Columns and entablatures in themselves do not, properly speaking,
constitute an Order, although they serve as specimens of it. They must
enter into and regulate the organization of a structure before they
can become by composition what is, strictly speaking, an Order. As
exhibited in their temples, the system of columniation practised by the
Ancients was strictly organic and natural. Instead of being something
accessory, supplementary to, and independent of the fabric, that
might be either omitted or applied at pleasure, as commonly practised
in Italian and modern composition, the Order itself constituted the
exterior of the building, at least of that side or front of it where it
was introduced, when it was not continued throughout; so that the Order
and its dimensions once established, and the mode of intercolumniation
determined, the edifice shaped itself. Before we enter upon the subject
of intercolumniation, it will be desirable to explain the various forms
of temples, and the technical terms by which they are distinguished.
The _naos_, or _cella_, as it is more usually called, or temple itself,
was comparatively small, even where the entire mass was of considerable
size, gradual extension of plan being produced not so much by any
great enlargement of the interior as by external columniation and its
gradual development. It is probable that the earliest Greek temples
consisted of the _naos_ only, and were accordingly plain ASTYLAR
buildings, or without columns, except in front or at the entrance
end, where an enclosed porch was formed by introducing columns, by
continuing the side walls, and placing columns between them _in
antis_, that is, between the two _antæ_ or pilasters forming the ends
of those walls. The next step seems to have been to advance the porch
before the main building, instead of keeping it recessed within the
side walls, thereby converting it from a portico in antis, into a
_prostyle_, or projecting line of columns: thus a _distyle in antis_,
or a portico consisting of two columns between antæ, consequently of
three _intercolumns_, or open spaces between the antæ and columns,
would become a _tetrastyle_, or projecting portico of four columns and
three intercolumns. By the other end of the building being similarly
treated, the temple became _amphiprostyle_, or prostyle at both ends,
in rear as well as in front, the sides still remaining _astylar_. The
next and last style of advancement was to continue columniation all
round, enclosing the _cella_ within colonnades along its sides as well
as at its ends, which disposition of plan is expressed by the terms
_peristyle_, or _peristylar_, and _peripteral_, which of necessity
produces two columns and two intercolumns more in front; for what would
otherwise be merely a tetrastyle prostyle, with four columns and three
intercolumns (the number of the latter being always one less than that
of the others), becomes by the colonnades being continued along the
side, a _hexastyle_ (_six_ columns and _five_ intercolumns); or if
originally a prostyle hexastyle, it would be rendered an _octastyle_
(_eight_ columns and _seven_ intercolumns), and so on.[5] It should be
observed, too, that a building cannot at the same time be _peristylar_
and have a _prostyle_ portico, the latter being merged in the general
columniation, instead of projecting from the rest of the edifice as
a distinct feature. Of peristylar temples there were two sorts, viz.
those with a single row of columns on each side, and those which have
two, which last are distinguished by the term _dipteral_, i. e. having
two wings or _aisles_ on each side. Although it did not at all affect
the general external appearance, notwithstanding that it extended the
plan by adding two more columns and intercolumns to the front, this
last-mentioned mode was attended with greater richness of columniation,
and the inner columns contributed not a little to variety of effect and
play of perspective; besides which, greater sheltered space was gained
for ambulatories; whereas in the usual simple peristyle, where the
space between the outer columns and the walls of the cella was limited
to the width of a single intercolumn, the side colonnades were mere
narrow passages, very little wider—at least in Doric temples—than the
diameter of the columns themselves, consequently of very little actual
service. In what is called the _pseudo-dipteral_ mode, more of clear
space within the colonnades was provided by omitting the inner columns,
which mode reduced the plan to that of a simple peristyle, the only
difference being, that instead of the width of a single intercolumn,
a clear space, equal to two intercolumns and one column, was gained
for the ambulatories. The Temple of Jupiter at Selinus was of this
description, and being only octastyle in front,—the least possible
width for a dipteral or pseudo-dipteral plan,—of the seven front
intercolumns, four (_i. e._ two on each side) were given to the lateral
colonnades, and only three left for the breadth of the _cella_, which
must have looked like a smaller edifice standing within a colonnaded
and covered enclosure.
[5] By way of illustrating these terms more directly by instances
taken from well-known modern porticoes which answer to the respective
denominations and distinctions above noted, we here give a classified
list of some of them:
Distyle { Two columns } St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. in antis. { & two
antæ. } Three } inter- { Hanover Chapel, Regent Street. Tetrastyle.
Four columns. } columns. { *Covent Garden Theatre.
{ St. George’s Church, { Bloomsbury. { *St. George’s, Hanover Square.
{ St. Martin’s Church. { Five { *St. Pancras’ Church. Hexastyle. Six
columns. { inter- { India House. { columns. { Post Office. { *College
of Surgeons. { *College of Physicians. { *Colosseum.
{ Seven { National Gallery. Octastyle. Eight columns. { inter- { Royal
Exchange. { columns. { British Museum.
{ Nine } Decastyle. Ten columns. { inter- } London University College.
{ columns. }
The porticoes marked with the * are simple prostyles, or
_monoprostyle_, advancing only a single intercolumn forwarder than the
rest of the building; while the others are _diprostyle_, or show two
open intercolumns on their flanks; except Hanover Chapel, whose portico
is partly prostyle and partly recessed, and that of the India House,
which is entirely recessed, although its elevation is not a composition
_in antis_; had it been such, it would have been a _tetrastyle in
antis_, that and a hexastyle having the same number of intercolumns,
viz. five.
The above few and simple arrangements of plan are nearly all the
varieties that the Greek temple style offers; and some of them are
little better than distinctions without differences, inasmuch as the
differences do not affect general external appearance. Peripteral,
dipteral, and pseudo-dipteral, all agree in the main point, and the two
latter answer to the name of peripteral as well as the first, being
merely modifications of it. Great as were its æsthetic beauties, Greek
Architecture was—why should we scruple to confess it?—exceedingly
limited in its compass and power of expression: what it did, it did
admirably, but it confined itself too much to one idea. “When you have
seen one green field,” says Johnson, “you have seen all green fields;”
and so we may say of Greek temples,—when you have seen one or two of
them, you have seen all of them. However they may differ from one
another as to the treatment of the Order adopted for them, the number
of their columns, and mere particulars of that kind, they resemble each
other very nearly in all leading points. Not only were their plans
invariably parallelograms, but alike also as to proportion, forming a
double square, or being about twice as much in length as in breadth;
for so exceedingly _methodical_ was the Greek system, that the number
of columns on the flanks or sides of a peripteral temple was regulated
and determined by the number of those in front. The number of the
columns in front was invariably an even one, as otherwise there would
be no middle intercolumn; but on the flanks of the edifice, where there
was no entrance, the number of the intercolumns was an even, and that
of the columns an uneven one, so that a column came in the centre of
these side elevations.
As to the mode in which the front influenced the sides by determining
the number of columns for them, the established rule seems to have
been to give the flanks twice as many intercolumns as there were
columns at each end: thus the Parthenon, which is octastyle, has
_sixteen_ intercolumns, consequently seventeen columns, on each flank.
In like manner, a hexastyle temple would have _twelve_ intercolumns
and thirteen columns on its sides. There are, however, exceptions;
for instance, the temple at Selinus, which has been mentioned as an
example of the pseudo-dipteral mode of columniation, is an octastyle,
with sixteen, or just twice as many columns on its sides as in front;
consequently the intercolumns are only fifteen, and being uneven in
number, there is a middle one, as in the front itself. After all, the
difference caused by there being an intercolumn more or less than usual
is but a very slight one, such as is to be ascertained only by counting
the columns, and such as not to occasion any perceptible difference in
the general physiognomy of the building.[6]
[6] Should the reader be quite fresh to the subject, he is recommended
to draw out for himself,—merely roughly mark down,—the several
dispositions of columns which have been spoken of; for by compelling
him to consider them carefully, he will be better able to understand
them, and have them distinctly impressed upon his memory. The annexed
may serve as a specimen of such short-hand architectural notation, in
asterisks.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
* Peripteral Hexastyle, *
* 12 intercolumns *
* on sides. *
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Besides the restriction as to general proportion of plan, namely, the
fixed relationship between the length and the breadth of the building,
proportion with regard to height was limited in a different way, and in
such a manner that the character of increased richness and importance
derived from a greater number of columns was attended, not indeed by
decreased height, but by _decreased loftiness_, or proportional height,
that is, height as measured by either breadth or length. Paradoxical as
this may sound at first, nothing can be more clear when once explained.
Discarding nicety of measurement, we will call a _tetrastyle_ portico
about a square in height, that is, about as high as wide; but add four
more columns, extend it from a tetrastyle to an octastyle, so that it
becomes about a double square in breadth, or twice as wide again, and
the inevitable consequence is, that it is then only half as high as
wide; that is, as to proportion, only half as _lofty_ as it was before.
The expression of _loftiness_, in which altitude greatly predominates
over breadth, was quite beyond the reach of the Greek system. Their
temples might be planted on lofty eminences, but the structures
themselves never towered upwards. As far as it went, their system was
perfect,—so complete indeed in itself as to be unfit for almost any
other purposes than that for which it was expressly framed.
If the Romans corrupted the Greek Orders, the Doric and Ionic, they
developed and matured the Corinthian Order, and also worked out a
freer and more complex and comprehensive system of Architecture. To
say nothing of their introduction and application of those important
elements of both construction and design, the arch and vault—which
hardly belong to a mere treatise on the Orders—it is to the Romans that
we are indebted for varieties and combinations of plan that will be
sought for in vain among Grecian structures.
Of the Romans it may be said, “Mutant quadrata _rotundis_,”—circular
forms and curves displaying themselves not only in elevation and
section, but in plan; and while, among the Greeks, Architecture was
confined almost exclusively to external appearance and effect, in the
hands of the Romans it was made to minister to internal display of
the most enchantingly picturesque kind, as would be amply attested
by the Pantheon alone. In that edifice, and Hadrian’s Mausoleum (now
barbarized into the Castello di S. Angelo), the cylindrical form was
exhibited upon an imposing scale; in the Temple at Tivoli, in far
lesser dimensions, but with most captivating taste; and again in
the Tomb of Cæcilia Metella, we have a fine example of an unbroken
_astylar_ circular mass. In such structures as the Colosseum and
other Roman Amphitheatres, a different form of curvature, namely,
the ellipsis, was employed with admirable propriety and effect. In
interiors, again, we find the hemicycle or concave semicircular form
both frequently and variously applied by the Romans in such edifices as
their Baths, which afford many excellent studies for combinations of
_plan_.
To enter into the system of Roman Architecture as the subject itself
would require, would very far exceed our present purpose and limits;
much less can we pretend to treat here of the still more varied and
complex Italian or Modern-European system, into which _fenestration_
so largely enters, _columniation_ being, more frequently than not,
subordinate. Were we to touch upon the last-mentioned style and its
various elements, it could be only so superficially as to be more
disappointing than instructive. Better that the reader should admire
our forbearance than complain of our unsatisfactory jejuneness. We may,
however, permit ourselves to throw out one or two general remarks;
the first of which is, that it is a great error to confound with the
Italian the two Ancient Classical styles, applying to them alike the
epithet ‘Grecian,’ merely in contradistinction to Gothic or Mediæval
Architecture. It is absurd, too, to pretend to test by the Greek style,
one so totally differently constituted as the Italian; an error that
could hardly have been fallen into but for the practice of applying
the same names to very different things. The term ‘Order’ has quite
a different meaning, as applied to the original classical mode of
the Art, from what it has in the other. In Italian composition, an
Order is more frequently than not, mere decoration in the shape of
columns and entablatures, fashioned _secundum artem_ (a very different
thing from _artistically_), so as to resemble in detail and certain
conventional distinctions those of the Ancients. Infinitely better
would it have been, if, instead of allowing themselves to be misled by
the pedantry of Vitruvius, the Architects of the so-called Revival,
who showed much happiness of invention in other respects, had treated
the Orders freely; or perhaps still better, had they worked out ideas
of their own for columns and entablatures, whenever they had occasion
for them either as matters of necessity, or as mere decoration. Had
the Italians allowed themselves greater latitude in that respect, they
would, in all probability, have been far less licentious upon the whole
than they frequently were, and their buildings would have been more
homogeneous—more of a piece. But they must, forsooth, be Doric, Ionic,
or Corinthian, ofttimes all the three at once, and a very great deal
else into the bargain. Therefore the affecting to retain the ancient
Orders in their purity served no other purpose than that of making all
the more evident how completely their first intention and character had
been lost sight of.
The clinging with scrupulous punctilio to what had become dead-letter
forms after the system which had produced them had been abandoned and
exchanged for another and widely different one, was merely superstition
and pedantry. It might show acquaintance with traditional learning
and the writings of Vitruvius; but it also showed dulness of æsthetic
feeling, or, what is not much better, deficiency of æsthetic power.
There was, however, one mode of applying columns, which, although
generally regarded as the most licentious and unorthodox,—nay, even
preposterous, because quite contrary to all classical practice and
precedent,—has at least one propriety, that of being rational, since
columns there officiate as columns—as real supports; whereas in a
great deal of Modern Architecture that is admired for the correct
taste it displays, columns and their entablatures are mere expletives,
instead of actual component parts of the fabric, and simulate a mode of
construction neither required for nor practised in the fabric itself.
The particular mode here alluded to is that in which arches are not
only introduced together with columns, but the arches and columns
are so indissolubly married together that they cannot be divorced,
inasmuch as the arches are supported by the columns themselves, the
former springing immediately from the capitals of the latter.[7]
Such combination, it might be supposed, would be gladly admitted as
sufficiently legitimate, both because in accordance with rational
architectonic principles, and because it greatly extends the resources
of the Art; nevertheless, such is the omnipotence of prejudice, that
instead of being welcomed and adopted by us, it has been decried as
a barbarism. As an irresistible and crushing argument against it,
we are told that columns were not _originally_ intended to be so
applied;—admirable logic, truly! There are a great many other things
besides columns which have in course of time come to be applied to
uses not originally contemplated. In regard to that combination of
columns and arches according to which the latter spring immediately
from the others, and are supported by them, there are two questions:
the first and practical one is; Do the columns afford sufficient
support?—the second and æsthetic one is; Is there also appearance of
sufficient support; or, is there any thing contradictory to principle,
to judgment, and good taste? The first question needs no answer,
since it answers itself, it being an indisputable fact that columns
so employed do answer the purpose to which they are turned. The other
question is not so easily answered: the prejudiced will of course
answer it according to their own contracted taste and narrow notions,
condemning the mode alluded to, without any inquiry into its merits
and advantages, merely on the ground of its being quite at variance
with the classical system of _trabeated_ columniation, that is, with
columns supporting a horizontal architrave and entablature, or general
horizontal _trabeation_. That by the substitution of arches for
architraves, the character of the Greek system is forfeited, cannot be
denied; but then another character is established, whose difference
from the original one ought not to be made its condemnation. To demand
of a different mode that it should resemble and conform to the laws
of that from which it differs, is absurdity in the extreme, for it is
requiring that it should be at once a different one and the same. To
compare different styles is a very useful sort of study; but to make
any one style the criterion or standard by which others are to be
judged, is preposterous.
[7] This mode of uniting together columns and arches is perfectly
legitimate, whereas that in which a fragment of the usual entablature
is left sticking or added to each column, (as, for instance, in
the interior of St. Martin’s Church,) is decidedly solecistical,
since it is injuriously reminiscent of _epistylar_ construction or
trabeation,—is in itself unmeaning, and causes the columns to appear
to have been too short, and therefore to have been eked out in height
by blocks upon them, fashioned to resemble so many detached bits of an
entablature.
The style in which the arch and column enter into direct combination
with each other, and for which there is no specific name, has at all
events some economical recommendations, inasmuch as shorter columns,
and fewer of them, are required, than would be necessary for the same
height and length according to the trabeated mode. In itself, too,
it possesses much ‘capability;’ yet, as is the case with every other
style, the merit of the works produced in it depends upon the manner in
which it is treated, and the talent brought to it. There is no style of
the Art so poetical that the flattest prose may not be made out of it;
and hardly any so utterly prosaic as to be incapable of being kindled
into poetry by the Promethean torch of geniality—artistic treatment,
and, _con amore_, æsthetic feeling.