a watch, drilling apparently; while the third
is doing some fine _repoussé_ work. The young man at the furnace is
probably enamelling, and a boy at the wheel appears to be wire-drawing.
A great variety of tools are placed in exemplary order upon the
walls--pincers, pliers, files, shears, hammers, punches, a small
anvil, crucibles, and a pair of bellows for the furnace.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE ATELIER OF ETIENNE DELAUNE, PARIS, 1576.]
There are still some crafts which are worked in this simple artistic
co-operative way, and have undergone but little changes of method
since the Middle Ages. Indeed, one might say _all_ the finer artistic
handicrafts; and it is noteworthy that the tools used are of the same
type--the sculptor's mallet and chisel, the painter's palette and
brushes, for instance, have remained practically unchanged in form from
time immemorial.
Those who have seen glass blowing and the formation of glass vessels
must have been struck by the skill and celerity displayed by the
craftsmen at the furnace mouth, under very trying conditions, and also
by the necessity of effective help at certain movements, when the
molten glass is made to revolve upon the bar by one man, while the
shape is given to it by another. The master craftsman generally seems
to have two assistants, but the amount of co-operation necessary in
forming the vessels depends much upon their size, small pieces being
completed by one alone.
There are glass works still working, such as those at Whitefriars,
which have been there since the sixteenth century. The circle of
furnace mouths, the ruddy glow falling upon the faces and figures of
the workers, form a striking scene. By a skill of manipulation that
might well appear magical seen for the first time, the craftsmen
produce vessels of any variety of shape, constantly returning the work
as it progresses to the fire. Though the work seems to lend itself to
the varying invention of the designer, they can reproduce the section
sketched in chalk on a black panel at the side of the furnace in a
completed form to exact measurement.
[Illustration: GLASS BLOWING.]
The art of the printer of books, to which so much interest has of late
been drawn, and which has been revived as an art by Mr. William Morris
at his Kelmscott Press, affords another instance of the necessity of
intelligent and artistic co-operation.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF A PRINTING OFFICE IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
(FROM JOST AMMAN).]
To begin with, there is the paper; a good tough handmade paper, like
drawing paper, is wanted for rich and bright impressions of type or
woodcuts. This must be made from the best linen rags, and each sheet is
manipulated by the hands, by means of a wired frame of wood dipped into
the pulp and cunningly shaken so that it (the pulp) shall spread over
the wires evenly to form, when dry, the sheet of paper.
Then the type-founding must be looked after. Lettering of good form
must be designed, and so designed that each letter must be separate and
yet capable of forming words without undue gaps, and also legible pages
of agreeable type, good in the mass and good in the single letters
and words. The type-founder and designer must therefore be a man of
taste and cultivation, he must have a knowledge of alphabets, of early
printing and of historic MSS. and calligraphy, and he must be a capable
designer, able to appreciate the niceties of line, the value of a
curve, of balance and mass, proportion and appropriate scale.
Mr. Morris had several typical ancient types photographed upon a large
scale so as to more easily compare their design and structure, and
founded his own designs for his Kelmscott founts more or less upon
them, giving them, whether Roman or Gothic, a distinctive character
of their own. This is about as near as one can get in our conscious,
selective way to old methods, in which individuals from time to time
introduced small variations, while adhering to the general style
and form, so that the collective traditional influence and historic
continuity is preserved with the cumulative advantages of individual
invention.
Of the placing of the type-page upon the paper, regarding the double
page of the open book as the true unit, I have before spoken, and a
great deal of art comes into the setting of the type, so as to disperse
it without leaving "rivers" or gaps--much as a designer of a repeating
pattern would seek to avoid running into awkward accidental lines.
Constructive principle would here come in, and should be serviceable
to the printer in enabling him to preserve a pleasant and harmonious
ornamental effect in his page.
The designer of printers' ornaments and book illustrations, too, if he
wishes to make his work an essential and harmonious part of the book
is, while free in his own sphere, bound to remember the conditions
under which his work will be produced and seen; and, so far from
regarding these conditions as restraints, should rather regard them
as sources of suggestion in the treatment of his designs, making his
initial letters and decorative borders and headings natural links to
unite the formal ornamental element of the type-page with the informal
inclosed panel of figure design which, in its treatment of line or
black and white mass, may be but an extension of the same principles
found in any individual letter of the type-mass. The mechanical reason
for this is, of course, that it simplifies the process of printing,
type and woodcut being subject to the same pressure.
With good paper and ink, with good, well-cut type and woodcut ornaments
and illustrations, the success of the book now depends upon the actual
printer, as defective printing, poor impressions, the blocks not up
to full strength, the impressions blurred, would spoil the effect of
the best work. Bright, clean impressions are wanted, and much care and
skill are required to secure such, as well as time to allow the sheets
to dry well before being made up into book form.
[Illustration: GOLD-TOOLED BOOK COVER. DESIGNED BY T. J.
COBDEN-SANDERSON.]
Finally the binder takes up the tale of collective skill necessary to
the production of that one of the most beautiful of beautiful things--a
beautiful book.
[Illustration: GOLD-TOOLED BOOK COVER. DESIGNED BY T. J.
COBDEN-SANDERSON.]
Here, of course, an immense amount of art may be called in over and
above neat and careful craftsmanship in the preliminary but most
necessary stages of "forwarding," as Mr. Cobden-Sanderson has told
us. Beautiful binding, indeed, may display some of the most refined
qualities of decorative art in disposition of line and pattern, while
it affords in gold tooling another instance of strict limitation of
method lending itself to free invention and fancy.
The artist is under the necessity of building up his lines and
constructing his forms by the repetition of the impress of certain
tools, the most resourceful designer being shown by the decorative
use he is able to make of few and simple forms. An examination of the
designs by Mr. Cobden-Sanderson, given here, will show that they are
built up of very few units. A flower, a leaf, a stem, and straight
lines of borders with the lettering, which is also an important
ornamental unit. Everything depends upon the taste and skill with which
they are used.
From the single example of the chain of associated labour necessary
to the production of a book, we may see then how much depends upon
intelligent and harmonious co-operation in collective work. Where each
process is so important, where the skill and taste of each worker is so
necessary to the complete result, one can hardly say that one is more
important than another--certainly not less essential. We see, too, how
_inter_-dependent the work of each is. Each stone in the structure must
be well and truly laid, or sound progress and satisfactory completion
are impossible. Art in all its manifold developments always teaches us
this. Fault or failure at one stage may ruin the whole work.
Are the foundations less important than the wall; is the wall less
important than the window; is the roof less essential to the house than
the carving of its porch, or the painting of its interior?
If we realize the close and necessary links that unite all workers,
that are essential to the production of things useful or beautiful,
or both, should not we do well to strive to make the association
closer and more complete than it is, and thus hand on the lamp of good
tradition in design and workmanship, however far we must look forward
to the enlargement of our horizon and the harmonizing of human life,
and its freedom from the sinister powers and false ideals that now
oppress and deceive it? And if we accept the truth that art is unity,
and that what the unit is the mass may become, should we not strive,
each in his sphere, whatever our main work may be, to do it worthily
and well? remembering that it is better to do a small thing well than a
big thing badly, and that it is the spirit in which our work is done,
not the place it may accidentally occupy, or the class to which it may
belong, or the reward it may receive in the ordinary estimation, that
makes it great or little.
INDEX
Ahmedabad, carved stone lattice window at, 182, 183.
Alciati's "Emblems," 253-256.
Alhambra, the, 186, 187.
Amiens, sculpture at, 270, 273.
Amman, Jost, 367.
Amphora, Greek, 80, 81.
Angels, Christian, 244.
Andreæ, Hieronymus, 284.
Andreani, Andrea, 330, 331.
Anthemion ornament, Greek, 49, 52.
Apelles, 303, 304.
Arabian invasion of Persia, 175, 179;
casement, 180;
carved pulpit, 212, 213, 215.
Arch, round, 5, 16;
pointed, 5, 26.
Arches, typical forms of, 30.
Architecture, the original basis of design, 3;
typical constructive forms in, 5;
Greek, 6-16;
Roman, 16-20;
Byzantine, 20-25;
Norman, 26-28;
Gothic, 28-46;
relationship between, and the art of design generally, 46, 47.
Ardebil, Holy Carpet of the mosque at, 175-177.
Assyrian border, 49, 50;
enamelled tile, 49, 51;
sculpture, 192, 203, 204;
treatment of natural forms, 198-202.
Auxerre, sculpture at, 270, 272.
Axmouth Church, tower of, 64.
Bacchus, visit of, to Icarius, 18, 201.
Barge-board, use of the, 61.
Bates, Harry, 100.
Bellini, Jacopo, 328.
Beni Hasan, tomb of, 195, 265.
Benson, W. A. S., 70.
Bewick, Thomas, revival of the woodcut under, 119, 294.
Birds, Egyptian treatment of, 264;
Japanese treatment of, 264, 266, 267;
Bewick's treatment of, 294.
Blake, William, 119, 120, 294.
Bohemia, old towns of, 188, 189.
Book-binding, 370-372.
Books, decoration of, 117-121, 133-141.
Botticelli, Sandro, 323-326.
Bouchardon, statue of Louis XV. by, 99, 101.
Brasses, heraldry in, 252;
characteristics of design in, 290-293.
Bronze casting, 98-101.
Brown, Ford Madox, cartoons for glass by, 152, 153;
drawings by, 300.
Bruges, the Belfry of, 62;
grate back from, 67, 68;
iron-work at, 103;
brass at, 291, 292.
"Buch von den Sieben Todsünden," 117.
Burgmair, Hans, 284.
Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, studies by, 126.
Byzantine art, 20-25, 141, 239.
Cairo, casement from, 181;
pulpit from, 212, 213, 215;
carved and inlaid panel from, 217.
Calvert, Edward, 294.
Cambridge, King's College Chapel, 32.
Candelabra, brass, 73-75.
Candlesticks, 69, 71, 73, 76, 77.
Canopied tombs, 38, 39;
seat and sideboard, 41.
Canterbury, Anselm's Tower, 26, 27;
transitional arcade, 29;
south side of choir, 43, 45;
fire-dog from St. Nicholas's Hospital, 67.
Cave men, art of the, 259, 260, 261.
Ceiling decoration, 124, 125, 126, 131.
Cellini, Benvenuto, 100.
Celtic cross, 209.
_Cera perduta_, 98, 99.
Chequer pattern, the, 48, 49.
Chimneys, importance of, in design, 63-65.
Chinese porcelain, 86, 174, 214;
embroidery, 115, 211;
design, features of, 214, 216, 220.
Christchurch, Norman house at, 63.
Christian symbols, 239, 240, 241.
Cimabue, 306.
Circle, the, 226.
Clarke, Purdon, 210.
Clay, modelling in, 93-96.
Cobden-Sanderson, T. J., 370-372.
Colosseum, the, 16, 17.
Constantine, arch of, 19.
Copper-plate engraving, 119, 294.
Cotton printing, 111.
Crane, Walter, book decoration, 139, 140;
wall-paper designs, 124-134;
floor motive, 130.
Crane, wrought iron, 69.
Creeny's "Monumental Brasses," 252, 291, 293.
Dalziel, the brothers, 298, 300.
Dante, 308;
portrait of, by Giotto, 309.
Da Vinci, Leonardo, 333-338.
De Hooghe, Romeyn, 256.
Delaune, Etienne, 363.
Delft ware, 86.
Delia Robbia ware, 164.
Dennington Church, carving in, 42, 92.
Derby pottery, 86.
Devils, mediæval, 244.
Diaper, rectangular, 88;
Chinese, 216.
Dish decoration, 85-87.
Doré, Gustave, 187.
Doyle, Richard, 298.
Drinking vessels, 79-85.
Dripstone, principal of the, 59, 60.
Du Maurier, George, 298.
Dürer, Albert, 278-285.
Eger, 189.
Egyptian pottery, 96, 97;
primitive dwellings, 167, 168;
stone columns, 169, 170, 171;
hieroglyphics, 194, 195;
mural paintings, 196, 197;
types of design, 219;
symbolism, 229-232;
treatment of birds, 264;
realism in art, 265.
Electric light fittings, 78.
Emblem book, the, 253, 254.
Embroidery, 113-116, 211.
Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," 107, 108.
Evangelists, symbols of the, 246.
Fire-dogs, 66, 67, 103.
Fire-irons, 66, 103.
Florence, tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, 62, 63.
Ford, Onslow, 100.
Forum, frieze discovered in the, 270, 271.
Fra Angelico, 242, 243, 244.
Framlingham Castle, chimney at, 64, 66.
Fuchsius, "De Historia Stirpium," 286, 287.
_Fylfot_, the, 222, 224.
Gerard's Herbal, 286.
German chandelier, 73-75;
lantern, 76, 77;
beer mugs, 82;
pitcher, 87, 96;
early woodcuts, 117, 118, 278.
Giotto, 270, 306-314, 359.
Ghiberti, Lorenzo, 270, 306.
Gilbert, Alfred, 100.
Glass, stained, Gothic, 32, 141;
designing for, 141-159.
Glass bottles (Italian), 82, 83, 84.
Glass-blowing, 365, 366.
Gothic architecture, development of, 28-46.
Gozzoli, Benozzo, 244, 318-322.
Grate backs, cast-iron, 66-68.
Greek sculpture and architecture, 6-15;
furniture, etc., 15-16;
water vessels, 80, 81;
cylix, 85;
ornament, 204;
stele, 206;
symbolism, 232;
gods, 236;
sculpture, 268;
vases, 304.
Grimani Breviary, the, 274, 276, 277.
Grün, Hans Baldung, 118.
Harrison, Miss Jane E., 304.
Hathersage Church, 223.
Hazelford Hall, 59.
Hempstead, fireplace at, 69.
Heraldry, national, 248;
origin and development of, 248-252.
Herbals, 285, 286.
Hercules, 236.
"Herring bone," 225.
Hesperides, the, 236, 237.
Hieroglyphic, Egyptian, 194, 195.
Hindu symbol of the Universe, 228, 229.
Holbein's "Dance of Death," 254.
Hunt, Holman, 296, 300.
Icarius, house of, 18, 201.
Ictinus, 303.
Igdrasil, 229.
Ightham Mote House, barge-board at, 57.
Impressionism, influenced by Japanese art, 290.
Indian embroidery, 211;
design, 180;
carved stone windows, 182, 183;
flame halo, 207;
palmette, 210, 211.
Iron-work, wrought, 100, 102-105.
Isle of Man, arms of, 223.
Italian flasks and bottle, 82, 83, 84;
majolica and lustre ware, 86;
art, 185;
painters, 304-349.
"Jack and the Beanstalk," 238.
Japanese embroidery, 115, 116;
art, 216;
types of design, 220;
treatment of birds, 264, 266, 267;
plant drawing, 286, 288, 289.
Keene, Charles, 295, 296, 298.
Kelmscott Press, the, 121, 136, 139, 368.
Lamb, symbolic use of the, 246.
Lamps, design of, 69, 70, 77.
Leech, John, 298.
Leigh's Priory, chimneys at, 65.
Leighton, Lord, 300, 306.
Lintel, architecture of the, 5.
Lion, Scottish, 248;
in heraldry, 252.
Lions (sculptured), Assyrian, 202, 203;
modern, 203.
Loom, the, 106-108.
Lotus, Egyptian, 169, 197, 199, 230;
Assyrian, 202.
Louis XV., statue of, by Bouchardon, 99, 101.
Luxor, column at, 169.
Lycia, tombs in, 6, 7.
Majolica ware, 86.
Manchester, Cheetham's Hospital, 67.
Mantegna, Andrea, 326-333.
Manuscripts, illuminated, 274, 276, 277.
Mat, the primitive, 48, 49, 50.
Matthiolus, Herbal of, 286.
May, Phil, 299, 300.
Medici, Giuliano de, tomb of, 346, 348.
Medici, Lorenzo de, 339, 340;
tomb of, 347, 348.
Memling, 42, 43, 274, 276, 277.
Memmi, Simone, 306, 307.
Michael Angelo, 336, 338-348.
Millais, Sir J. E., 296.
Modelling in clay, 93;
in wax, 97.
Morris, William, 121, 136, 248, 368.
Mosaics at Ravenna, 21-25, 239-241.
Mouldings in architecture, origin of, 59.
Multan, tomb at, 182.
Mycenæ, gate of the lions at, 6, 10.
Nile, the (sculptured group), 234, 235.
Norman architecture, 26, 27.
Norse sagas, 227.
Nuremberg, iron-work at, 103, 106.
Nuremberg Chronicle, the, 278.
Omar Khayyám, 178.
"Once a Week," 298.
Orcagna, Andrea, 244, 245, 316-319.
Oxen, heads of, 55, 56.
Oxford, Magdalen Tower, 62.
Palmette, the, 210, 211.
Pan, 244.
Pandora, story of, 237.
Paper making, 368.
Paris, Sainte Chapelle, glass from, 141-143, 145.
Parthenon, the, 7-14, 268;
symbolism of the, 232-234, 246.
Peacock, the, in Byzantine art, 239.
Penshurst Place, 63.
Pergamos, altar of, 268.
Persephone, story of, 238.
Persepolis, 172, 247.
Persian pottery, 86;
types of design, 171, 211, 219;
glazed bricks, 171-173;
carpets, 109, 110, 174, 175, 177;
art, 176-180;
embroidery, 114, 211;
pomegranates, 208, 209;
griffin, 244, 247.
Petrarch, 319.
Phidias, 303.
Philæ, lotus capital at, 171.
Photography, influence of, on design, 119, 138, 300, 301.
Pisano, Niccolo, 314, 315.
Pistoia, Cathedral at, 164, 165.
Pitcher, design of a, 79.
Plate decoration, 85, 87.
Polynesian ornament, 225, 226.
"Pomerium de Tempore" (Augsburg, 1502), 294.
Potter's wheel, the, 94.
Pottery, 79, 94-96.
Pourbus, 62.
Poynter, Sir E. J., 296, 300.
Pre-Raphaelite movement, the, 296.
Printing, the art of, 366-370.
Printed fabrics, designing for, 111-113.
Printed page, proportions of the, 135, 137;
decoration of the, 135-141, 369.
Protogenes, 303, 304.
"Punch," 295-300.
Raphael, 328, 338.
Ravenna, mosaics at, 21-25, 239-241.
Recurring lines, principle of, 12, 28.
Rethel, Alfred, 296.
Roman architecture, 16-21;
water-vessel, 80;
gods, 236.
Roof, pitch of the, 56.
Rossetti, D. G., 296.
Rothenburg, pitcher from, 87, 96;
iron balustrade from, 105, 106.
Rubens, Peter Paul, 332.
Salisbury, St. Thomas's, screen at, 104, 106.
Salisbury Cathedral, Chapter House in, 32;
glass grisaille in, 151.
Sambourne, Linley, 297, 298.
Sandys, Frederick, 296.
San Gimignano, towers of, 61.
_Sauvastika_, the, 222, 224.
Scale in design, 133.
Scandinavian clay vessel, 95;
ornament, 226.
Scarabæus, the, 230.
Shields, typical forms of, 249, 250.
Sicilian silk tissue, 251, 252.
Signorelli, 244.
Simonds, George, 100.
Sistine Chapel, ceiling of the, 342, 343.
"Sleeping Beauty," 238.
Snake of time, the, 228, 230.
Snuffers, 76, 77.
Soul, Egyptian symbolism of the, 230.
Sparrow, J. S., modern glass by, 156, 157.
Sphinx, the, 232.
Stags drinking, a Christian emblem, 239, 240.
St. David's Cathedral, timber roof, 43, 44;
misereres in, 93, 94.
St. Ethelwold, Benedictional of, 227.
Stevens, Alfred, 67, 204.
St. Mark, winged lion of, 246.
St. Martha, at Troyes, 273, 275.
Stone-carving, 91-93.
Stonehenge, 6.
Sunlight, influence of, on art, 16, 161 _et seq._, 182, 184.
Susa, glazed bricks at, 171-174.
Tenniel, Sir John, 236, 298.
Tennyson's poems (1857), 296.
Textiles, designing for, 86, 106-113, 131.
Thames, Father, 236.
Thebes, mural painting from, 196.
Theodora, the Empress (mosaic), 24.
Thonging, decoration derived from, 54.
Title-page, the, 136.
Tivoli, Temple of the Sibyl at, 55.
Torregiano, 340.
Towers, origin and importance of, 61-64.
Tradition in design, 349, 350.
Tree of Life, Assyrian, 198, 200;
Persian, 211;
Norse, 227, 228.
Trees, Egyptian and Assyrian treatment of, 200-202.
"Triumph of Julius Cæsar, The," 329-332.
"Triumphs of Maximilian, The," 282, 284, 285.
Troyes, St. Urbain, sculpture at, 273, 275.
Turnov, old houses at, 188.
Type, arrangement of, 135;
founding, 368.
Van Eyck, 42, 73.
Venice, St. Mark's, 22, 23;
badge of the city, 246.
Venus and Paris, relief, 237.
Venus of Melos, the, 304.
Vine, the, as a Christian emblem, 239.
Volute ornament, origin of, 51;
ancient specimens, 53.
Walker, Frederick, 296, 297.
Wall-paper designs, 124 _et seq._
Water-vessels, 79-81.
Wattled fence, 51, 52.
Wax, modelling in, 97.
Wells Cathedral, 32, 33, 40, 41.
Westminster Abbey, nave of, 30, 31;
Henry VII.'s Chapel, 32, 35, 43.
Whistler, J. McNeill, 300.
Wicker work, 51.
Wilton House, relief from, 237.
Winchelsea Church, tomb in, 38, 39.
Winchester College Chapel, glass from, 147.
Windows, traceried, 32, 34, 141;
_and see_ Glass, stained.
Winston, on glass painting, 144.
Wolgemuth, Michael, 278.
Wood-carving, 91-93.
Woodcuts, early German, 117, 118, 278-285;
Italian, 285;
in Herbals, 285-288;
Japanese, 286, 288-290;
revival under Bewick, 119, 294.
Worcester pottery, 86.
York Minster, the "Five Sisters," 32, 37.
Zigzag, the, 226, 227.
[Illustration]
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.
Page 1, "CHAPTER" inserted before "I.--" to conform with the rest of
the chapter headings.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS entry: "Corbel, Seventeenth Century, Dennington
Church, Suffolk" changed to read "Corbel, Fourteenth Century,
Dennington Church, Suffolk."
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS entry: "Ceiling Motive, Wall-paper designed by
Walter Crane 124" removed, 124 added to LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS entry:
"Ceiling Papers. Designed by Walter Crane 125, 126."
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS entry: "Auxerre Cathedral, Fourteenth Century
Sculpture, 272" changed to read "Auxerre Cathedral, Thirteenth Century
Sculpture. 272".
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS entry: "Amiens Cathedral, Thirteenth Century
Sculpture, 273" changed to read "Amiens Cathedral, Fourteenth Century
Sculpture. 273".