most delicate and minute pieces of sculpture on that building are at the
very top of it, just under its gutter. You cannot see them in a dark
day, and perhaps may never, to this hour, have noticed them at all. But
there they are: sixty-six finished heads of lions, all exactly the same;
and, therefore, I suppose, executed on some noble Greek type, too noble
to allow any modest Modern to think of improving upon it. But whether
executed on a Greek type or no, it is to be presumed that, as there are
sixty-six of them alike, and on so important a building as that which is
to contain your school of design, and which is the principal example of
the Athenian style in modern Athens, there must be something especially
admirable in them, and deserving your most attentive contemplation. In
order, therefore, that you might have a fair opportunity of estimating
their beauty, I was desirous of getting a sketch of a real lion's head
to compare with them, and my friend Mr. Millais kindly offered to draw
both the one and the other for me. You have not, however, at present, a
lion in your zoological collection; and it being, as you are probably
aware, the first principle of Pre-Raphaelitism, as well as essential to
my object in the present instance, that no drawing should be made except
from Nature itself, I was obliged to be content with a tiger's head,
which, however, will answer my purpose just as well, in enabling you to
compare a piece of true, faithful, and natural work with modern
architectural sculpture. Here, in the first place, is Mr. Millais'
drawing from the _living_ beast (_fig._ 17, frontispiece). I have not
the least fear but that you will at once acknowledge its truth and feel
its power. Prepare yourselves next for the Grecian sublimity of the
_ideal_ beast, from the cornice of your schools of design. Behold it
(_fig._ 18).
43. Now we call ourselves civilized and refined in matters of art, but I
assure you it is seldom that, in the very basest and coarsest grotesques
of the inferior Gothic workmen, anything so contemptible as this head
can be ever found. _They_ only sink into such a failure accidentally,
and in a single instance; and we, in our civilization, repeat this noble
piece of work threescore and six times over, as not being able to invent
anything else so good! Do not think Mr. Millais has caricatured it. It
is drawn with the strictest fidelity; photograph one of the heads
to-morrow, and you will find the photograph tell you the same tale.
Neither imagine that this is an unusual example of modern work. Your
banks and public offices are covered with ideal lions' heads in every
direction, and you will find them all just as bad as this. And, farther,
note that the admission of such barbarous types of sculpture is not
_merely_ ridiculous; it is seriously harmful to your powers of
perceiving truth or beauty of any kind or at any time. Imagine the
effect on the minds of your children of having such representations of a
lion's head as this thrust upon them perpetually; and consider what a
different effect might be produced upon them if, instead of this barren
and insipid absurdity, every boss on your buildings were, according to
the workman's best ability, a faithful rendering of the form of some
existing animal, so that all their walls were so many pages of natural
history. And, finally, consider the difference, with respect to the mind
of the workman himself, between being kept all his life carving, by
sixties, and forties, and thirties, repetitions of one false and futile
model,--and being sent, for every piece of work he had to execute, to
make a stern and faithful study from some living creature of God.
[Illustration: PLATE XI. (Fig. 17., Fig. 18.)]
44. And this last consideration enables me to press this subject on you
on far higher grounds than I have done yet.
I have hitherto appealed only to your national pride, or to your common
sense; but surely I should treat a Scottish audience with indignity if I
appealed not finally to something higher than either of them,--to their
religious principles.
You know how often it is difficult to be wisely charitable, to do good
without multiplying the sources of evil. You know that to give alms is
nothing unless you give thought also; and that therefore it is written,
not "blessed is he that _feedeth_ the poor," but, "blessed is he that
_considereth_ the poor." And you know that a little thought and a little
kindness are often worth more than a great deal of money.
45. Now this charity of thought is not merely to be exercised towards
the poor; it is to be exercised towards all men. There is assuredly no
action of our social life, however unimportant, which, by kindly
thought, may not be made to have a beneficial influence upon others; and
it is impossible to spend the smallest sum of money, for any not
absolutely necessary purpose, without a grave responsibility attaching
to the manner of spending it. The object we ourselves covet may, indeed,
be desirable and harmless, so far as we are concerned, but the providing
us with it may, perhaps, be a very prejudicial occupation to some one
else. And then it becomes instantly a moral question, whether we are to
indulge ourselves or not. Whatever we wish to buy, we ought first to
consider not only if the thing be fit for us, but if the manufacture of
it be a wholesome and happy one; and if, on the whole, the sum we are
going to spend will do as much good spent in this way as it would if
spent in any other way. It may be said that we have not time to consider
all this before we make a purchase. But no time could be spent in a more
important duty; and God never imposes a duty without giving the time to
do it. Let us, however, only acknowledge the principle;--once make up
your mind to allow the consideration of the _effect_ of your purchases
to regulate the _kind_ of your purchase, and you will soon easily find
grounds enough to decide upon. The plea of ignorance will never take
away our responsibilities. It is written, "If thou sayest, Behold, we
knew it not; doth not He that pondereth the heart consider it? and He
that keepeth thy soul, doth not He know it?"
46. I could press this on you at length, but I hasten to apply the
principle to the subject of art. I will do so broadly at first, and then
come to architecture. Enormous sums are spent annually by this country
in what is called patronage of art, but in what is for the most part
merely buying what strikes our fancies. True and judicious patronage
there is indeed; many a work of art is bought by those who do not care
for its possession, to assist the struggling artist, or relieve the
unsuccessful one. But for the most part, I fear we are too much in the
habit of buying simply what we like best, wholly irrespective of any
good to be done, either to the artist or to the schools of the country.
Now let us remember, that every farthing we spend on objects of art has
influence over men's minds and spirits, far more than over their bodies.
By the purchase of every print which hangs on your walls, of every cup
out of which you drink, and every table off which you eat your bread,
you are educating a mass of men in one way or another. You are either
employing them healthily or unwholesomely; you are making them lead
happy or unhappy lives; you are leading them to look at Nature, and to
love her--to think, to feel, to enjoy,--or you are blinding them to
Nature, and keeping them bound, like beasts of burden, in mechanical and
monotonous employments. We shall all be asked one day, why we did not
think more of this.
47. "Well, but," you will say, "how can we decide what we ought to buy,
but by our likings? You would not have us buy what we don't like?" No,
but I would have you thoroughly sure that there _is_ an absolute right
and wrong in all art, and try to find out the right, and like that; and,
secondly, sometimes to sacrifice a careless preference or fancy, to what
you know is for the good of your fellow-creatures. For instance, when
you spend a guinea upon an engraving, what have you done? You have paid
a man for a certain number of hours to sit at a dirty table, in a dirty
room, inhaling the fumes of nitric acid, stooping over a steel plate, on
which, by the help of a magnifying glass, he is, one by one, laboriously
cutting out certain notches and scratches, of which the effect is to be
the copy of another man's work. You cannot suppose you have done a very
charitable thing in this! On the other hand, whenever you buy a small
water-color drawing, you have employed a man happily and healthily,
working in a clean room (if he likes), or more probably still, out in
the pure country and fresh air, thinking about something, and learning
something every moment; not straining his eyesight, nor breaking his
back, but working in ease and happiness. Therefore if you _can_ like a
modest water-color better than an elaborate engraving, do. There may
indeed be engravings which are worth the suffering it costs to produce
them; but at all events, engravings of public dinners and laying of
foundation-stones, and such things, might be dispensed with. The
engraving ought to be a first-rate picture of a first-rate subject to be
worth buying.
48. Farther, I know that many conscientious persons are desirous of
encouraging art, but feel at the same time that their judgment is not
certain enough to secure their choice of the best kind of art. To such
persons I would now especially address myself, fully admitting the
greatness of their difficulty. It is not an easy thing to acquire a
knowledge of painting; and it is by no means a desirable thing to
encourage bad painting. One bad painter makes another, and one bad
painting will often spoil a great many healthy judgments. I could name
popular painters now living, who have retarded the taste of their
generation by twenty years. Unless, therefore, we are certain not merely
that we like a painting, but that we are _right_ in liking it, we should
never buy it. For there is one way of spending money which is perfectly
safe, and in which we may be absolutely sure of doing good. I mean, by
paying for simple sculpture of natural objects, chiefly flowers and
animals. You are aware that the possibilities of error in sculpture are
much less than in painting; it is altogether an easier and simpler art,
invariably attaining perfection long before painting, in the progress of
a national mind. It may indeed be corrupted by false taste, or thrown
into erroneous forms; but for the most part, the feebleness of a
sculptor is shown in imperfection and rudeness, rather than in definite
error. He does not reach the fineness of the forms of Nature; but he
approaches them truly up to a certain point, or, if not so, at all
events an honest effort will continually improve him: so that if we set
a simple natural form before him, and tell him to copy it, we are sure
we have given him a wholesome and useful piece of education; but if we
told him to paint it, he might, with all the honesty in the world, paint
it wrongly and falsely, to the end of his days.
49. So much for the workman. But the workman is not the only person
concerned. Observe farther, that when you buy a print, the enjoyment of
it is confined to yourself and to your friends. But if you carve a piece
of stone, and put it on the outside of your house, it will give pleasure
to every person who passes along the street--to an innumerable
multitude, instead of a few.
Nay, but, you say, we ourselves shall not be benefited by the sculpture
on the outsides of our houses. Yes, you will, and in an extraordinary
degree; for, observe farther, that architecture differs from painting
peculiarly in being an art of _accumulation_. The prints bought by your
friends, and hung up in their houses, have no collateral effect with
yours: they must be separately examined, and if ever they were hung side
by side, they would rather injure than assist each other's effect. But
the sculpture on your friend's house unites in effect with that on your
own. The two houses form one grand mass--far grander than either
separately; much more if a third be added--and a fourth; much more if
the whole street--if the whole city--join in the solemn harmony of
sculpture. Your separate possessions of pictures and prints are to you
as if you sang pieces of music with your single voices in your own
houses. But your architecture would be as if you all sang together in
one mighty choir. In the separate picture, it is rare that there exists
any very high source of sublime emotion; but the great concerted music
of the streets of the city, when turret rises over turret, and casement
frowns beyond casement, and tower succeeds to tower along the farthest
ridges of the inhabited hills,--this is a sublimity of which you can at
present form no conception; and capable, I believe, of exciting almost
the deepest emotion that art can ever strike from the bosoms of men.
And justly the deepest: for it is a law of God and of Nature, that your
pleasures--as your virtues--shall be enhanced by mutual aid. As, by
joining hand in hand, you can sustain each other best, so, hand in hand,
you can delight each other best. And there is indeed a charm and
sacredness in street architecture which must be wanting even to that of
the temple: it is a little thing for men to unite in the forms of a
religious service, but it is much for them to unite, like true brethren,
in the arts and offices of their daily lives.
50. And now, I can conceive only of one objection as likely still to
arise in your minds, which I must briefly meet. Your pictures, and other
smaller works of art, you can carry with you, wherever you live; your
house must be left behind. Indeed, I believe that the wandering habits
which have now become almost necessary to our existence, lie more at the
root of our bad architecture than any other character of modern times.
We always look upon our houses as mere temporary lodgings. We are always
hoping to get larger and finer ones, or are forced, in some way or
other, to live where we do not choose, and in continual expectation of
changing our place of abode. In the present state of society, this is in
a great measure unavoidable; but let us remember it is an _evil_; and
that so far as it _is_ avoidable, it becomes our duty to check the
impulse. It is not for me to lead you at present into any consideration
of a matter so closely touching your private interests and feelings; but
it surely is a subject for serious thought, whether it might not be
better for many of us, if, on attaining a certain position in life, we
determined, with God's permission, to choose a home in which to live and
die,--a home not to be increased by adding stone to stone and field to
field, but which, being enough for all our wishes at that period, we
should resolve to be satisfied with forever. Consider this; and also,
whether we ought not to be more in the habit of seeking honor from our
descendants than our ancestors; thinking it better to be nobly
remembered than nobly born; and striving so to live, that our sons, and
our sons' sons, for ages to come, might still lead their children
reverently to the doors out of which we had been carried to the grave,
saying, "Look: This was his house: This was his chamber."
51. I believe that you can bring forward no other serious objection to
the principles for which I am pleading. They are so simple, and, it
seems to me, so incontrovertible, that I trust you will not leave this
room, without determining, as you have opportunity, to do something to
advance this long-neglected art of domestic architecture. The reasons I
have laid before you would have weight, even were I to ask you to go to
some considerable expenditure beyond what you at present are accustomed
to devote to such purposes; but nothing more would be needed than the
diversion of expenditures, at present scattered and unconsidered, into a
single and effective channel. Nay, the mere interest of the money which
we are accustomed to keep dormant by us in the form of plate and
jewelry, would alone be enough to sustain a school of magnificent
architecture. And although, in highly wrought plate, and in finely
designed jewelry, noble art may occasionally exist, yet in general both
jewels and services of silver are matters of ostentation, much more than
sources of intellectual pleasure. There are also many evils connected
with them--they are a care to their possessors, a temptation to the
dishonest, and a trouble and bitterness to the poor. So that I cannot
but think that part of the wealth which now lies buried in these
doubtful luxuries, might most wisely and kindly be thrown into a form
which would give perpetual pleasure, not to its possessor only, but to
thousands besides, and neither tempt the unprincipled, nor inflame the
envious, nor mortify the poor; while, supposing that your own dignity
was dear to you, this, you may rely upon it, would be more impressed
upon others by the nobleness of your house-walls than by the glistening
of your sideboards.
[Illustration: PLATE XII. (Fig. 19.)]
52. And even supposing that some additional expenditure _were_ required
for this purpose, are we indeed so much poorer than our ancestors, that
we cannot now, in all the power of Britain, afford to do what was done
by every small republic, by every independent city, in the Middle Ages,
throughout France, Italy, and Germany? I am not aware of a vestige of
domestic architecture, belonging to the great mediaeval periods, which,
according to its material and character, is not richly decorated. But
look here (_fig._ 19), look to what an extent decoration _has_ been
carried in the domestic edifices of a city, I suppose not much superior
in importance, commercially speaking, to Manchester, Liverpool, or
Birmingham--namely, Rouen, in Normandy. This is a _garret_ window, still
existing there,--a garret window built by William de Bourgtheroude in
the early part of the sixteenth century. I show it you, first, as a
proof of what may be made of the features of domestic buildings we are
apt to disdain; and secondly, as another example of a beautiful use of
the pointed arch, filled by the solid shield of stone, and inclosing a
square casement. It is indeed a peculiarly rich and beautiful instance,
but it is a type of which many examples still exist in France, and of
which many once existed in your own Scotland, of ruder work indeed, but
admirable always in the effect upon the outline of the building.[18]
[Footnote 18: One of the most beautiful instances I know of this kind of
window is in the ancient house of the Maxwells, on the estate of Sir
John Maxwell of Polloc. I had not seen it when I gave this lecture, or I
should have preferred it, as an example, to that of Rouen, with
reference to modern possibilities of imitation.]
53. I do not, however, hope that you will often be able to go as far as
this in decoration; in fact I would rather recommend a simpler style to
you, founded on earlier examples; but, if possible, aided by color,
introduced in various kinds of naturally colored stones. I have
observed that your Scottish lapidaries have admirable taste and skill in
the disposition of the pebbles of your brooches and other ornaments of
dress; and I have not the least doubt that the genius of your country
would, if directed to this particular style of architecture, produce
works as beautiful as they would be thoroughly national. The Gothic of
Florence, which owes at least the half of its beauty to the art of
inlaying, would furnish you with exquisite examples; its sculpture is
indeed the most perfect which was ever produced by the Gothic schools;
but, besides this rich sculpture, all its flat surfaces are inlaid with
colored stones, much being done with a green serpentine, which forms the
greater part of the coast of Genoa. You have, I believe, large beds of
this rock in Scotland, and other stones besides, peculiarly Scottish,
calculated to form as noble a school of color as ever existed.[19]
[Footnote 19: A series of four examples of designs for windows was
exhibited at this point of the lecture, but I have not engraved them, as
they were hastily made for the purposes of momentary illustration, and
are not such as I choose to publish or perpetuate.]
54. And, now, I have but two things more to say to you in conclusion.
Most of the lecturers whom you allow to address you, lay before you
views of the sciences they profess, which are either generally received,
or incontrovertible. I come before you at a disadvantage; for I cannot
conscientiously tell you anything about architecture but what is at
variance with all commonly received views upon the subject. I come
before you, professedly to speak of things forgotten or things disputed;
and I lay before you, not accepted principles, but questions at issue.
Of those questions you are to be the judges, and to you I appeal. You
must not, when you leave this room, if you feel doubtful of the truth of
what I have said, refer yourselves to some architect of established
reputation, and ask him whether I am right or not. You might as well,
had you lived in the sixteenth century, have asked a Roman Catholic
archbishop his opinion of the first reformer. I deny his jurisdiction;
I refuse his decision. I call upon you to be Bereans in architecture, as
you are in religion, and to search into these things for yourselves.
Remember that, however candid a man may be, it is too much to expect of
him when his career in life has been successful, to turn suddenly on the
highway, and to declare that all he has learned has been false, and all
he has done, worthless; yet nothing less than such a declaration as this
must be made by nearly every existing architect, before he admitted the
truth of one word that I have said to you this evening. You must be
prepared, therefore, to hear my opinions attacked with all the virulence
of established interest, and all the pertinacity of confirmed prejudice;
you will hear them made the subjects of every species of satire and
invective; but one kind of opposition to them you will never hear; you
will never hear them met by quiet, steady, rational argument; for that
is the one way in which they _cannot_ be met. You will constantly hear
me accused--you yourselves may be the first to accuse me--of presumption
in speaking thus confidently against the established authority of ages.
Presumption! Yes, if I had spoken on my own authority; but I have
appealed to two incontrovertible and irrefragable witnesses--to the
nature that is around you--to the reason that is within you. And if you
are willing in this matter to take the voice of authority _against_ that
of nature and of reason, take it in other things also. Take it in
religion, as you do in architecture. It is not by a Scottish
audience--not by the descendants of the Reformer and the
Covenanter--that I expected to be met with a refusal to believe that the
world might possibly have been wrong for _three_ hundred years, in their
ways of carving stones and setting up of pillars, when they know that
they were wrong for _twelve_ hundred years, in their marking how the
roads divided, that led to Hell and Heaven.
55. You must expect at first that there will be difficulties and
inconsistencies in carrying out the new style; but they will soon be
conquered if you attempt not too much at once. Do not be afraid of
incongruities--do not think of unities of effect. Introduce your Gothic
line by line and stone by stone; never mind mixing it with your present
architecture; your existing houses will be none the worse for having
little bits of better work fitted to them; build a porch, or point a
window, if you can do nothing else; and remember that it is the glory of
Gothic architecture that it can do _anything_. Whatever you really and
seriously want, Gothic will do for you; but it must be an _earnest_
want. It is its pride to accommodate itself to your needs; and the one
general law under which it acts is simply this,--find out what will make
you comfortable, build that in the strongest and boldest way, and then
set your fancy free in the decoration of it. Don't do anything to
imitate this cathedral or that, however beautiful. Do what is
convenient; and if the form be a new one, so much the better; then set
your mason's wits to work, to find out some new way of treating it. Only
be steadily determined that, even if you cannot get the best Gothic, at
least you will have no Greek; and in a few years' time--in less time
than you could learn a new science or a new language thoroughly--the
whole art of your native country will be reanimated.